Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Before the fury detonates, I slide my hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at me, not his brother. “Don’t,” I whisper, softer than I intend but no less urgent. “Don’t give him what he wants. Not now. Not when you finally have me.”
The war in his eyes nearly breaks me—rage and rivalry clashing against years of buried hunger. For a breathless heartbeat, I don’t know which side will win. Then, with a sharp exhale, Aries claims his choice. He strides into the bathroom and kicks the door shut so hard the slam ricochets off the tiles, reverberating like a declaration of war.
He sets me down on the counter, his hands already at my shirt, rough and demanding. His gaze devours me whole—dark, dilated, dangerous.
His fingers drag beneath fabric, callouses catching on my skin as if mapping territory that was always meant to be his. It’s nothing like Arson’s precise, taunting control. Aries is raw need made flesh—reckless, unrestrained, a wildfire finally set free.
“Do you have any idea,” he rasps, lips grazing the hollow of my throat, “how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”
I arch for him, my breath trembling. “Then why did you keep pushing me away?”
He stills, forehead pressed hard against my collarbone, like it takes everything in him not to shatter. His voice breaks low, threaded with honesty that feels ripped from his chest. “Because I was terrified. Because wanting you meant more than it should have. More than I could afford.”
The admission slices through me, raw and unguarded. For once, the weight in his voice is heavier than the lust. And then—the door opens again.
Arson enters without hesitation, all coiled grace and watchful fire. He leans against the wall, arms folded, but the blaze in his eyes betrays him.
“The deal was both of us,” he says evenly. The words hang heavy, a challenge wrapped in inevitability.
Aries stiffens, his grip tightening at my waist as though he could anchor me, claim me, keep me from slipping away to his brother. His jaw flexes, his body torn between refusal and surrender. Then his eyes—dark, frantic, searching—lock to mine.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, so low it’s meant only for me, like a plea wrapped in command.
My answer is wordless. I reach for the hem of my shirt and strip it away in one fluid movement. The fabric falls to the floor with a soft whisper, but the silence after is deafening.
Aries inhales sharply, ragged, as though I’ve just ripped the last thread of his restraint apart. His eyes drag over me, darkening into something dangerous, something starving.
Behind him, Arson shifts, his composure unraveling, desire cracking through the mask. His jaw tightens, the fire in his eyes no longer hidden. The air thickens—charged, volatile, dripping with possibility. And for the first time since this storm began, I feel the balance tilt. Not toward Aries. Not toward Arson. But toward me.
Their hunger, their rivalry, their restraint—every ounce of it circles back to me. And as Aries’s rough hands slide up my bare sides while Arson watches with eyes that burn, I realize with startling clarity: This is my moment. My power. My choice.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
ELEVEN
ARIES
Steam fills the bathroom, clouding the mirror and fogging the glass shower door. The hot water pounds against tile, creating a steady percussion that almost—almost—drowns out the sound of my own thundering heartbeat.
Lilian stands before me, her skin pale and perfect in the harsh bathroom light. The shirt lies discarded on the floor between us, a crumpled flag of surrender in a war I didn’t realize we were fighting until I’d already lost.
Arson is already in the bathroom, leaning against the wall with calculated nonchalance, arms crossed over his chest as he watches us with those eyes—my eyes, our eyes—that reveal the darkness that sets us apart. His presence should be intrusive, should kill any desire I feel, but instead, it adds a dangerous edge to every sensation, a forbidden thrill I refuse to examine too closely.
I shouldn’t want her like this. She’s my stepsister, for God’s sake. We grew up together, sharing family dinners and holiday celebrations, and inhabiting the same spaces for years. That’s the thing, though—desire doesn’t adhere to social conventions. It’s simply raw and undeniable and impossible to ignore any longer.
“You’re staring,” she says, a hint of uncertainty in her voice despite her bold stance.
“I’m appreciating,” I correct, allowing my gaze to travel slowly over her exposed form. “There’s a difference.”
Arson shifts against the wall, his presence a constant reminder of the bizarre arrangement we’ve agreed to. I ignore him, focusing instead on Lilian, on the way her pulse flutters visibly at the base of her throat and the slight tremor in her hands as she reaches for the button of my jeans.
“Let me,” I say, capturing her wrists gently. “You’re shaking.”