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The only girl I’m not allowed to want, but I want her more than I want air in my lungs.
I can’t stop the way my nose presses into her neck or the way I breathe her in deeply. If she notices, she says nothing.
“Nix is so excited that you’re our new brother,” she says, and every muscle in my body tenses. I pull away from her, clear my throat, and take several steps away from her.
“I always wanted a family,” I murmur, not sure why I’ve just confessed that to her. Her sweet smile tells me everything I need to know. Rose would never use my weaknesses against me. She’s too pure.
Too innocent. She doesn’t know what pain and suffering are, and I pray she never does.
I roll onto my back, rubbing my palms into my eyes, trying to shake off the memories that are fucking suffocating me tonight.
Rose went to bed five hours ago, but it wasn’t until two hours ago that her room finally got quiet.
But I still can’t sleep. That's nothing new. I haven’t been a good sleeper since I was a kid. It only got worse in my last foster home before I was adopted. Some scars never heal. Sometimes, even when you’ve been safe for eight years, your brain can’t help but cling to old habits.
It still doesn’t believe we’re safe. So here I am, staring at the ceiling.
My eyes are finally getting heavy when I hear cursing in the hallway, followed by a thump. I jump out of bed, pull on a pair of sweats, and rush to the door. By the time I tug it open and make it down the stairs, Rose is already dragging her drunk ass into the kitchen.
I chuckle because I should have known.
Rose has a pattern when she gets wasted. She starts out happy and giggly. Then she knocks out. Hard. When she wakes up, her mood has turned sour, and she hunts down food and water. She’s desperate to sober up, now that her buzz has gone bad.
I take my time, peeking into the kitchen and nearly barking a laugh at the sight. Half the pantry is laid out on the floor around her, and she's devastating a bag of Cheetos like it’s mission critical. It takes me all of two seconds to realize she has no pants on. Her legs are crisscrossed, and I thank Zeus, Oden, or whoever is listening for the scrap of pink panties I see covering her pussy.
I’m a strong man, but even the Hulk would fall to his knees for Rose. I swallow thickly as flashes of very dirty and wildly inappropriate images fly through my mind.
Hades, have mercy on my mortal soul. Her thin white tank top is skin tight, and her nipples are hard. Herpiercednipples. When did she get that done?!
I step away from the door, pressing my back to the wall, and inhale deeply.
“She sees you as her brother,” I whisper. Unfortunately, my cock didn’t get the memo. But then I think of Nix. Nash and Ren were right. He’d fucking murder me if he knew the dirty and depraved things going through my head.
With one last inhale, I reinforce the steel around my heart, remind myself that I’m a sick fuck, and then head toward the stairs.
Until I see Fallon halfway down them.
I pause. Immediately, my guard is up. I don’t want him to see Rose on the floor, vulnerable and half-naked. He’d never hurt her. I know him that well. But he’d still see her.
Her pierced perky tits…
“What's the noise about?” Fallon grumbles, shirtless and ripped, gesturing to the kitchen. Is he Rose’s type?
“Rose. She’s drunk. Go back to bed,” I manage to say without sounding like I’m about to rip his fucking throat out with my teeth.
The smirk he shoots at me makes the hair on the back of my neck raise. “Yeah, alright. She’s got herbig brotherto take care of her, after all.” He turns away too fast to catch my mouth falling open and my eyes bugging out of my damn skull. “And, yes, you are that obvious,” Fallon adds with a chuckle.
“Takes one to know one, you fuck,” I snap back, making him laugh harder. He can’t say shit…he met his stepsister when he was six, and she calls him Daddy for fuck's sake! That's way worse…
It’s the uncomfortable strain in my boxers that alerts me to how exactly Fallon figured me out so easily. My dick is raging…
Perfect.
I take a moment to adjust myself, fixing my dick, so it’s at least somewhat hidden, before heading back to the kitchen.
The sight of Rose hits me like a ton of bricks, though, and I stumble back. She’s lying on the floor with her legs spread, knees bent, and her tank top riding up her stomach.
I take back what I said before. Whatever deities are glaring down on me do not deserve a thanks! This is pure fucking torture.
