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😍What happens next👉Click Here to read on👉

I didn’t move. I just stared straight ahead, my heart pounding so loudly I swore Damian could hear it from across the room. But there was no hiding the heat crawling up my neck, the way my pants dripped wet because of Tyson, his twin brother, the one I’d only just met, the one who should never have touched me like this. God, what was I doing? Damian was right fucking there! Watching a movie, oblivious! Yet I was letting his twin brother finger me under the table while I sat on his thighs like some desperate slut. “Go on,” Tyson growled as he withdrew his fingers to the very tips, teasing my entrance before plunging them back into my sodden heat. “Tell me to stop.” Just like last time, I didn’t. The word lodged in my throat as a slutty little moan tumbled from my lips while he dragged his fingers up to my clit, circling it with maddening precision. “You won’t tell me to stop, mhm?” he taunted, his breath hot against my ear. “Do you like it when I touch you while Damian isn’t looking?” he asked as he pumped into me hard and deep, making my thighs tremble while swirling his fingers around my swollen clit. “I can feel how fucking wet you are at being fingered by the man you claim to love brother while he’s twenty feet away. You'd let me pull those panties aside and fuck you right here, wouldn’t you? Bend you over this table and fill you up with my cock until you’re screaming my name instead of his.” “No,” I lied, despite my body betraying me—my hips rocking subtly into his hand. He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his body as he pressed a third finger into me without warning. The sudden stretch made me gasp and he kicked my heels further apart under the table. “That’s it, Riley,” he murmured, his free hand sliding up to pinch my nipple through my shirt, twisting just hard enough to draw a whimper. “Show me what a little slut you really are. Clench around my fingers like you’re imagining it’s my cock splitting you open.” “How about you shut the fuck up!” I hissed, even though my pussy clenched around him like it was begging for more. My face burned brighter. I hated how much I loved it. Hated how my hips kept rolling back, chasing the filthy rhythm of his fingers. “Now tell me, Riley,” he whispered into my ears, “which one of us are you thinking of now?” He shoved his fingers deeper, curling them just right, hitting that perfect spot that made my vision blur. “Me... or my brother?” My lips trembled, parted on a broken moan I barely swallowed. Say Damian. Say Damian, you idiot! But the words wouldn’t come. All I could feel was Tyson—his thick fingers pumping into me, his thumb grinding against my clit, the way my body was betraying every secret I’d ever tried to bury. But before I could force a lie past my teeth, Damian turned. He frowned at first, confused, and then I saw it happen: the realization, the way the color drained from his face as the truth slid into place. His eyes moved between us, searching, and finding too much. He knows. Oh, God—he knows. The silence that followed was unbearable. Tyson chuckled, not even bothering to pull his hand from between my legs. “You weren’t going to do anything about it,” he said, loud enough for Damian to hear, “so I stepped up.” His fingers twisted inside me, a deliberate thrust that made my knees buckle and a moan rip from my throat. “Tell him, Mallory. Tell my brother whose fingers are making you drip all over this chair.” Yeah… I’m fucked! CHAPTER 1: An Ex-Convict?? “You’re going to be living with an ex-convict?? Riley, are you insane!” I winced as Wanda’s voice sliced through her tiny apartment. She was standing by her open closet door, hair scraped into a messy pineapple bun, staring at me like she genuinely couldn’t tell if she should pray for me or smack me. Her disbelief was practically fogging up the mirror I was leaning in front of as I clasped my only decent black bra. “It’s not like that,” I muttered, adjusting a strap while I dug around for the matching underwear. “He’s Damian’s twin brother. He literally has nowhere else to go. Damian and I are already roommates, so what’s one more person?” “He’s not a stray cat, Riley!” she snapped, flopping backward onto her mattress. “When is he even being released?” I froze, suddenly fascinated by the inside of my overnight bag. “Riley?” “He… already got released.” She stared. “Okay… when?” I braced myself. “Last week.” The silence that followed was so sharp I could hear the tiny hum of her mini-fridge. Then Wanda shot upright, eyes wide. “A week? And you didn’t think to mention this tiny detail?” I shrugged, pulling a red wrap dress off her hanger. “I figured Damian might want some private time to catch up with his brother. That’s why I crashed here.” “That’s why you insisted on staying here,” she corrected, voice climbing. “Jesus Christ, Riley. The things you do for love.” Heat rushed up my neck. “Stop saying that. Damian and I are just friends,” I said and she rolled her eyes. Because, yeah—fine. Everyone knew about my embarrassingly one-sided love for Damian. Well… everyone except Damian, because apparently he was gifted with the rare ability to be both observant and oblivious at the exact same time. But something had changed lately. Actually changed. Last week we were on the couch sharing a cheap bottle of wine after a twelve-hour cram session for his real estate licensing exam when he’d said, out of nowhere, “I think I’m done with the flings, you know? I want something real this time.” He didn’t even look at me when he said it, just kept staring at the TV like the admission slipped out by accident. But that one little sentence woke up some ancient, dusty hope I’d given up on years ago. After five years of being the safe friend, the reliable one… maybe I finally had a chance. Which was exactly why I was shimmying into a dress that showed more cleavage than I usually approved of before midnight, getting ready to walk into a welcome-home party for a man who’d spent the last seven years in prison for murder. I’m an excellent decision-maker. “I’m out,” I told her, grabbing my purse and keys before she had time to start round two of the lecture. She followed me to the door anyway. “Text me when you get there. And if anything feels weird, you call me. I’ve got 911 on speed dial and a baseball bat with your name on it.” I laughed despite myself. “Love you too.” The drive home took twenty minutes but honestly, it felt like two, and by the time I turned onto our street, I could hear the bass from the party thumping half a block away. Damian never did anything halfway. When I parked, people were already spilling across the lawn with red cups in hand. Laughter drifted through the open windows, and the front door was wide open. A few neighbors waved as I walked past. I slid into the spot behind Mrs. Lowry’s ancient Corolla and sat there a moment, gripping the steering wheel. The dress suddenly felt too tight, and my chest too warm. I smoothed the fabric, took a breath even though that didn’t help at all, before heading inside. The living room was packed—neighbors I vaguely recognized, a couple people who looked like they might be Damian’s coworkers, everyone shouting over the music. Someone had shoved the coffee table against the wall to make space for a tiny dance floor. Silver balloons spelling WELCOME HOME bobbed against the ceiling like they were trying to escape. “Riley!” Mrs. Cho spotted me first, waving enthusiastically and nearly splashing her drink all over her husband. “I made those little spinach triangles you like!” I waved back, letting the familiarity settle my nerves a bit. Then I saw him. Damian. He was leaning in the kitchen doorway, one ankle crossed over the other, holding a beer by the neck. A black button-down hugged his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms I really did not need to be noticing. The top buttons were undone, and when he laughed at something someone said, the fabric pulled in all the wrong (right?) ways. He looked… good. Unfairly good. And suddenly my red dress felt too loud and desperate. I should’ve worn jeans and that soft blue sweater he once said complimented my eyes. But before I could run to the bathroom and pretend to redo myself, Damian saw me and his whole face lit up immediately. “Riley!” he called, grinning as he pushed off the doorway and crossed the room. I barely had time to breathe before he wrapped me in a full, warm hug. Then—because he apparently enjoyed vaporizing my internal organs—he pulled back just enough to kiss my cheek, his lips lingering half a second longer than necessary. “Missed you the last few days.” My face went nuclear. I ducked my head and studied his beer label like it was groundbreaking literature. “Yeah, well… Wanda’s couch is lumpy. I figured it was time to come home.” He laughed softly. “Glad you did.” He pulled back, hands still warm on my waist, eyes roaming over me. “Red’s new.” I swallowed. “Yeah. You like?” His gaze dipped down my neckline, the dress’s plunge then snapped back up. “You look…” He cleared his throat, trying again. “You look incredible, Ri.” CHAPTER 2: Love Makes Everyone Idiots This—right here—was part of the reason I kept falling for him. The reason I kept letting myself believe what I absolutely should not believe. Damian could smile in my direction, say my name a certain way, or look at me like he saw something worth seeing… and suddenly I’d be right back at square one. Hopeful. Stupidly, embarrassingly hopeful. And now, standing in the middle of a crowded living room with his hands still warm on my waist, that hope flared all over again. There might actually be a chance that he liked me too. The thought alone made my cheeks burn. Before I could spiral any deeper, Damian slipped one hand away from my waist and swung the other up in a soft gesture toward the counter. “Come on,” he said, nudging me toward the kitchen. “Let me get you something. Beer?” “Sure.” He passed behind the counter, grabbed two from the cooler, popped the caps with the edge of the counter, then handed me the bottle. Our fingers brushed, stupidly warm and stupidly gentle, and the spark that zipped up my arm felt way too on-the-nose for my already flimsy emotional stability. I took a sip to hide the flush in my cheeks. “So…” I glanced around. “Where’s the guest of honor?” His expression tightened just a little. Barely noticeable unless you’d watched his face for years—which, unfortunately, I had. “Tyson went out for a walk,” he said, leaning his forearm on the counter. “He’s… not exactly a fan of this kind of stuff.” “Oh.” I blew out a small breath, relieved and confused all at once. “Makes sense, I guess.” “Yeah.” Damian’s smile thinned, sympathy tucked under it. “Not the easiest thing, walking into a house full of strangers after seven years.” No, I couldn’t imagine it would be. Damian leaned a hip against the counter, studying me. “You sure you’re okay with this? Him staying here? You can say no. I’ll figure something else out.” I met his eyes—storm-gray, framed by lashes I’d secretly envied since I met him. “I’m sure.” He searched my face for a long moment, then reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “You’re too good, Riley.” If only you knew how not-good I am, I thought. How I’ve imagined this exact touch a million times, except in my versions your mouth follows your fingers. I took another desperate sip of beer. The music changed to something slower, and heavier on the bass. Couples started pairing off in the living room. Damian tilted his head toward the backyard. “Want to get some air?” I nodded, grateful for the escape, and let him guide us through the kitchen and out the back door. The porch light blinked—the stupid thing had been doing that for months—and the faint scent of barbecue charcoal from someone’s yard drifted on the breeze. The music from inside muffled, replaced by the chirp of crickets and distant laughter from the street. We settled near the railing. Damian leaned against it, arms loosely crossed, while I held my beer with both hands, hoping the night air would cool the ridiculous warmth on my neck. “Tyson isn’t a bad guy,” he said suddenly, eyes fixed on the dark shape of our backyard. “I know what people think, but… he really isn’t.” I looked at him, studied the sincerity in his voice. This was another part of him I loved—this unwavering loyalty. This belief that people weren’t defined by the worst moment of their lives. This softness hidden under his easy charm. And because I trusted him—God help me—I believed him. Even if Tyson had spent seven years in prison for murder. “So…” I cleared my throat, trying to break the heavy note in his voice. “How was your week?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted, the porch light catching on the faint blush rising across his cheekbones. Damian hardly ever blushed. My interest snapped awake instantly. “Oh?” I leaned toward him with a grin. “Did something good happen?” “No,” he said too quickly. Way too quickly. “Damian.” I pointed my beer at him. “Don’t lie. You’re blushing.” “No, I’m not.” “You so are.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck—the universal Damian sign for I’m Flustered And Pretending I’m Not. “It’s stupid.” “Stupid things are my specialty,” I said. “Tell me.” He hesitated, staring down at the porch boards like the words were hiding somewhere between the cracks. Then he sighed. “I think I’m in love with someone.” The world yanked to a stop. Not slowed. Stopped. Like a movie paused mid-frame. All the color drained from my face so fast I swear I felt it leave. “Oh,” I let out softly. “Oh…” His cheeks darkened another shade as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. “She’s one of my coworkers.” My chest tightened, but he kept talking, completely unaware of the hole tearing open in my stomach. “It’s different this time,” he said, and every word felt like a rock dropped into a well. “I don’t know, Ri. It just… feels like the real deal, you know? Like—like something that could actually last.” I nodded. Or at least, I think I nodded. My body moved on instinct because my brain was too busy replaying five years of moments like a cruel highlight reel. Five years of small touches. Five years of late-night talks. Five years of hope I’d never admitted out loud. And now… A coworker. Someone else. Someone he’d been looking at the way I looked at him. “That’s… amazing,” I managed to say, my voice painfully even. “I’m happy for you.” It was a lie. I wanted to hurl myself off the porch. He didn’t notice. He just smiled—soft, honest, hopeful—and it hurt worse than a punch. “I haven’t told her yet,” he admitted, staring at his beer like he was afraid to look at me. “I don’t even know if she likes me back. But I feel like… I feel like this could be it.” I kept nodding, like an idiot, even as the night air felt suddenly too thin to breathe. “That’s great,” I whispered, swallowing the ache rising in my throat. “Really. That’s… really great, Damian.” He finally looked at me. And for the first time in a long time, I realized he couldn’t read me at all. He saw a smile. He didn’t see the way it cracked. He saw encouragement. He didn’t see the way my heart was folding in on itself like crushed paper. He saw his best friend. He didn’t see the girl who had loved him quietly for half a decade. Damian pushed off the railing with a soft exhale, running a hand through his hair. “God, I’m nervous just talking about it. I feel like an idiot.” “Love makes everyone idiots,” I said. Which I knew from extensive, humiliating personal experience. He laughed. “You always know what to say,” he chuckled, nudging me lightly with his shoulder. Yeah. Because I’d practiced loving him silently for years. CHAPTER 3: This Was It Damian was still talking, something about timing, something about how he didn’t want to rush things, but the words were blurring at the edges. My ears were ringing with the steady, dull throb of heartbreak. I nodded like I heard him, because that’s what I always did. I always made things easy for him. “So,” he said suddenly, breaking my fog. He perked up a little, almost excited. “Do you, uh… do you want to see her?” It felt like someone had poured ice water down my spine. “Oh,” I breathed, tightening my grip on my beer. “I—I mean, you don’t have to…” “No, no, it’ll help,” he insisted eagerly, already reaching for his pocket. “I have a picture. She… she sent it earlier. Hold on.” No. My mind screamed it. Please Don’t Show Me. Please Don’t Show Me. I didn’t want a face. Didn’t want to see the woman who had what I’d wanted. Didn’t want to know the shape of the person winning the battle I never even got to fight. But I didn’t stop him. Of course I didn’t. I’d never stopped him from anything. Damian unlocked his phone, swiping through the chaos of his photo gallery—screenshots, memes, gym selfies, real estate listings, a picture of a burnt omelet he’d once been offended by. My stomach twisted tighter with every swipe. “Oh… here,” he said, stopping. “This one.” He angled the screen toward me. And that was the moment everything inside me… broke. My breath caught so sharply it almost hurt. It felt like the world tilted, like the porch suddenly pitched forward under my feet. My vision blurred before the tears even arrived. Because staring back at me… Was her. My cousin. My actual, blood, first cousin. Marissa. Tall, luminous, soft brown curls falling over one shoulder, smiling in that effortless way she always had. Honey-colored skin, dimples like God’s personal favorites, and those warm hazel eyes that made strangers fall in love with her within thirty seconds. I bit down on my lip so hard it stung to keep the gasp trapped inside my chest. Because if it escaped, the tears would follow. And once they started, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop. “Riley?” Damian asked, brows folding with a worried crease. “Hey… what’s wrong? Do you know her?” I forced my body to move, forced myself to pull some kind of expression onto my face. My lips twitched upward, forming the fakest, stiffest smile I’d ever worn. “Yeah,” I breathed out, voice barely holding steady. “That’s… that’s my cousin.” His whole face lit up like someone turned on a switch inside him. “Seriously?!” He grinned, more excited than I’d seen him in months. “Oh my God, Ri—that’s perfect! That means you can help me. You can talk to her for me. Maybe feel out if she’d even be open to…” His words felt like hands pressing on a bruise. He was still talking, gestures animated, eyes bright with the kind of hope I’d always wished he’d direct toward me. His happiness pulsed warm and eager and completely oblivious. I swallowed the lump clawing up my throat. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, cheeks still flushed from excitement. “Man, I had no clue you two were related. Small world, right?” “Yeah,” I managed. “Tiny.” I stared out into the dark yard, blinking too fast, counting breaths, trying to anchor myself to something other than the ache swelling under my ribs. “Does she—uh—still live near here?” he asked eagerly. I nodded. “Down by the riverfront. In those new apartment blocks.” “Right, right,” he said, tapping the porch rail with restless energy. “Maybe I should ask her if she wants to get coffee sometime.” “Maybe,” I whispered. He turned toward me then, and for a second I was terrified he’d really look at me… really see me. But he only saw what he always had. Nothing. “You’re the best, Ri.” He nudged my arm, smiling soft. “Seriously, if anyone can help me not screw this up, it’s you.” My heart clenched so tightly I actually had to set my beer down. “Yeah,” I said, swallowing around the ache. “I—I’ll help.” “Thank you,” he murmured. His smile softened in a way that still made my chest flutter, even now. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You’d still be happy, I thought. But I didn’t say any of it. Damian reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly. “I always am.” And then he let go, gave me one last soft smile, oblivious as always, and walked back into the house. The screen door clicked shut behind him. And then I was alone. I stared at the empty space he’d left, lifted my beer, took a long swallow, and realized it was barely touching anything. I finished the bottle in two more gulps, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and headed back inside. The living room was even louder now, buzzing with tipsy laughter, spilled drinks, and people shouting over the music. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat and cheap perfume and the sharp tang of spilled tequila. I weaved through the crowd, barely looking at anyone, making a straight line for the counter near the sink where the stronger stuff lived. The moment I saw the bottle of rum, I grabbed it, unscrewed the cap, and poured myself a shot into whatever cup was closest. I didn’t bother smelling it. Didn’t bother thinking. I tipped it back and swallowed hard. Fire ripped down my throat. Good. I poured another. If I could just go numb—if I could just quiet the tornado in my head—maybe tonight would hurt a little less. And maybe… Maybe it’s time, I thought, staring at the way the liquid glinted under the kitchen lights. Maybe it’s about time I tell him how I feel. Let him reject me and get it over with. Rip the bandaid off. Finally let myself move on. I took another shot. The edges of the room blurred just slightly. The music muffled into a steady throb as I poured a third. “Easy with the drink,” someone said behind me, a hand brushing my elbow lightly. But everything was so hazy I couldn’t tell who it was, and honestly—what did it matter? I shrugged them off. “I’m fine,” I muttered, even though my voice sounded unsteady in my own ears. “Do you…” I braced a hand on the counter, trying to clear my spinning vision long enough to focus. “Do you… do you know where Damian is?” The person blinked slowly at me—I think it was Paula from two blocks over, or maybe her sister, or maybe a girl I’d never met—and pointed vaguely toward the stairs. “I think he went upstairs,” she said. “Bathroom or something.” “Thanks,” I mumbled, grabbing the counter as the floor tilted just a little. I straightened myself, smoothed my dress, and ignored the tremor in my hands. Maybe this was the only way. Damian would reject me, of course he would, and then I’d finally stop rebuilding hope every time he accidentally touched my arm or said my name gently or looked at me like I mattered. I pushed myself off the counter and started toward the stairs, my heels wobbling slightly on the wooden floor. The base of the staircase felt like a checkpoint. A line I couldn’t uncross once I stepped over it. I hovered there a moment, gripping the banister. My heart hammered violently, each beat shaking my ribs like it was trying to break out. Someone bumped into me from behind, jolting me forward. “Oops—sorry, girl!” they shouted, too cheerful. I didn’t even turn around. I started climbing. Upstairs was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a nightlight Damian kept plugged into the hallway so he wouldn’t trip when he got midnight snacks. The memory almost made me smile. Stupid. I steadied myself against the wall. My head was swimming. The alcohol buzzed under my skin, pushing me forward, urging me not to stop, not to think. Damian’s voice echoed in my memory—I think it’s the real deal this time. I clenched my fist, my steps growing steadier as I reached the top of the stairs. His bedroom door was cracked open slightly, a faint light spilling through from inside. I took another shaky breath. This was it. I moved toward the door, lifted my hand and pushed the door open. CHAPTER 4: I Love You! I didn’t knock. I should’ve, honestly. A normal person would’ve. But nothing about tonight felt normal anymore, not after everything that had happened. My chest still hurt like something had been scooped out of it with a dull spoon, and the liquor I downed afterward made everything swim around the edges. So I didn’t knock. I just turned the handle and stepped in. The room was dark except for the faint glow from the window. Damian was standing there with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, staring out into the backyard like the night had something to say to him. He turned the second he heard the door creak. Before he even opened his mouth, the words tumbled out of mine, messy and trembling. “I love you!” Silence. The kind that forms a hard, aching lump in your throat until you can’t tell whether you’re choking on air or your own humiliation. He didn’t say anything. Of course he didn’t. Why would he? Why would he love me when he had girls like my cousin smiling at him in photographs? My fingers curled, nails digging into my palm. My mouth moved before I had time to feel the shame. “I know you don’t love me too.” I forced a laugh—God, it sounded pathetic, even to me. “I know. I’m not stupid. I’m not expecting anything… big. But can you…” My voice cracked, throat tightening. I had to swallow twice before the words came out. “Can you at least hold me? Just once.” I took a shaky step toward him, and he didn’t move away. I got closer, close enough to see his jaw tense, close enough for his warmth to press against my cold, alcohol-shaky skin. My fingers reached out before I could second-guess myself. I clutched his shirt—twisted the fabric at the front like I needed it to anchor me to the floor—and slowly, gently lowered my forehead to his chest. His shirt smelled like fresh laundry. My tears soaked into the cotton instantly. “Please,” I whispered, barely audible. I didn’t even recognize my own voice. “Just… just hold me, please.” His body shifted under me—and then I heard it. A rumble… soft, low, but unmistakable. It was a chuckle. He was laughing. For a second my whole world spun so violently I thought I might throw up. I pulled my face away from his chest, quick and jerky, blinking up at him because—what the hell? Was he seriously laughing at me? My mouth parted to say something, to curse him out, to scream, to cry harder, I honestly didn’t know but I didn’t get the chance to do anything. Because before any of those things could break out of me, I felt something entirely different. His lips. On mine. Everything in me stopped. My hands stilled against his chest. My breath caught. My brain short-circuited so fast it was a miracle I didn’t collapse right there. He was kissing me. Damian was actually, honestly, truly kissing me. And I didn’t even know how to react at first. For a heartbeat I just froze, my tears still clinging to my eyelashes, my mouth parted in shock against his. His hand moved to my waist and he pulled me closer. So close my chest pressed fully against his, my breath mixing with his, my fingers bunching his shirt because I didn’t know how to hold anything else anymore. The taste of him mixed with the bitter aftertaste of liquor still lingering on my tongue, and I couldn’t breathe with the way my heart sprinted against my ribs. His other hand came up, sliding into my hair, cupping the back of my head like he was afraid I might pull away. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Heat shot through every inch of me, overwhelming enough that I had to hold onto him tighter just to stay upright. When he finally pulled back—barely, just enough to look at me—I could barely keep my eyes open. His forehead pressed against mine, breath uneven, chest rising and falling like he was just as messed up by this as I was. But his voice… when he spoke, was low. “Strip.” My heart stopped. CHAPTER 5: Shit! It wasn’t a request. His voice came low and rough—almost a growl—rising from a part of his throat I’d never heard before. I froze, half-drunk and shaking, staring at the man I’d loved for years and trying to reconcile the gentle, hesitant Damian I knew with the one standing in front of me now. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He watched me with a predatory stillness, as if he’d already decided how this would end and was only waiting for me to understand it. Maybe I’d never seen him clearly at all. Maybe this was the version he showed other women. The one behind those 2 a.m. messages. The one he’d never offered me… until now. My hands moved before my thoughts did, trembling as I slid my fingers beneath the hem of my dress. The fabric whispered up my skin, then fell to the floor in a soft, discarded pool. Cool air kissed my bare breasts, my stomach, and the thin lace between my thighs. He stepped forward, his gaze tracing the line of my collarbones, catching on the faint flush spreading across my breast and down my stomach—lingering on the trembling in my thighs that I didn’t even realize was visible. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he rasped, grabbing my waist and yanking me into him. His mouth crashed down on mine like he was trying to punish me for making him wait this long. I gasped into the kiss and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue against mine. I clutched at his shirt, dizzy and overwhelmed, but excited all the same. The fact that he was losing his mind over me was something I never knew I would experience, and the realization made my eyes sting. His hands slid down and grip my ass, lifting me clean off the floor. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct as he carried me to the bed and dropped me onto it. I barely got a glimpse of him before he was between my legs again, ripping my panties down my thighs in one swift motion. The cool air hit my skin for only a second before he pushed my knees wide apart, spreading me open for him. Without hesitation, he buried his face between my legs. The first swipe of his tongue ripped a cry from my throat. My back arched off the bed as he licked into me, his mouth sucking on my clit until my legs shook. “Fuck… oh god…” I sobbed, fingers tangling in his hair. He growled against me, and slid two fingers inside of me without warning. I was soaked, embarrassingly so, and he curled them hard, stroking that spot that made my vision blur. I came hard, my thighs clamping around his head, as a moan tore out of me. But he didn’t stop. He kept licking me through it, drawing it out until I was whimpering and trying to push him away because it was too much. Only then did he pull back. He grabbed my hips and flipped me over like I weighed nothing. I barely had time to catch myself on my hands and knees before he was behind me, one hand fisting my hair, the other guiding himself to my entrance. He didn’t ease in. He slammed home in one cruel thrust. I screamed into the mattress. He was huge, bigger than I’d imagined, stretching me so wide it burned, and he didn’t give me time to adjust. He pulled out and slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm that had the headboard knocking against the wall. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he snarled, voice barely recognizable. I couldn’t speak or think as I took it, my fingers clawing at the sheets as he fucked me like he hated me and wanted me in equal measure. At some point he pulled out, flipped me onto my back again, and hooked my legs over his shoulders. The new angle made me sob. He leaned down, folding me nearly in half, and pounded into me so deep I felt him in my throat. “Look at me,” he demanded. I forced my eyes open. His face was flushed, jaw locked, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked wrecked. Yet beautiful. I reached up, cupping his cheek. “Damian…” His entire body went rigid. His hand shot out, wrapping around my throat; his hips snapped forward so hard the bed creaked. “Don’t,” he hissed, voice cold. “Don’t say my brother’s name while you’re riding my fucking dick, woman.” The world stopped. My heart stopped. Everything stopped. I stared down at him, chest heaving, his cock still buried deep inside me, and saw it, really saw it for the first time. The tiny scar above his left eyebrow that Damian didn’t have. The slightly sharper cut of his jaw. The more muscular built. The way his hair curled just a fraction tighter at the ends. Not Damian. Definitely not Damian. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. I was staring up at Tyson. His grip tightened on my throat, thumb pressing just under my jaw. “You feel that?” he growled, rolling his hips slow and deep, making me whimper despite the horror flooding my veins. “That’s me inside you.” Tears sprang to my eyes, born of shock and a hot, breath-stealing shame, all tangled up with an arousal so intense it throbbed through me like pain. He leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “Say it,” he whispered. “Say my name.” I couldn’t. He pulled out and flipped me again, this time onto my stomach, yanking my hips up until I was on my knees. He entered me in one hard thrust, hand fisting my hair and pulling until my back arched. “Say it,” he snarled, fucking me so hard my vision blurred. “Tyson,” I sobbed. “Louder.” “Tyson!” He groaned like I’d just handed him the world. “That’s it,” he rasped, pace turning even more punishing. “That’s my good fucking girl.” Shit!