Firelight on his face.
His eyes were big and glassy, looking up at me like I was both the monster and his savior. But something in his eyes told me he didn’t need a savior. He waited just for the monster.
It didn’t make me gay. But it makes me at least bisexual.
I wasn’t suddenly rewriting my entire identity because my stepbrother had the perfect mouth and a way of breaking apart that crawled under my skin.
It just meant there was something aboutJamie. Something specific. Something forbidden.
And I liked it.
More than I should.
Even though I knew that on some level, us being attracted to each other, like that should be wrong. But fuck me sideways, if I wouldn’t give him everything he asked for, only to feel those juicy lips stretch as he was trying to take my cock in his tight throat.
I’d always known he had a crush on me—hell, half the time he stared at me like he forgot how to breathe and remembered too late. But I never did anything about it. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t encourage it. I didn't let him see that sometimes, when he laughed at something stupid I said, my heart kicked in a way it shouldn’t.
But after that night…
Everything tilted.
I wasn’t in love with him. Definitely not.
I just… wanted to figure myself out, and Jamie felt like the safest, softest place to land while I did it.
If I was going to fall into something new, something taboo, something reckless—Jamie was the only person I’d trust to fall into.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get back up.
A few weeks ago.
It happened three days ago. Something small. Something stupid. But it cracked something open.
Jamie was laughing in the kitchen with some guy from his art class. Short dude. Dressed like he lived inside a thrift shop. He kept touching Jamie’s arm when he talked.
I didn’t like it.
So I did something I never do—I walked up behind Jamie, slid my hand low on his waist, and eased him back against me, murmuring, “You’re blocking the drawer,sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
I’d never called him anything like that.
Jamie froze. The art-boy blinked like I’d slapped him. And I pulled the drawer open—with Jamie’s hips pinned to mine—like it was the most casual thing in the world.
Nothing sexual. Nothing explicit.
Just enough dominance. Just enough claim.
Just enough for Jamie to know.
When the guy left, Jamie’s face was pink, eyes darting everywhere but at me.
“Lex, what was that?” he’d whispered.
I’d shrugged, grabbed a glass, poured water like my pulse wasn’t jackhammering.
