“Everyone’s going to know,” he says, his pace increasing. “All our friends down the hall. They’re going to know what you let your stepbrother do to you.”
“Let them,” I gasp, beyond caring about anything but the pleasure building inside me.
Alex’s thrusts grow harder, more insistent, driving me forward into the mattress. I brace myself against the bed, pushing back to meet each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by our moans and gasps.
“Look at me,” Alex commands, and I realize I’ve closed my eyes again. I force them open, finding his gaze in the mirror. “I want to see your face when you come.”
He shifts his angle, and suddenly he’s hitting my prostate with every thrust. The pleasure is overwhelming, building and building until I’m teetering on the edge of release.
“Alex,” I warn, my voice breaking. “I’m going to—I can’t—”
“Come for me,” he growls, his pace relentless. “Come on my cock.”
His words push me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me in waves, each more intense than the last. I come untouched, my cock pulsing as ropes of white paint the sheets beneath me. My vision blurs, my body convulsing with the force of the most powerful climax I’ve ever experienced.
Alex follows me over the edge a moment later, his rhythm faltering as he drives into me one final time. I feel his cock pulse inside me, filling the condom as he comes with a guttural groan of my name.
We stay like that for a moment, both trembling with aftershocks, before Alex carefully pulls out. I wince at the sudden emptiness, at the slight soreness that’s already setting in. He disposes of the condom somewhere—I don’t see where, my face now pressed into the mattress as my body gives out completely.
The bed dips as Alex returns, gathering me into his arms and rolling us to the side, away from the wet spot. He tucks me against his chest, one arm wrapped possessively around my waist, the other stroking my hair with surprising tenderness.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, concern replacing the dominant edge from earlier.
I nod against his chest, too wrung out for words. My body aches pleasantly, muscles sore from what we just did.
“You’re going to ruin me, Alex,” I whisper, giving voice to the fear that’s been lurking beneath the surface since the moment I saw him again at that frat party. “You’re going to ruin me for everyone else.”
Alex tightens his grip on me, his lips brushing against my ear as he speaks directly into it, low and certain. “You were always mine to ruin.”
18
Vincent
I WAKE TO EMPTINESS beside me, the warmth of Alex’s body replaced by cooling sheets and the lingering scent of his cologne. My hand stretches across the vast expanse of his bed, fingers grasping at nothing but expensive cotton. He’s gone. The thought slices through my post-sleep haze, sharp enough to make me sit up too quickly. Pain shoots through my lower back—a delicious reminder of last night that makes me wince and smile at the same time. I scan the room, searching for any sign of him: a discarded shirt, an abandoned coffee mug, anything to prove I wasn’t just another conquest he’s already forgotten.
Morning light filters through partially closed blinds, cutting patterns across the rumpled sheets and my naked body. The evidence of last night is written all over me—bruises blooming on my hips where Alex’s fingers dug in, a constellation ofred marks trailing down my chest to my thighs. I touch the one on my collarbone, pressing until it hurts, reassuring myself that this was real.
That I didn’t dream Alex Orlov finally claiming me as his.
This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go. I wasn’t supposed to end up in Alex’s bed, wasn’t supposed to let myself be vulnerable with the one person who has the power to destroy me more thoroughly than even his father could. But here I am, sore in places I’ve never been sore before, wearing his fingerprints on my skin.
I throw back the covers and stand, my muscles protesting the movement. The floor-to-ceiling mirror catches my reflection—I look like a mess, hair sticking up in all directions, lips swollen, skin marked where Alex’s mouth touched me. Which was pretty much everywhere.
I should be ashamed. Grabbing my clothes and running before anyone sees me leaving. But the shame doesn’t come.
Instead, a different feeling takes root—anxiety coiling tight in my stomach. Where is he? Did he leave? Did he wake up, look at me, and realize what a mistake he’d made? The thought sends ice through my veins.
I pad across the hardwood floor toward the en suite bathroom, each step a reminder of how completely I gave myself to him. The bathroom is obscenely large, all black marble and chrome fixtures gleaming under recessed lighting. The shower alone is bigger than my apartment’s bathroom.
My reflection in the wall-to-wall mirror above the double sinks tells the same story as the bedroom mirror—I’ve been thoroughly fucked by Alex Orlov. There’s no other way to put it. I turn slightly, examining the marks he left on my back, the light scratches where his nails dug in when he came.
I turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature before stepping under the multiple jets. The hot water stings the sensitive marks on my skin, but I welcome the sensation. It grounds me in reality. This happened. Alex and I crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.
What does it mean, though? One night of incredible sex doesn’t erase five years of absence or change who we are to each other. Stepbrothers. A word that carries so much baggage, so many complications.
I grab what must be Alex’s body wash—something that smells like sandalwood and cedar—and work it into a lather across my skin. Is this just a conquest for him? The forbidden fruit finally tasted? Or does he really mean what he said last night—that I was always his, that he’s not letting me disappear again?
Water pounds against my shoulders as I lean my forehead against the cool tile. I want to believe him. I want to believe in us. But I’ve spent so long running, so long protecting myself, that I don’t know if I remember how to stay.
