Breakfast with Mom should've been safe. Normal.
She hummed happily as she laid out plates of toast and eggs, chattering about the sale she caught at the grocery store, completely unaware that my skin still burned from what Adrian had done the night before.
I sat stiffly at the table, trying to focus on my food, trying to breathe.
Then Adrian slid into the chair beside me.
Not across from me, not at the end of the table like usual—beside me. So close his thigh brushed mine under the table.
I froze.
"Eat up," Mom said cheerfully, pouring orange juice. "I bought those muffins you like, Lila."
"Thanks, Mom," I mumbled, keeping my eyes on my plate.
And then it happened.
A slow, deliberate stroke against my leg. Adrian's foot was sliding up my calf, teasing me under the tablecloth where Mom couldn't see.
I jerked, almost dropping my fork.
"You okay, honey?" Mom asked, glancing up.
I forced a smile, my heart in my throat. "Yeah—just, um, hot coffee."
Adrian bit into his toast, chewing casually, eyes locked on me. His foot slid higher. My body betrayed me, heat pooling between my thighs at the simple touch.
I tried to shift away, but his hand landed on my thigh under the table, heavy and warm. My breath hitched.
Mom didn't notice. She was too busy rummaging in a grocery bag.
Adrian's thumb brushed circles against my skin, inching higher. My pulse hammered in my ears. I wanted to shove him away, but one wrong move and Mom would notice.
"Lila," Mom said suddenly, pulling me out of the haze. "You'll help Adrian in the garage later, won't you? He's got some boxes that need sorting."
Adrian's grin widened, slow and wolfish. His fingers squeezed my thigh possessively.
"Of course she will," he said smoothly, not taking his eyes off me. "Wouldn't want to disappoint."
My face burned. I forced another tight smile, stabbing at my eggs. "Sure."
Mom beamed. "Perfect. I'll feel so much better with the two of you helping each other out."
If only she knew what kind of "help" he'd already given me.
Adrian's hand lingered until Mom turned back to the sink. Then he leaned just close enough for me to feel his breath against my ear.
"See you in the garage," he whispered, voice dark with promise.
My fork slipped from my fingers, clattering against the plate. Mom glanced over, eyebrows raised, but I just muttered something about being clumsy.
Adrian only smirked, eating like nothing had happened, while I sat there trembling, knowing I was already caught in his trap.
The garage door creaked as I pushed it open. It smelled faintly of oil and old cardboard, the dim light casting long shadows over stacked boxes.
I told myself I was here to help, like Mom asked. Nothing else.
But Adrian was already there, leaning against the workbench like he'd been waiting for me. Arms crossed, eyes dark, mouth curved into that wicked half-smile that made my stomach knot.
"You took your time," he said, his voice a low rumble that slid right under my skin.
"I was busy," I snapped, grabbing the nearest box just to have something to do.
He closed the distance in two strides, plucking the box from my hands and setting it aside. "Don't bother pretending. You know why you're here."
My back hit the cold metal of the workbench as he stepped closer. I swallowed hard, heart hammering. "We're supposed to be organizing, Adrian."
"Oh, we'll organize." His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "Starting with you."
"Stop it," I whispered, though my body betrayed me, leaning into his touch.
"Say it like you mean it." His mouth hovered a breath from mine, teasing, daring me.
I pushed at his chest, but his body was a wall—solid, unyielding. He caught my wrists easily, pinning them above my head against the bench. Heat rushed through me, leaving me trembling.
"Adrian—someone could come in—"
"Then you better keep your voice down," he murmured, his lips brushing my jaw.
My eyes fluttered shut as his free hand slid under my shirt, fingers splaying across my stomach, inching higher. My breath hitched, the world tilting beneath me.
"Tell me to let go," he whispered, his mouth ghosting over the corner of mine. "One word, and I'll stop."
But the word stuck in my throat. My pulse thundered, my thighs clenching around a want I didn't want to name.
He groaned softly, reading me too well. "That's what I thought."
His thumb grazed the underside of my bra, sending sparks shooting through me. My hips shifted instinctively, betraying me again.
And then—
"Kids?" Mom's voice rang faintly from the kitchen door. "You two managing out there?"
Panic surged, but Adrian didn't let me go. His eyes burned into mine, his smirk dangerous and sure.
"Better than managing," he murmured. His hips pressed into mine, hard, letting me feel exactly what I was doing to him.
I bit back a gasp, shaking my head frantically. "Adrian," I mouthed, desperate.
But he only leaned closer, his voice a promise against my lips. "One day soon, you won't ask me to stop."
The house was quiet.
Mom had gone to bed hours ago, her door shut tight down the hall. I tossed and turned, sheets tangled around me, body restless. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't sleep.
Finally, I gave up. My throat was dry, and maybe cold water would help.
I padded downstairs in my tank top and shorts, careful to keep each step light. The kitchen was dark, with only the faint glow of the fridge when I opened it. I poured a glass, the cool rim pressing to my lips.
"You couldn't stay away, could you?"
The voice came from the shadows.
I nearly dropped the glass, spinning around. Adrian leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes glinting in the faint light. He looked like he belonged to the dark, dangerous, and unreadable.
"What the hell?" I hissed, clutching the glass tighter. "You scared me."
He smirked. "Funny. You're the one sneaking around half-dressed."
Heat crawled up my neck. "I was just getting water."
He pushed off the counter, moving closer, slow and deliberate. "Sure you were."
I backed up until my hips bumped the fridge. The cold metal seeped through my thin clothes, contrasting the heat pouring off him as he stopped inches away.
"Adrian…" My voice cracked.
He braced one hand against the fridge beside my head, boxing me in. "You keep running, Lila. But every time, you end up right where I want you."
"I don't want this." The lie sounded weak even to me.
He chuckled, leaning down so his mouth brushed the shell of my ear. "Your body says otherwise."
His free hand slid down my arm, fingers tracing until they found my hip. He gripped it hard, pulling me closer until I could feel him—hard, insistent, pressing against me through the thin fabric of our clothes.
My breath hitched, knees trembling.
"Adrian, please…" I whispered, not sure if I was begging him to stop or begging him not to.
His lips grazed my neck, a hot, wet trail that made me shudder. "One of these nights," he murmured, voice rough, "I'm not gonna stop. And you're not gonna want me to."
Footsteps creaked overhead. Mom, shifting in her sleep.
We froze. My heart pounded so loud I swore she could hear it.
Adrian pulled back slightly, eyes burning into mine, daring, promising. He dragged his thumb across my bottom lip, slow and possessive.
"Next time, Lila," he whispered, so soft it felt like a secret carved into my skin. "No interruptions."
And then he was gone, slipping back into the shadows, leaving me against the fridge—shaking, burning, and terrified of how much I craved the next time.
I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me and pressed my back to it, chest rising and falling like I had run a marathon. My lips still tingled where his thumb had dragged across them, my skin buzzing like every nerve had been rewired.
I shouldn't feel like this. I couldn't.
He was forbidden. He was wrong. He was my stepbrother.
And yet, my body was betraying me at every turn.
I collapsed onto the bed, pulling the blanket over me as if it could smother the heat still coursing through me. My legs pressed tight together, desperate, restless, my mind replaying every second of the kitchen encounter.
The way he cornered me.
The rough grip on my hip.
The promise in his voice that someday he wouldn't stop.
A shiver rippled through me.
I hated him. I hated the way he could unravel me with just a look. But God, part of me wanted him to make good on that promise.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I ignored it at first, squeezing my eyes shut.
Buzz. Buzz.
With a groan, I reached for it, unlocking the screen.
Adrian.
The single name on the screen made my stomach flip. My thumb hovered over the message notification before finally opening it.
Can't stop thinking about you.
My heart lurched.
Another one followed before I could even breathe.
Next time, you won't get to walk away.
I dropped the phone onto the bed like it burned, clutching the blanket to my chest. My entire body was on fire again, my pulse racing so fast I thought it might break through my skin.
Why was I letting him do this to me? Why couldn't I stop?
Because some part of me didn't want to.
I buried my face into the pillow, muffling the sound of my own ragged breathing. Tomorrow, I'd avoid him. I had to.
But deep down, I already knew it wouldn't matter.
Adrian always got what he wanted.
And what he wanted was me.