Twice as Forbidden
1. Georgia
Chapter one
Georgia
I sit across the kitchen island from Noah in his father’s luxurious home, watching him throw back a beer.
“Are we going to talk about this?”
He opens another bottle before answering me. “What do you want to talk about? You said you don’t want to be with me.”
“I said I think we need a break.”
“Same fucking thing.” He slams the beer down on the granite counter, the sharp sound echoing through the room. Shoving back, the legs of the barstool screech against the marble floor. He stands, gripping the back of his neck. I knew this would be a mistake. I shouldn’t have come home with him.
When Noah’s father offered him a paid internship at his company, extending the same offer to me, it seemed like a no-brainer. I was free for the summer and in need of extra cash. I thought maybe we could work things out, convinced myself it could be worth it…
I should have known better.
There is no fixing us.
Noah and I met during our first year of college. Athletic, intelligent, funny, too-hot-for-his-own-good, we hit it off right away—a.k.a. slept together within five hours. Classic college move, right? I can’t say it was the most spontaneous thing I’d ever done, but with enough booze, well… shit happens. Thankfully, what could have turned into a regrettable walk of shame ultimately led to a full-fledged relationship.
Our entire first year together, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It was hot. Crazy. Nothing I’d ever experienced.
But outside of sex, Noah and I couldn’t have been more different. Our similarities, rooted in damaged family lives, shared secrets, and a void we desperately tried to fill, should’ve connected us. Instead, they became the things that drove us apart.
Now, I’m stuck in an unfamiliar town, about to start a job for a man I don’t know, with someone I’ve just broken up with.
Great.
Good work, Georgia.
I meant every word when I said we needed time apart. Sex was never going to fix what’s broken between us. He’s controlling, manipulative, and when things don’t go his way, he turns ugly. We fought the entire drive from Iowa back to Chicago, his words harsh and cruel, each insult landing harder than any physical blow. By the time we made it home, I knew I’d finally reached my breaking point.
Noah hadn’t always been like this. In the beginning, he was attentive, funny, sweet, incredible in bed, easy to love. But as time passed and he grew more comfortable, his mask began to slip, revealing a man with more demons than I could handle, fueled by a pain he stubbornly refused to acknowledge. Perhaps it was the burden of abandonment and longing to be loved the way he needed to be. We shared a similar ache, both having lost a parent at a young age. Maybe that’s why we clung to each other so fiercely—two broken souls desperately trying to fill an empty void.
“Fuck this. I’m going to bed. You can come with me or sleep wherever you want. There’re a million rooms in the house.”
“Noah, are you serious?” I ask in disbelief. Instead of replying, he grabs another beer from the fridge and leaves me alone at the kitchen island. Part of me feels like I should follow him, but there’s nothing left to say, and finding a spare room to be alone with my thoughts is easier. I watch his back as he vanishes down the hallway and up the stairs. I’m not ready to lie next to him and allow him to convince me I’m wrong. I know this is the right decision. I love him, but I’m not the one who can fix him.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and roll it over my forehead, allowing the coolness to ground me for a moment. Perhaps it’s not too late to return to school, find a roommate, and secure a summer job. My sister would love it if I came home, and I should. She needs me. The weight that I carry, worrying about her alone in the house with him .
But going home is not an option. I’m not on speaking terms with my mother, let alone the reason I left in the first place. My stepfather is a real winner. A heartless asshole who thinks hitting a woman is okay. Shaking it off, accepting the predicament I’ve put myself in, I grab my bag and head upstairs to find a spare room. The house is massive—far too big for one person.
I make my way down a long hallway, the bass thumping through a closed door that I assume leads to Noah’s room. I continue on, pausing at the last door on the right. When I push it open, the bold scent of cologne teases my senses. A king-size bed takes up the center of the room, silver sheets shimmering under the light, tempting me to feel how luxurious and soft they are. I take in the tall dresser and a lounge chair tucked neatly in the corner, then my eyes drift to the en suite. The door is slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of a spacious shower enclosed in pristine glass.
“Are you lost, or is this my lucky night?”
I spin around so quickly that I nearly lose my footing. Before I stumble, a large hand catches my arm, steadying me. A tremor ripples down my arm. I look up, and even in the dim light, it’s impossible not to notice how stunning the man is. His features are magnetic, taking my breath. For a moment, I forget how I ended up here in the first place.
“No, I’m sorry. I was just looking—”
“And you thought you would find it in my bedroom?”
His lips press together as his eyes drift over my body. My breasts tighten under my lace bra, the sensation sparking a need I can’t ignore.
His bedroom.
Noah’s father.
A rush of warmth coils deep inside me. He’s still holding my arm, and my skin tingles under his touch. His gaze finally lifts to meet mine, then hovers over my lips. He steps closer, and I catch the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.
“What’s your name?”
“Georgia,” I answer, my voice betraying a slight quiver.
“Georgia. Like the peach.” His thumb traces slow circles on my skin. “So, what is it, Peach ? Have you found what you’re looking for?” His warm breath brushes my cheeks, sending a nervous flutter through me as I struggle to find the right words. He lets out a dark chuckle. “Well, not sure how you got in here, but I’m willing to venture you’re here to fuck.”
He leans in, our lips a whisper apart. My heart thrashes against my chest. His fingers dig into my arm, and my eyelids feel heavy. He dips his head, and I know I’m going to let him kiss me. Noah’s father. I’m going to let him—
“Noah’s girlfriend,” I rush out, finally finding my voice.
His body stiffens, his grip tightening enough to sting, then he drops my arm like it’s on fire and steps back. “I thought you were—what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?”
“I—I was…” How am I supposed to admit I was looking for a spare room since I royally pissed off his son? “I got lost. The house is so big.”
He steps back again, brushing his hand over his mouth. “Get out.”
My tongue feels thick in my mouth. “I’m sorry. I…” I hurry past him.
I’m nearly at his door when he calls my name. I shift to face him. “None of my son’s guests are allowed in this part of the house. Do you understand me?”
I nod and make my exit, rushing down the long hall. Finally finding a room to escape into, I undress and climb into bed. My body buzzes. Nerves, confusion… something else. The presence of his touch still lingers. My cheeks flush as I remember the heat of his breath and the way he looked at me—like I was a secret the world had kept just for him.
Oh, shut up, Georgia. You’re nineteen.
But he hadn’t known that. He thought I’d been waiting for him, ready to fuck.
Biting my lip, I pull back the blankets over my legs. What would have happened if I hadn’t confessed who I was? The way he said, “Fuck,” had lit a fire inside me. The thought of him towering over me, his experienced hands on me, working me in ways I’ve never felt before… stretching me to fit him. I reach for a spare pillow, tucking it between my thighs, and squeeze the material, needing to release some pressure.
“What is it, Peach ?” The memory of his voice, dark and tantalizing, wrap around me like a noose. I slide my hand down, past my belly, slipping into my panties without hesitation. My fingers find slick heat. I’m already pulsing—needy, aching. Every word he spoke loops in my head, winding me tighter. I rub harder, faster, chasing the release that’s already clawing its way up. I add two greedy fingers to the mix, sliding in and out of my swollen heat, imagining they’re his, wishing Noah’s father was finger-fucking me while his son slept down the hall.
“Fuck,” I whisper, cupping my breast with my free hand. “I’m willing to venture you’re here to fuck.”
“Yes.” I work faster, adding a third finger, needing more. I’m so wet, and the faint sounds of my masturbating fill the air. I turn my head and bite the pillow to silence my moans. Heat floods me, my legs quiver, and my walls grip my hand. “Fuck yes. Fuck me. Fuck me ...” I moan as my orgasm takes over.
It takes a few minutes for my heart rate to return to normal. The exhaustion of the day suddenly catching up to me, I snuggle under the sheets and fall asleep, shamelessly dreaming about my now ex-boyfriend’s hot, mysterious father.