Chapter 6
Tyler
WATER DRIPS FROM MY clothes onto the hardwood floor, forming puddles at my feet.
Next to me, Liam stands equally drenched, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, rivulets running down his neck and disappearing beneath his soaked hoodie.
My heart still hammers against my ribs—the image of him climbing that tree flashing through my mind on repeat like some horror film I can’t shut off.
The echo of my desperate shout when that branch broke, and he was free-falling, still rings in my ears.
Even what happened afterwards—when Liam fell on top of me and we almost kissed—cannot override that moment of pure, unfiltered terror when I thought he was going to break his neck.
I curl my fingers into fists, fighting to regain control of my breathing, of the situation—of myself.
“What were you thinking?” The words escape through clenched teeth. “Climbing that tree in the middle of the goddamn night, in the rain?”
Liam looks at me, water droplets clinging to his lashes. In the dim entryway light, his blue eyes appear navy.
“The cat would’ve died up there.”
“And you could’ve killed yourself!”
Defiance flickers across his face. His chin lifts in that stubborn way of his, the one that both infuriates me and does dangerous things to my insides.
“Why do you care?” he challenges, voice quiet but edged with steel. “For all I know, you wanted me to fall from that tree. One less problem.”
The accusation should make me angry. Instead, it cuts deeper than it has any right to.
His words hang between us, but there’s no conviction behind them.
Not anymore. Not after the way I screamed his name when he slipped.
Not after I caught him at the bottom, my arms wrapping around him with such desperate force that we both crashed to the ground.
He must know now that I care. But why is he being so stubborn?
A thought hits me with stunning clarity: Liam wants me to admit that I care about him.
I take a step toward him, my soaked boots squeaking against the floor. “You want to believe I’m the monster, don’t you? The bully. The stepbrother from hell.” Another step. “It’s easier that way.”
His breathing quickens, but he doesn’t retreat. His blue eyes track my movement, pupils dilating.
“The truth is,” I continue, testing my theory, watching for his reaction, “I do care about you, Liam. I don’t want any danger threatening you.”
I’m close enough now to see the pulse jumping in his throat, to feel the heat radiating from his rain-chilled skin. Something primal stirs in me, possessive and hungry.
“Correction,” I murmur, “I want the only danger threatening you to be me.”
Liam stares at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly. For one moment, the only sound in the cabin is our breathing and the persistent drip of water from our clothes.
Then he lunges.
His mouth crashes against mine with surprising force, throwing me back against the front door.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs, but I don’t care—not when Liam’s lips are pressed against mine, demanding and desperate.
His hands fist in my wet shirt, pulling me closer even as he pins me to the door.
We’re soaking wet and cold, but the heat building between us could set the cabin ablaze.
I kiss him back with equal force, one hand gripping his hip while the other tangles in his hair, angling his head to deepen the kiss.
Our teeth clash, a battle for dominance neither of us is willing to surrender.
I bite his lower lip, and the moan that escapes him sends white-hot desire surging through my veins. His tongue pushes past my lips, exploring, claiming. He tastes like rain and something uniquely Liam—something I’ve craved without realizing it.
My hands find the hem of my t-shirt, peeling the cold, clinging fabric away from my skin.
We break apart just long enough for me to yank it over my head and toss it to the floor with a wet slap.
Liam’s eyes rake over my chest, hunger written across his face.
I reach for him, tugging at his soaked hoodie.
“Off,” I growl, and he complies, allowing me to strip away the heavy fabric, followed by the t-shirt underneath.
We crash together again, skin to skin, mouths seeking, hands exploring. He gasps when I drag my teeth along his neck, his hips jerking forward to grind against mine. The friction, even through our wet jeans, sends sparks shooting up my spine.
We stumble down the hallway, unwilling to separate even as we navigate through the darkened cabin. My back hits a wall, then a doorframe. We’re in the master bedroom—Liam’s bedroom—when I finally break away to look at him.
His lips are swollen from our kisses, his hair a chaotic mess. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful or more dangerous to my sanity.
I push him backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed, then give a gentle shove.
He falls onto the mattress, looking up at me with those blue eyes.
I drop to my knees in front of him, unlacing his wet sneakers and pulling them off, followed by his soaked socks.
My fingers move to the button of his jeans, hesitating for just a moment.
“Yes,” he breathes, anticipating my unasked question.
I unbutton and unzip his jeans, then hook my fingers into the waistband and pull. He lifts his hips to help, and I drag the wet denim down his legs, tossing it aside. He lies before me on the bed, wearing nothing but his underwear, the fabric doing little to hide his arousal.
I stand over him, savoring the sight. Water drips from my hair onto his stomach, making the muscles there tighten. I trail a finger along the elastic of his underwear, watching his breath hitch.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, my voice rough with need.
Liam nods, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“What about the fact that we’re stepbrothers?” I need to hear him say it, need to know he’s thought this through.
His eyes lock with mine, and a slow smile spreads across his face, tinged with something wicked. “I’ve always wanted my stepbrother to take care of me.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
His words send a jolt straight to my cock, so intense I have to grip the base through my jeans to prevent embarrassing myself.
If he keeps saying things like that, I’m going to blow in my pants.
It wouldn’t be the first time with him—the memory of stroking him off on the couch three days ago, coming untouched in my jeans while he fell apart in my arms, flashes through my mind.
I strip off my remaining clothes with frantic urgency, kicking aside my boots, peeling off my jeans and underwear in one go. Liam’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of me, naked and painfully hard.
I climb onto the bed, straddling him, the weight of my body pressing him into the mattress.
My hands pin his wrists above his head as I lean down to capture his mouth again.
He arches up against me, the thin cotton of his underwear the only barrier between us.
I can feel the rigid line of his erection against mine, and I rock my hips, creating delicious friction that tears a moan from his throat.
“What do you want, Liam?” I murmur against his lips.
His cheeks flush, and for the first time since this began, he looks uncertain, almost shy. “I’ve never been with a guy before.”
Something possessive and primal roars to life inside me. I’ll be his first. The knowledge is intoxicating, addictive. I drag my teeth down the column of his throat, feeling his pulse race beneath my lips.
“I’ll take care of you,” I promise, the words more sincere than anything I’ve said in years.
His hands, now free, trace patterns on my back, exploring with tentative curiosity. “Have you? Been with a guy before?”
I shake my head. “No. But is that what you want?”
His flush deepens, spreading down his neck to his chest. “Yes,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about it. Ever since last Christmas, when I saw you in the shower. I…wanted you inside me.”
“Fuck,” I growl, nipping at his collarbone hard enough to leave a mark. “I’ve done anal before,” I tell him. “It’s not that different. And I’ll make it good for you, I promise.” I press a bruising kiss to his mouth. “Don’t move.”
I dash to my room across the hall and rummage through my toiletry bag, retrieving a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms I’d packed out of habit. Thank god for muscle memory.
When I return to Liam’s room, I stop dead in the doorway, my breath catching in my throat. He’s sprawled across the bed, eyes closed, his underwear pushed down his thighs, one hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly.
“Fuck,” I curse, the sight nearly bringing me to my knees.
His eyes snap open, but instead of embarrassment, I see only heat in his gaze. He doesn’t stop touching himself as he watches me approach the bed.
I crawl over him, replacing his hand with mine. “Let me,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss him as I help him push his underwear the rest of the way off.
When we’re both fully naked, I align our cocks together, taking both in my hand. The feeling is electric—the silky heat of him against me, the subtle differences in shape and size. Liam stares down at where we’re joined, mesmerized.
“You’re bigger than me,” he murmurs, an edge of awe in his voice.
I smirk, squeezing us together. “Having second thoughts about letting me inside you?”
His eyes snap up to meet mine, defiant. “No.”
My cock twitches in my hand at his confidence. I establish a rhythm that has us both gasping within seconds. When I feel the telltale tightening in my balls, I release us, not wanting this to end too soon.
“Ready?” I ask, reaching for the lube.
Liam nods, spreading his legs wider. I pour a generous amount onto my fingers, warming it between them before reaching down. I circle his entrance, applying gentle pressure without pushing in.
“Relax,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss him again. “I won’t hurt you.”
I push just the tip of one finger inside, feeling him tense before consciously relaxing. I work carefully, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.
“What would people think if they could see us now?” I whisper in his ear. “If they knew what we’re doing here in the dark? Your stepbrother’s finger inside you, getting you ready for his cock.”
Liam moans, his eyes fluttering closed. “They’d be jealous,” he gasps, the words broken and breathless.
I add a second finger, my free hand stroking his cock to distract from the burn. “Jealous of me, for having you spread out like this? Or you, for taking it so well?”
“Both,” he manages, his body accepting my fingers more readily now. “God, Ty, more.”
I work a third finger inside, going slow, making sure he’s open and ready. “You’re so tight,” I tell him, twisting my wrist to brush against his prostate. His back arches off the bed, a startled cry falling from his lips.
He gasps. “Again. Please.”
I oblige, massaging that spot until he’s writhing beneath me, cock leaking against his stomach, his entire body flushed with arousal.
When I’m satisfied he’s ready, I withdraw my fingers and reach for a condom. Liam watches through heavy-lidded eyes as I roll it on and slick myself with more lube. I position myself at his entrance, the blunt head of my cock pressing against him without pushing in.
“Last chance to back out,” I say, my voice rough with restraint.
In answer, he wraps his legs around my waist, pulling me closer. My cock breaches him, and we both groan. I push forward, inch by inch, giving his body time to adjust.
“You’re doing so well,” I praise, forcing myself to maintain control when all I want is to bury myself to the hilt. “I’ve got you.”
He nods, his breathing ragged, his hands clutching at my shoulders. When I’m finally seated fully inside him, I pause, dropping my forehead to rest against his.
“You feel incredible,” I tell him. “So tight, so perfect.”
I start to move, shallow thrusts that deepen as his body relaxes around me. I adjust my angle, searching for—
“Fuck!” Liam cries out.
I’ve found his prostate again, and I make sure to hit it on each thrust, watching in fascination as pleasure transforms his face. His nails dig into my back, marking me, claiming me as surely as I’m claiming him.
His hand scrambles up to grip the headboard, giving himself leverage to push against my thrusts. “Harder,” he demands, his voice wrecked.
I comply, snapping my hips with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by our gasps and moans. I’m grateful for the isolation of the cabin. The filthy words spilling from Liam’s mouth would scandalize any neighbors.
“Touch yourself,” I command, my orgasm building. “I want to see you come on my cock.”
Liam wraps a hand around himself, stroking in time with my thrusts. His body tightens as he nears his peak, making each thrust a sweet torture.
“I’m close,” he warns.
“Come for me.” I drive into him with renewed force. “Come for me, Liam.”
He does, his back arching, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat as he spills over his fist and stomach.
The sight of him coming undone, combined with the rhythmic clenching of his body around me, pushes me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes through me with staggering intensity, my vision whiting out as I empty myself inside him.
I collapse on top of him, narrowly avoiding crushing him with my weight. For long minutes, we lie tangled together, our breathing slowing, our sweat-slick bodies cooling in the night air. I should move, should clean us up, but I can’t bring myself to break this moment.
Finally, I shift, needing to see his face, terrified of finding regret or disgust. Instead, Liam’s eyes meet mine, soft and open in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Tyler,” he whispers and reaches up to pull me down for a kiss—gentle now, but no less profound.
And I know, right then, that there’s no going back from this precipice we’ve jumped from together. Whatever comes next, we’re in freefall, and all I can do is hold on to Liam.