Her breast fit perfectly in my palm. Soft, heavy, and warm through the thin material of her bra. I wanted to rip it off. Wanted to take her nipple in my mouth and suck until she screamed. Wanted to mark every inch of that perfect skin, leave evidence of my claim where everyone could see it.
I wanted her under me. Spread out and willing and mine.
There’s a primal surge beneath my skin, demanding I turn around. Demanding I go back and finish what we started.
But I can’t.
The mere idea should terrify me. It should fill me with guilt and shame and all the things a rational person would feel after kissing their stepsister.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
I want to. God, I want to. Want to feel the appropriate level of horror at what I’ve done, at the line I’ve crossed. But all I feel is satisfaction. Bone-deep, primal satisfaction.
And hunger for more.
The beast inside me claws at my ribs, desperate and frantic. We left our mate. We walked away when we should have stayed.
I had to. My father’s call was a command, one I couldn’t ignore without raising questions I can’t afford to answer.
I went home first. Stripped off my clothes that were saturated with her scent. Stood under scalding water until my skin turned red, scrubbing away every trace of her perfume, her arousal, the evidence of what we’d done.
It felt like sacrilege. Like washing away something sacred. But it was necessary. Because if my father caught even a whiff of what had happened earlier tonight, if he sensed the desperation coiled beneath my skin, if he saw the marks her nails left on my abdomen…
I can’t think about that.
The meeting was brief. Some territorial dispute that needed my attention, paperwork that required my signature. I handled it mechanically, my mind still in her penthouse, my back still pressed against the door with her hands pulling at my clothes.
My father didn’t notice anything amiss. Didn’t question why I showed up so late smelling of soap and nothing else.
Small mercies.
Now I’m driving through empty streets, my hands flexing on the wheel, my body still humming with need.
The human side of me wants her just as badly as the animal does.
That’s the part that terrifies me. Because I could control the beast. Chain it down and force it to behave. After all, I’ve been doing that for six years.
But now, my human side wants her, too. Wants to claim her and keep her and make her mine in every possible way.
The control I’ve built is crumbling. And I don’t know how to rebuild it.
Maybe I should talk to her. Tell her the truth. Explain what she is to me, what the mate bond means, why my body reacts to hers like a magnet to steel.
But how do I explain that? How do I tell her that fate decided we’re meant to be together when every social rule says we can’t be?
She already doesn’t trust me. If I tell her now, she’ll think it’s just another manipulation. Another lie to control her.
I need time. Need to figure out how to make her understand without pushing her away completely.
The problem is, I don’t have time. Not anymore. Not after that kiss. Not after feeling her come alive in my arms.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Almost midnight.
The party is probably still going; Sarah mentioned the plan was for it to run late. With music and laughter and people celebrating Violet’s new home.
The home I gave her.
I bang my head back against the car seat at the thought. She found out. She knows I bought the building, arranged the furniture discounts, orchestrated everything. And she was furious about it. About the secrets, the lies, the way I took away her agency.
