He hadn't known. That was the cosmic joke of it all. Two years before he met Sarah, he had spent a summer in San Diego. He was twenty-five, reckless, and tanned. He met a girl at a beach bar. Blonde, chaotic, electric.
They spent two weeks tearing each other apart. It wasjust sweat, sand, and tequila. They never exchanged last names. She was just "Em." When the summer ended, he went back to the Midwest, and she stayed on the coast. A memory. A scar.
Then came Sarah. Then came the proposal.
He remembered the drive to her parents' house to ask for their blessing. Sarah was nervous. "My sister is in town," she had said, rolling her eyes. "Milly. We don't get along. She’s... a lot."
Milly.
When the door opened, Harrison’s heart stopped.
Standing there, holding a glass of wine, looking more beautiful and dangerous than she had two years ago, was Em.
The recognition in her eyes was instant. The smirk was terrifying. But later that night, while Sarah was in the shower, Emily cornered him in the hallway.
"We don't say a word," she had whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "It would crush her. She’s the good one, remember?"
So they buried it. They became brother-in-law and sister-in-law.
For a while, it worked. Harrison married Sarah, and the first year was bliss. He was so happy. Emily was just a background character, dating a string of guys, eventually getting engaged to a guy named Michael. Harrison thought he was safe.
Then, the accident happened. Sarah’s parents, killed on the highway.
Sarah was devastated. In her grief, she made a decision that sealed their fate: she wanted to move back to the family estate. To the big house her parents had left to both sisters.
"Emily needs me," Sarah had said. "We can fix the relationship."
Harrison agreed because he loved his wife. He didn'tknow he was moving into the lion's den.
Emily was living there with Michael, her fiancé. And seeing Emily every day—seeing her domestic, seeing her walking around in silk robes, seeing her laugh—woke something up in Harrison that he thought was dead.
Jealousy. Ugly, black, irrational jealousy.
He remembered the day the dam broke. It was a Tuesday, six months ago. He had come home early for lunch and walked past the den. The door was ajar.
He saw Emily straddling Michael on the sofa. She was grinding on him, her head thrown back.
Harrison had felt a murderous rage. It wasn't disgust; it was possession. He had stormed in, making up some bullshit excuse about needing the room for a call, effectively chasing Michael out.
He avoided Emily for three days after that. He wouldn't look at her.
Then came the Friday.
Sarah was at a site visit. Michael was at work. Harrison was in the kitchen, aggressively chopping vegetables, trying to bleed out the tension.
"You're jealous," a voice said behind him.
Harrison froze. Emily was leaning against the pantry door, wearing a sundress that buttoned down the front.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harrison gritted out.
"I saw your face when I was with Michael," she said, walking closer. Her voice dropped, becoming predatory. "You know... when I'm with him... when I'm late... I'm thinking about you."
Harrison turned around, knife in hand. "Stop it, Emily."
"I can't," she whispered. She was right in front of him now. She reached out and placed a hand on his chest. "I can't stop remembering San Diego. I can't stop remembering how you felt."
She stepped between his legs. "Michael is... fine. But he isn't you." She looked up at him, her eyes dilated. "I remember your cock, Harrison. It’s the biggest I’ve ever had. I remember how you made me cum non-stop. I remember how you stretched me."
