The bass from the party was still echoing in my head when I stumbled through the front door. My heels dangled from one hand, my clutch from the other, and my dress was riding too high on my thighs. I didn't care. All I wanted was a bed—any bed.
The house was dark, quiet, except for the faint hum of the fridge. My stepmother's car wasn't in the driveway, which meant she and Dad were out for the weekend like they'd said. That left only Adrian.
Adrian, my stepbrother. Adrian, the one person in this house I avoided like a shadow because just looking at him stirred things in me I didn't want to name.
I whispered his name under my breath, testing the air. Nothing. His door was closed, the hallway silent. I took it as a sign that he was probably asleep. Good.
My vision was blurry from the vodka shots, and I didn't bother with lights. I pushed open the nearest door, the one I thought was mine. The familiar scent hit me—clean linen, a faint trace of cologne, sharper than the floral body mist I usually sprayed. I should have noticed, should have realized. But all I felt was the softness of the sheets as I collapsed into them.
The bed was warm, lived-in, not the crisp emptiness of mine. I buried my face in the pillow, groaning at how good it felt. My body melted into the mattress.
I didn't even notice when the door creaked open again.
"Lila?" His voice was low, rough, like he had just woken up.
My eyes shot open. My head jerked toward the sound. He stood there, the faint hallway light spilling over his bare chest, sweatpants riding low on his hips. Adrian.
Shit.
I sat up too quickly, the room spinning. "I—I thought this was my room." My voice came out weak, slurred.
His mouth curved, half amused, half dangerous. "Your room's down the hall." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, muscles shifting under his skin. "But you knew that, didn't you?"
Heat crept up my neck. "No, I—" I swallowed hard. My excuses tangled in my throat.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator approaching prey. My heart hammered. The bed suddenly felt too big, too intimate.
"You smell like vodka," he said softly, stopping right at the edge of the mattress. His gaze lingered on me, trailing down my bare legs, the hem of my dress riding scandalously high. "And trouble."
I should've gotten up. I should've run back to my room. But my body didn't move. The alcohol buzz hummed through me, loosening everything—my fear, my restraint, my common sense.
Adrian tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if he was deciding whether to send me packing or let me stay. The silence between us burned hotter than any touch.
Adrian's eyes lingered on me longer than they should have. Too long for a stepbrother. Too long for anyone who was supposed to see me as family.
"You're in the wrong bed, Lila." His tone was calm, but there was an edge under it, something dangerous.
"I told you—I thought—" My excuse faltered again. My mouth was dry, and my heart was slamming against my ribs.
He smirked, the corner of his lips twitching upward. "Funny. Out of all the rooms in this house, you had to stumble into mine."
I hated the way his voice sent shivers racing down my spine. Hated the way my body reacted when his gaze dropped to my legs again.
"I'll leave," I whispered, trying to swing my legs off the bed.
But his hand landed on my thigh before I could stand. Warm. Firm. Claiming.
The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp.
"You should," he murmured, his thumb brushing against my bare skin. "But you won't."
I stared at him, stunned. My brain screamed at me to push him away, to run. But my body leaned toward him like it wanted more.
"You're drunk," he added, though he didn't move his hand. If anything, his grip tightened just slightly. "Maybe you don't even realize what you're doing."
"I do," I said too quickly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
His brows rose, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then his smirk returned, darker this time. "Do you?"
I swallowed hard. His hand slid just a little higher, just enough to make my pulse thunder in my ears. My skin burned under his touch, every nerve screaming awake.
"Adrian…" His name left my lips softer than I intended, like a confession.
He leaned closer, his face only inches from mine now. His cologne wrapped around me—spiced, masculine, addictive. "Say my name like that again," he whispered, his breath hot against my cheek.
I shook my head, trembling. "This is wrong."
"Exactly," he said. His lips brushed the shell of my ear, feather-light. "That's what makes it so fucking tempting."
A tiny sound escaped me, half protest, half need. My thighs clenched together under his hand, betraying me.
He chuckled low in his throat, like he could read every thought running through me. "You're shaking," he murmured, his voice husky. "Are you scared of me… or of yourself?"
My eyes locked on his. Dark. Intense. Unforgiving. And I couldn't answer, because both were true.
The silence stretched, thick with tension. His thumb traced slow circles on my thigh, dragging me deeper into the fire.
"Tell me to stop," he said finally, his voice rough. "One word, and I'll walk away."
I opened my mouth. The word sat on my tongue. Stop. Stop. Stop.
But it never came out.
I didn't say it. I couldn't.
Adrian's smirk deepened as if he'd already known my silence was the answer. His hand slid higher, fingers brushing dangerously close to the edge of my dress. My breath caught, chest rising and falling too fast.
"Thought so," he murmured.
Before I could think, his lips were on mine. Hard. Demanding. Nothing about it was gentle—it was raw, claiming, like he'd been holding himself back for too long.
A startled sound escaped me, but my body betrayed me again, melting into his kiss. His tongue slid past my lips, tasting of heat and want, and my fingers curled into the sheets just to keep myself steady.
He pulled back only an inch, his forehead resting against mine. His breathing was ragged. "You taste like vodka and sin."
I should've been horrified. I should've shoved him away. But instead, I grabbed his arm, needing him closer.
That was all the permission he needed.
His hand pushed the hem of my dress higher, exposing the soft skin of my thighs. His palm was rough against the smoothness of me, and every stroke sent sparks shooting through my body.
"Adrian…" My voice cracked, half a plea, half a warning.
He kissed me again before I could finish, his tongue tangling with mine, swallowing the sounds I didn't even realize I was making. His other hand cupped the back of my neck, keeping me where he wanted me, deepening the kiss until I was dizzy.
The sheets tangled under us as he pressed me back against the mattress. His body hovered over mine, heavy and hot, his chest brushing against the thin fabric of my dress. I could feel everything—the hard lines of him, the hunger rolling off him in waves.
"This is insane," I whispered against his lips, even as my legs parted instinctively when his hand slid between them.
"Insane," he agreed, his mouth trailing down to my jaw, my throat, leaving fire in its wake. "And you're not stopping me."
I gasped when his fingers pressed against the thin fabric of my panties, rubbing slow circles that made my hips jerk up without my permission.
"God, you're already wet," he groaned, his voice rough with desire. "For me."
Shame and need tangled inside me, but I couldn't deny it. My body was screaming the truth he already knew.
"Adrian… please…" I didn't even know what I was begging for—release, mercy, or more.
He growled low in his throat, dragging my panties aside with one hand while his mouth captured mine again.
Every part of me knew this was wrong. But every nerve, every heartbeat, every breath begged him not to stop.
Adrian's fingers slid against me, slow at first, then firmer, circling exactly where I needed them most. A sharp cry slipped from my lips, muffled against his mouth as he kissed me harder, deeper, like he wanted to swallow every sound.
My back arched off the bed, my body completely betraying the protests still faintly ringing in my head. Every stroke, every movement of his hand made it harder to think, harder to breathe.
"Look at you," he muttered against my throat, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "Squirming under me, begging without even saying a word."
"Adrian—" I gasped, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
He groaned at the sound of his name, fingers working me faster now, rougher, pushing me right to the edge. My legs trembled, thighs tightening around his wrist as my whole body clenched.
"That's it," he coaxed, his voice low and wicked. "Let go for me. Right here, in my bed."
It hit me before I could fight it. The wave crashed hard, ripping a moan from me that filled the room. My body convulsed, pleasure sparking through every nerve as I came undone beneath his hand.
He didn't stop until I collapsed against the sheets, breathing ragged, skin slick with sweat. When he finally pulled his hand away, his fingers glistened in the faint light. He held them up, watching me with dark, hungry eyes.
"Fuck," he muttered, licking his fingers slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact. "Sweetest thing I've ever tasted."
My stomach flipped, heat flooding me all over again. I should've been disgusted. But all I could do was watch, my lips parted, body trembling for more.
He leaned over me again, his body pressing down until I could feel the hard length of him against my hip through the thin fabric of his sweats. His breath was hot on my ear.
"You feel what you do to me?" he whispered, grinding against me just enough to make my toes curl.
I whimpered, my hands instinctively clutching his waist.
"This isn't over, Lila." His voice was rough, raw with restraint. "Not even close."
And then he pulled away—suddenly, completely—leaving me breathless and aching. He stood at the edge of the bed, chest heaving, eyes locked on mine.
"Sleep in here again," he warned, his tone darker than I'd ever heard it, "and I won't stop next time."
The door clicked shut behind him, and I lay there in his sheets, my body still trembling, my lips swollen from his kisses.
I knew I should run, should hate him, should hate myself. But all I could think about was how badly I wanted to climb into his bed again.