Sunlight cuts through the blinds. Sharp. Relentless. I don’t want it. I don’t want anything. Except maybe for him to stop looking at me like I’m his.
My body aches. A dull, throbbing ache that settles deep in my hips. Every time I shift on the mattress, it reminds me. Reminds me of last night. Reminds me of his name on my lips. Reminds me of how he ruined me.
I pull the sheet up. Cover the bruises on my thighs. The marks on my collarbone. The bite on my shoulder. The ones he left where my pulse jumps.
He left before dawn. Not a word. Just my name against my neck. Just my name. Like a brand. Like a promise. Like a threat.
I swing my legs off the bed. Floor is cold. So is the air. So is everything now.
I shower. Scrub my skin raw. Try to wash off the scent of him. Sandalwood and sweat and something darker. Something that lives in my bones now. Something I can’t scrub away even if I wanted to.
I can’t want to. God help me, I don’t want to.
He acts like nothing happened. Like he didn’t pin me against the wall. Like he didn’t rip my clothes off. Like he didn’t take me so hard I saw stars. Like he didn’t hold my hair back when I cried. Like he didn’t whisper my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.
He’s pouring coffee in the kitchen. Wearing a crisp white shirt. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. Hair perfectly tousled. Not a single hair out of place. The picture of control. The picture of a man who doesn’t have a single thing to prove.
“Morning,” he says. Voice smooth. Calm. Like he’s talking to a stranger. Like we didn’t just tear each other apart in the dark.
I don’t answer. I grab my keys. Walk past him. Feel the heat radiating off his skin. Feel my pulse jump in my throat. Feel my stomach drop.
“You’re working late tonight,” he says. Doesn’t look at me. Just stares out the window. Glass reflecting his sharp jaw. His cold eyes. “Don’t be late. I’ll pick you up.”
I stop. Turn. “I’ll drive myself.”
He finally looks at me. Dark eyes. No warmth. Just possession. Just quiet, unshakable certainty. “Suit yourself.”
I leave. Door clicks shut. I’m breathing like I just ran a marathon.
Because I did. I ran. Right into his arms. Right into his mouth. Right into his fucking soul.
And I hate him for it. I love him for it. I hate that I love him. I hate that I’m already checking my phone for his name. I hate that I know I’ll answer if he calls. I hate that I’m already planning what I’ll wear to his office. What I’ll say. What I’ll let him do.
My car feels too quiet. Too still. I grip the steering wheel. Knuckles white.
Last night happened. I know it did. My body won’t let me forget. Every step I take today sends a jolt through my core. A reminder of how he stretched me. How he held me down. How he made me scream until my throat burned.
But Cole? Cole acts like I’m just another day. Another room. Another thing he owns.
Which I guess I am.
The stepbrother rule used to be a joke. A silly boundary we both pretended to respect. Then he walked in on me in the shower. Then he touched me. Then he took me. Then he looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.
And now he’s playing the detached CEO. The cold, unbothered alpha.
It’s a fucking lie.
I see the way his jaw tightens when I walk past him. I see the way his gaze drops to my mouth. I see the hunger he’s trying to bury under tailored suits and board meetings and quiet rooms and calculated silence.
He’s hurting. I know it. He’s drowning. I know it. But he’s pushing me away. Or pretending to.
Which is exactly why I need to go to his office. I need to look him in the eye. I need to make him say it. Say what he said last night. Say it out loud.
*Mine.*
He called me his. He claimed me. He carved his name into my skin.
And now he’s acting like it was just sex.
Not sex. Never just sex.
I pull into the parking garage. Walk the long corridor. His name is on the door. COLE VANCE. CEO. Stepbrother. Monster. My undoing.
I knock.
“Come in.”
Voice like gravel. Smooth over steel.
I push the door open. He’s on the phone. Not looking at me. Just staring at his monitor. Typing. Efficient. Detached. Perfect.
I wait. Heart hammering. Throat dry.
He hangs up. Finally looks up. Eyes lock on mine. Instant heat. Instant recognition. Instant collapse.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t greet me. Just points to the leather chair across from his desk. “Sit.”
I don’t move. “We need to talk.”
He stands. Walks around the desk. Stops inches from me. Close enough to feel his breath. Close enough to smell him. Close enough to remember how he tasted inside me.
“Talk,” he repeats. Quiet. Dangerous.
“Last night,” I say. Voice shaking. “What was it?”
He steps closer. Towering over me. Muscles flexing under his shirt. “Your place. My place. Wherever we are.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
My hands curl into fists. “You acted like it meant nothing.”
“It meant exactly what it always means.”
“Which is?”
He grabs my wrist. Pulls me against him. Hard. His grip bruises. Perfect. “You’re mine, Emma. Always have been. Always will be. You think I let just anyone walk into my bed? You think I let just anyone inside me?”
My breath hitches. “You didn’t act like it was a big deal this morning.”
“It’s not a big deal. It’s a fact. You don’t need a grand speech for a fact. You just need to accept it.”
I pull back. “I’m not a fact. I’m a person.”
“You’re my person.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’ll say it every day until you stop pretending you don’t want it.”
My chest aches. “I do want it. God help me, I want it. But it’s wrong. You’re my—”
“Stepbrother,” he finishes. Voice rough. “I know. I know the rules. I know what everyone thinks. I don’t give a single fuck about them. You think I care about bloodlines and family trees? I care about you. Only you. You’re all I’ve ever seen.”
My knees buckle. He catches me. Arms like iron. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“Because you’re making it impossible to breathe.”
“Good.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Breathe me in. Remember it. Remember whose air you’re sharing.”
I should push him away. I should walk out. I should remember the rules. The line. The boundary that’s been crossed and burned to ash.
But I don’t.
I lean into him. Let his weight anchor me. Let his heat seep into my bones.
He feels it. Of course he does.
His hand slides to the back of my neck. Fingers tangling in my hair. Tilting my head back. His mouth crashes onto mine.
No warning. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered need.
I kiss him back. Hard. Desperate. Like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing keeping me alive.
His tongue slides against mine. Tasting me. Claiming me.
I whimper. He growls. Pulls back just enough to look at me. Eyes black with lust. With possession. With something raw and terrifyingly vulnerable.
“My office,” he says. Voice ragged. “Now.”
I don’t argue. I follow.
He closes the door behind us.
The click of the lock echoing in the quiet space. Final. Irreversible.
He doesn’t turn on the overhead lights. Just the desk lamp. Casting long shadows across the polished wood. Across his sharp jaw. Across the tense line of his shoulders.
I stand by the door. Heart pounding. Thighs already slick. Just from looking at him. Just from remembering how he filled me. How he stretched me. How he made me scream his name.
He walks slowly. Deliberately. Stops in front of me. Doesn’t touch me yet. Just looks. Studies me. Like he’s memorizing every breath. Every tremor. Every flicker of my pupils.
“You’re wet,” he says. Quiet. Certain.
I swallow. “I can’t help it.”
“Good.” He steps back. Turns. Walks to his desk. “Bend over it.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“You heard me. Over the desk. Hands flat. Ass up. Don’t move until I tell you.”
My cheeks burn. But my body obeys. Always does.
I walk forward. Place my hands on the cool wood. Lean over. Press my chest down. Feel the fabric of my skirt ride up. Feel the breeze on my bare thighs. Feel his gaze like a brand on my back.
He doesn’t rush. He never does. He savors it. Savors me.
I hear the whisper of his belt. The clink of metal. The slide of his jeans.
My pussy clenches. Hard. Aching. Begging.
He steps behind me. One hand on my hip. Squeezing. Hard enough to