How do I stop him? How do I stop myself?
When I hear footsteps behind me, I lift my head, still feeling the haze from the alcohol in my system. My father enters and moves across the kitchen before pouring himself a whiskey at the far end of the island. I avoid looking at him, keeping my gaze fixed on the countertop.
The space between us feels charged, especially now when all I want to do is think about Rook, the mess we’ve created, and the anger and confusion I can’t seem to stop. But where did he go after everything? I haven’t seen him since the fight outside, and him not being here feels like a wound I can’t stop picking at.
I hear my father knock back the whiskey with a hiss, the sound of the glass slamming back onto the counter making me jump, my body reacting involuntarily. I squirm in my seat as he rounds the island, his heavy footsteps drawing closer. I can feel his gaze on me even before I dare lift my eyes.
When he finally reaches me, he leans both his forearms on the counter, his face coming close. My stomach tightens, and I stare into his blue eyes, trying to hold my ground. The intensity of his gaze is a force, like he’s searching for something I’m not willing to give.
“Everything okay, princess?” he asks, his voice taking on a fatherly softness that always makes my insides coil uncomfortably.
I don’t know why but hearing him say that makes something inside me want to break. I want to scream that it’s not okay, that everything inside me feels like it’s falling apart, but I don’t. Instead, I stay quiet, a lump forming in my throat.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if I could tell him. If I could say the words and explain how Rook and I—how we can’t seem to escape each other. But then I think of how my father would react. I imagine his face, the fury and disgust that would settle in his eyes. He’d never accept it. He sees Rook as a threat, as much as Rook sees him the same. And me? His daughter, his baby girl—he would never allow us to cross that line. To him, Rook and I are strangely family. End of story.
He watches me, studying me so closely, as if he can see right through my skin. I’ve always hated how well he knows me—how he can tell when I’m hiding something. He’s Ryker Huxley, after all. Known for sniffing out weakness, for tearing down every wall you think you’ve built. There’s no fooling him. Not for long.
I swallow, feeling the lie before it even leaves my lips. He doesn't say anything, but I can feel his eyes lowering, watching the way my throat constricts.
To get him off my back, I force a soft smile, one that’s phony, and shake my head. “I’m fine, Daddy,” I say nervously. “I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long night.”
The smile doesn’t reach my eyes. I can see the hesitation in his, but he doesn’t press further. Not yet. He simply nods, lingering before he leans over, pressing his lips against my forehead.
“Merry Christmas, Ebony. Go get some shut eye and I’ll see you in the morning.”
I stagger down the shadowy upstairs corridor, each step heavy, my mind blurred from the drink. The bathroom door looms ahead like a dark portal. I shove it open, my hands shaking as I flick the light on, flooding the room with harsh brightness. I slam the door shut behind me and kick off my shoes, my body yearning for sleep. The mirror calls me, pullingmy gaze. I’m a mess. Smudged mascara streaks down my face, the result of a night gone too far.
I twist the faucet open and scoop water into my hands, splashing myself with cold water. The shock of it stings, but it doesn’t numb the gnawing feeling inside me. I rub my face, trying to scrub away the evidence of a night I can’t control. When the make-up is gone, I fumble behind me, unclipping my bra and tossing it aside, letting my heavy breasts fall freely in my red dress. I yawn, the room spinning as I flick off the light and step back into the hallway.
The dimness of a distant light from downstairs at the end of the hall is my only guide. My hand skims the walls, searching for the cool metal of a doorknob. I don’t care which room I end up in. It doesn’t matter. There’s so many rooms in this damn Lakehouse. I twist one, the door creaking open and I barely notice the soft glow of Christmas lights tangled around a headboard as I shut the door behind me.
As I move toward the bed, another yawn escapes me, but this time, longer, louder and my eyes scrunch closed. My knees hit the mattress, and I yank the covers back, crawling under before wrapping them tightly around me. But just as I feel I’m about to drift into a deep slumber, something moves behind me.
My eyes snap open, wide, but before I can react, a powerful arm wraps around my waist, dragging me back forcefully against a solid, bare chest. The suffocating weight of a hand presses over my mouth, muffling my breath. Every muscles tenses, my heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline flooding my veins. Rook lifts his head, looking down at my panicked side-profile. Fuck. I’m in his bed by accident.
“Well, well, well. Aren’t you a silly Christmas bunny.” His low growl vibrates against my ear, a warning laced with desire.
His hand suddenly moves down the front of my body and I freeze, but only for a second. His fingers sneak beneath the fabric of my panties, pushing in with a force that makes my stomach flip. My hand shoots out, gripping his thick wrist to stop him, but not enough to truly fight him off. His fingers press harder, through my lips, finding my clit and a shudder runs through my thighs, my body betraying me as a soft moan slips against his hand.
His intentions are clear. He has me now, alone. In his bed. And nothing's going to stop him. He’s finally not taking any more of my resistance.
He pulls his hand out of panties, only to yank my thigh open, exposing me completely, a silent, dominant demand to keep them wide. My breath catches as I meet his dark, predatory gaze, and he slips his hand back inside, his fingers exploring me with a brutality that makes my chest tighten and my pussy throb.
He moves with purpose, no hesitation, no tenderness. Every inch of me is claimed, touched, violated, from front to back—nothing left untouched, nothing left for me to hide.
“See, you’re always waiting—wondering when I’ll drag you to the fucking edge again, when I’ll force it on you so you can surrender because we both know you’ll fall. You want to drown in sin, don’t you, little sister? In me and this twisted fucking hunger we’re not supposed to feed but can’t seem to starve.”
He's not wrong, I can feel it in the roughness of his touch, it ignites something inside me. It floods me, needy and desperate, a wave of arousal and humiliation crashing over me in waves. I can feel myself, shamefully far too wet and eager already, but he doesn’t care. He smears my come, spreads it over me, relishing how fucking soaked he’s making me.
Forbidden, warped desire rips through me, my innocencegradually being pulled from the inside out. This is wrong. So, fucking wrong. This is my big brother. But my body—my traitorous body—burns with the heat of it. It feels like everything I’ve ever wanted, even if I can’t admit it. This is why I’ve tried to avoid him lately. The anger, the hatred, the way he makes me feel so fucking powerless. I can’t stand him sometimes, and yet, here I am. Allowing it.
The moment he realizes I’m enjoying it, my hips bucking instinctively against his hand, begging for more, he removes the one clamped over my mouth. I gasp, desperate to find my voice on instinct, to stop what feels inevitable.
“We can’t—” I whisper, but he’s already on me, his breath hot and sharp as his snarl cuts through the air between us.
“Shut the fuck up before our parents kill us both. You think you can flirt with other guys? Your little cunt is desperate for it, but it will only ever be for me. It always has been and tonight, my bunny, I’m breaking you the fuck in.”
The words snap through me but before I can even draw another breath, his lips crash against mine. The kiss is bruising, desperate, his tongue invading my mouth with a feral hunger. His dominance is too much, and I’m left struggling to keep up. My inexperience is a stark contrast to his, but his intensity and our connection pulls me under, sweeping me away with every flick of his tongue.
