The air in the small apartment was heavy with the smell of rain and the faint sweetness of wine left over from the night before. It was supposed to be a quiet evening movie, snacks, and the comfortable warmth of being wrapped up in my girlfriend's arms. But she wasn't here. She'd run out to pick up something she'd forgotten at work, leaving me alone.
Well, almost alone.
Her brother was here.
Ethan.
The name alone was enough to make my chest tighten. He wasn't supposed to be in town. My girlfriend had mentioned him only in passing her overprotective, slightly cocky older brother who lived a few hours away. I'd met him once at a family dinner, the kind where I was too focused on making a good impression to notice much more than his firm handshake and the sharp way his eyes seemed to read every inch of me.
But now, here he was, lounging on the far side of the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, his posture loose but somehow commanding all the space in the room. He was nothing like the polite stranger I'd met months ago. Tonight, his dark hair was a little messy, his shirt clung to his chest like it had been caught in the rain, and he had a glass of wine balanced on his knee.
"You're awfully quiet," he said, his voice low, carrying that subtle rasp that made it feel like a secret.
I tore my gaze away from him and focused on the TV, though I couldn't have said what was playing. "Just waiting for her to get back."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You always this nervous when she's gone?"
I shifted in my seat. "I'm not nervous."
"Mm." He sipped his wine, eyes never leaving me. "You're fidgeting. And you keep looking at the door like you expect her to walk in any second and catch you doing something you shouldn't."
The heat in my cheeks had nothing to do with the wine I'd been nursing earlier. "I'm not doing anything."
"Not yet." His tone was teasing, but there was something else there. Something that made my stomach knot and my pulse trip over itself.
I stood, telling myself it was just to put some space between us, but as I passed him, his hand shot out and caught my wrist. Not tight, just enough to stop me. My breath hitched.
"You've been avoiding looking at me all night," he said. "Why?"
"I haven't."
"You have." He leaned back slightly, his grip still warm around my skin. "You think I don't notice? The way you go stiff when I sit too close? The way your eyes linger for just a little too long before you look away?"
My throat felt dry. I should have pulled my hand back, but I didn't. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before meeting my eyes again. "What would she say if she knew?"
My pulse hammered in my ears. "She doesn't need to know anything."
He smiled slowly, letting go of my wrist, only to brush his fingertips along the inside of my arm as I moved past him. Goosebumps erupted in their wake. I should have left the room. I should have done anything except stand there, rooted in place, while the space between us seemed to shrink.
The rain outside picked up, drumming against the windows, and the sound filled the silence between us.
"You're trouble," I said, but my voice came out softer than I intended.
"You have no idea," he murmured.
And then he stood, closing the gap between us in a few unhurried steps. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne now spice and something darker, warmer. My back met the wall, and he stopped just close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.
"Ethan…" His name tasted strange on my tongue, forbidden.
"You can tell me to stop," he said, his voice a whisper that curled down my spine.
I didn't tell him to stop.
His hand slid to my waist, fingers splaying possessively as he leaned in, his mouth brushing the corner of mine without quite claiming it. It was maddening, the way he hovered there, his breath mingling with mine, making my head spin.
"Say it," he murmured.
My hands had found his chest without me realizing it, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palms. I could feel my resolve slipping, crumbling with every second he stayed so close.
"I don't know what you want me to say," I whispered.
"Yes, you do." His thumb traced slow circles over my hip. "I want you to admit you've been thinking about this. About me."
The truth hovered at the edge of my lips, dangerous and intoxicating.
"I haven't," I lied.
He chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "Then you won't mind if I test that."
And then his mouth was on mine firm, deliberate, stealing the breath from my lungs. I gasped against him, and he took the opening, deepening the kiss until the world blurred into nothing but the heat of him and the rough scrape of his stubble against my skin.
The glass he'd been holding earlier clinked softly as he set it down on the nearby table, never breaking the kiss. His hands roamed now, tracing the line of my spine, pulling me flush against him. My fingers curled into his shirt, clutching like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
When he finally pulled back, it was only to drag his lips along my jaw, down to the hollow of my throat. My head tipped back of its own accord, a soft sound escaping me before I could stop it.
"You taste like sin," he said against my skin.
"And you're supposed to be my girlfriend's brother," I breathed.
"That's what makes it so good."
The sound of the door unlocking snapped reality back into focus.
We sprang apart just as my girlfriend stepped inside, shaking rain from her hair and smiling like nothing was out of place. Ethan, effortlessly casual, picked up his wine again and sank back into the couch, while I stood there, heart pounding, trying to catch my breath.
But as she chattered about her forgotten files, I could still feel the ghost of his hands on me and I knew this wasn't over.