Sleep refused to come.
I tossed and turned in my bed, sheets sticking to my skin, and the heat of the night was nothing compared to the heat still simmering inside me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—Adrian. His smirk. His eyes when locked on mine. The way his body had pinned me against the wall yesterday like I belonged there.
I hated him. Or at least, I told myself I did. But my body told another story. My thighs ached with the memory of his hand sliding just a little too low. My lips tingled from the kiss I'd let happen. Shame curled inside me, but it was tangled with something darker—want.
Finally, I gave up. I slipped out of bed, pulling on a thin sleep shirt and shorts, and padded barefoot down the hallway. Maybe some water would clear my head.
The house was quiet, the kind of silence that makes you hold your breath. I kept my steps soft, careful not to wake anyone.
When I reached the kitchen, I flicked on the small light above the stove. The glow bathed the room in gold. I poured a glass of water, lifted it to my lips, and let the cool liquid soothe the dryness in my throat.
But then—
I felt it. That strange pull in the air, that prickling awareness that meant only one thing.
He was here.
I turned, and my breath caught.
Adrian was leaning in the doorway like he owned the place. Shirt unbuttoned halfway, hair messy like he'd just rolled out of bed. His arms folded, that smirk painted on his lips.
My glass nearly slipped from my hand. "What are you doing up?" I whispered, voice too soft, too guilty.
His eyes dragged down my body, lingering far too long on the hem of my shorts. "Couldn't sleep," he said. His tone was low, teasing, but there was steel underneath. "Looks like I'm not the only one."
I turned back to the counter, gripping my glass like a lifeline. "It's just water. That's all."
He pushed off the doorway, his footsteps slow, deliberate. "You lie so easily now."
I swallowed hard. "I don't—"
Before I could finish, he was behind me. His heat pressed into my back, his hand sliding to the counter beside mine. Trapping me.
I stiffened. "Adrian…"
"Shh," he murmured, his breath brushing my neck. "Don't pretend you weren't waiting for me."
My pulse thudded in my ears. I should've pulled away. I should've screamed. But instead, my body leaned back, betraying me all over again.
His chest brushed my back, firm and unyielding. I tried to step forward, but his hand came down flat on the counter, blocking me in.
"You think I don't notice?" His voice was a dark whisper. "The way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. The way you run, but you always end up right where I want you."
I gripped the glass tighter, knuckles white. "You're imagining things."
He laughed under his breath, low and dangerous. "Am I?"
In one swift move, he plucked the glass from my hand and set it aside. Then both his hands were on my hips, pulling me back until I could feel the hard line of him against me.
I gasped, my body stiffening. "Adrian—"
"Say my name like that again," he growled against my ear, "and I'll take you right here on this counter."
Heat flushed through me, shame tangled with a dangerous thrill. I twisted in his grip, but it only brought me face-to-face with him. His eyes burned into mine, dark and hungry.
"Please," I whispered, though even I didn't know if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.
His thumb traced the corner of my mouth, slow and deliberate. "God, you're beautiful when you beg."
And then his lips crushed mine.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful. His mouth claimed me like he had every right, tongue pushing past my lips, his hand sliding up my side until his fingers brushed the edge of my breast. My knees weakened, my body melting into his even as my mind screamed wrong, wrong, wrong.
I pushed at his chest, but he only groaned against my lips, pressing me harder into the counter. His other hand slipped lower, under the hem of my shorts. My whole body jerked in shock, a whimper breaking free.
"Adrian," I gasped when he let me breathe. "Stop—we can't—"
"You don't want me to stop," he cut in, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged. "You've wanted this since the first time I touched you."
"No," I tried again, but the word cracked, weak.
His hand tightened on my thigh, lifting it slightly, forcing me open against the counter. His mouth captured mine again, swallowing the sound of my protest, until—
Footsteps.
We both froze.
Adrian didn't release me. His grip stayed firm, his lips hovering over mine. His eyes gleamed with something wicked.
"Don't move," he whispered.
The footsteps grew closer. A soft humming drifted down the hall—our stepmother.
Panic shot through me. I shoved at Adrian's chest again, harder this time. But he only smirked, brushing his lips against my ear.
"Let her see," he murmured.
The humming grew louder, closer. Any second, she'd step into the kitchen.
I shoved Adrian again, panic bubbling in my chest. "Adrian, please," I hissed.
But he only leaned in, lips grazing my jaw, his breath hot against my skin. "Stay still," he ordered, voice low and rough. "Or she'll know."
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. His hand was still on my thigh, his body pressed tight to mine, and I couldn't make him move.
The doorknob rattled.
And then—our stepmother appeared in the doorway, her silk robe tied loosely around her waist, hair messy from sleep. She paused, frowning at the sight of us.
"What are you two doing up?" she asked, suspicion lacing her voice.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. My face burned as I scrambled to grab the glass of water Adrian had set aside. "I—I just couldn't sleep," I stammered, forcing a smile.
Her gaze flicked between us. Adrian stood casually beside me now, leaning against the counter like nothing had happened, expression smooth and unreadable.
"I was just keeping her company," he said lazily, his tone dripping with false innocence. "Making sure she wasn't scared of the dark."
I shot him a look, but he didn't even glance at me.
Our stepmother narrowed her eyes. "Mm-hm. Well, it's late. Go back to bed, both of you."
"Yes, ma'am," I said quickly, clutching the glass like it could anchor me.
She lingered a moment longer, as if debating whether to press further, before finally turning and padding back down the hall. Her humming faded into the distance.
The instant she was gone, I sagged against the counter, my whole body trembling. Relief, fear, shame—all of it tangled in my chest.
But Adrian wasn't finished.
He stepped back into my space, trapping me once more. His lips brushed my ear, soft and taunting. "You see how close that was?" His hand slid up my side again, fingertips grazing the underside of my breast. "One more second, and she would've caught us. Do you know what that would mean?"
I swallowed hard, throat dry. "She'd hate us. She'd throw me out—"
He chuckled darkly. "No. It would mean she'd finally see what you are." His hand dropped lower, resting on my hip possessively. "Mine."
I froze, breath caught in my throat.
He tilted my chin up with one finger, forcing me to look at him. His eyes burned, the hunger in them almost feral. "And the sick part, Lila?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "You like it. You like being this close to being caught. You like knowing it's wrong."
I shook my head, but the heat between my thighs betrayed me. My lips parted, but no words came.
Adrian's mouth hovered over mine, so close I could taste him. "Say it," he demanded softly. "Say you like it."
"I—" My voice cracked. I couldn't.
Footsteps echoed again, faint this time, but enough to make me jolt. Adrian only smirked, leaning away at last.
"Run back to bed, little sister," he murmured. "But don't think you can hide from me. Next time, I won't let you off so easily."
I stumbled back to my room, clutching the glass of water like it was the only thing holding me together. My legs shook beneath me, every step unsteady, as though I'd just run a marathon I never trained for.
The moment I shut my door, I pressed my back to it and slid down, heart racing, skin burning.
What had just happened?
I buried my face in my hands, trying to erase the feel of his touch—the heat of his palm on my thigh, the way his breath had seared my skin. But no matter how hard I tried, it clung to me. His voice echoed in my head, low and commanding.
You like it.
I shook my head violently. No. I hated it. I hated him. I hated the way my body betrayed me every time he got too close.
And yet… my thighs pressed together, unbidden, searching for relief from a heat I didn't want to admit to. Shame and desire tangled, choking me.
I crawled into bed, pulling the covers over me like they could shield me from him. My chest ached with confusion, with guilt. He was my stepbrother. This was sick. Wrong. Forbidden.
And still, I couldn't stop remembering the way his lips had nearly brushed mine. The way danger had tasted sweeter than any dream.
I shut my eyes, desperate for sleep. But minutes stretched into hours, my body restless, my mind replaying every second of his touch.
Then—
A soft knock on my door.
I froze. My pulse spiked.
"Lila," his voice came, barely above a whisper, but I heard it clear as day.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending not to hear, not to breathe. Maybe if I stayed silent, he'd go away.
Another knock, slower this time. "Open up."
My throat went dry. I curled tighter beneath my blanket, as though the thin fabric could make me invisible.
Silence.
And then—the creak of footsteps retreating down the hall.
Relief rushed through me, but it didn't last long. Because just as my heartbeat began to slow, I felt it—his presence.
Not outside my door. Not in the hall. But in me.
He lingered like smoke after a fire, suffocating and intoxicating all at once.
I turned onto my side, fists clenched in the sheets. A part of me wanted to run, to scream, to tell someone. Another part wanted to open that door, let him in, let him finish what he'd started.
Tears stung my eyes. Because no matter which choice I made, I knew one thing for certain: Adrian had already crossed the line.
And I had followed.