Page 1 of Brother’s Protective Claim

1

I’d always felt his eyes on me. Even when I was too naive to understand what that heavy stare meant.

My older brother Ryker watched. Me.

He was two years older, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that always looked like he’d just run his hands through it after a fight. He protected me from everything… bullies at school, creepy boys who came on too thick, and even my own bad decisions.

I sat frozen on that old couch, memories weighing heavy in my chest, the ones of a protective big brother that used to make me feel safe and loved in the simplest way. But lately, those same memories carried an edge, a warmth that spread too low in my belly and made my skin prickle with guilt.

I remembered the time in high school when some asshole cornered me at a party. I didn't know how my brother had known where I was or what happened, but Ryker showed up like a storm, dragged the guy outside, and made sure he never looked my way again.

He’d always been there, my big brother, my shield. But those memories felt twisted now, colored by something deeper and scarier that I didn’t know how to name.

It was like the lines between safety and something hungrier had blurred without me noticing, leaving me restless and confused in my own skin every time he walked into a room.

But lately, that protection felt different. Hungrier.

I was twenty now, home from college for the summer, and the tension between us had thickened like smoke from a raging fire.

Ryker had moved back into the house after a stint doing “security work” that left him with new scars and a sharper edge. He barely spoke to me anymore, but I caught him staring at me every time I looked his way.

At my legs in tiny shorts and the way my tank tops clung when I came back sweaty from runs. The way his eyes would linger on the curve of my neck when I tilted my head back laughing at something stupid on TV or how his jaw would tighten when I stretched on the couch in my sleep shorts.

I told myself it was nothing. Just my messed up imagination running wild because I’d been away at college too long and missed the familiar safety of home. But deep down, my body knew better. It reacted to him in ways it never should for family.

My pulse would quicken at the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, and I’d catch myself wondering what his calloused hands would feel like sliding over my bare skin instead of the rough way I sometimes touched myself alone at night thinking about things I had no business imagining.

But being with my brother was wrong, and I sure as hell couldn’t be with him the way I wanted, so instead of fucking things up, I brought home a guy from the bar. I had a few classes with him last year, and although Max wasn’t the smartest, he was cute enough.

I needed something to ease the arousal I had for my brother, and since Ryker was out of the question, Max would do.

Our parents were out for the night, and I’d taken Max to the basement rec room. We were both half-drunk, making out on the old leather couch. His hand was clumsy under my shirt, fingers pushing inside my bra while I moaned—a totally forced and fake one—softly.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” Max groaned, unzipping his fly to stroke his cock.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut, trying to lose myself in the moment, but all I could picture was Ryker’s rougher hands, his stronger grip, and the way his scent always lingered in the house like a constant reminder. Max’s touch felt wrong, mechanical, nothing like the fire I imagined when I thought about the man I wasn’t supposed to want.

The contrast made my stomach twist with guilt, but my body was slick and aching anyway, betraying me with every awkward grope from Max while my mind was fixed on the one person who was completely off-limits.

I was pressing my chest into his hand, my thoughts on Ryker and him doing this to me, when the basement door slammed open.

Ryker stood there in nothing but gray sweatpants, chest heaving, eyes black with rage. The light from the hallway carved shadows across his abs and the obvious rage on his face as he stared at Max.

“Get the fuck out,” he snarled.

Max scrambled up, zipping his pants. “Dude, what the⁠—”

When Max didn’t move fast enough, Ryker grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him toward the stairs. “Touch her again and I’ll break every bone in your body. Out. Now.”

The door slammed behind Max, and his frantic footsteps could be heard through the house and out the front door. Silence crashed over the room. I sat there, skirt hiked up, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Ryker’s gaze dropped to my disheveled clothes. His jaw flexed. “You let him put his hands on you?”

My face burned. “Ryker… it’s not⁠—”

He crossed the room in two strides, towering over me. One big hand wrapped around my throat, not squeezing just holding.

Possessive.