Chapter 14
Fourteen
LAN
Iraised my head, confusion warring with a hope so fragile I was afraid to acknowledge it. “No? Because you sound like Colt during a marketing crisis, and your eyebrows are doing that thing they do when you’re about to lecture someone on responsibility.”
Something in his expression made my breath catch—a softness, a vulnerability I rarely saw. “When it comes to you, anger isn’t even in my emotional vocabulary. You know that.”
I nodded because I did know. What I didn’t know was why he was looking at me like that, like I was something precious and desirable instead of his awkward, inappropriately horny stepbrother. Then he shifted his leg, and—
Oh God.
A small gasp escaped me as his thigh pressed against my embarrassingly hard cock, the contact sending sparks of pleasure racing through me even through the fabric of my—his—shirt.
Mortification flooded through me, hot and suffocating, and I scrambled to escape, nearly falling off the bed in my haste.
“Right, so… I’ll just go take care of this minor situation.
Somewhere that’s not here. Preferably another continent.
Maybe Antarctica? I hear the penguins are very nonjudgmental. ”
I was halfway off the bed when his hand wrapped around my arm, the heat of his palm burning through the thin fabric of his shirt—his shirt that I was wearing like some lovesick fool collecting memorabilia.
But this wasn’t normal warmth—it was like he’d branded me, the heat spreading from the contact point through my entire body in waves that felt almost supernatural in their intensity.
“Running away? That’s not very efficient.” His voice had dropped to that dangerous octave that made my knees weak and my brain cells wave white flags of surrender.
I should leave. I should absolutely, definitely leave right now. Sprint to the bathroom. Lock the door. Hide under a cold shower until my body remembered how to behave and my heart remembered that this was my stepbrother, not my soulmate.
That’s what I should do.
But I couldn’t move. Not with his fingers circling my wrist, not with his eyes holding mine captive—those amber-gold eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light, pupils dilated so wide there was just a thin ring of color remaining.
Something primal and possessive lurked in that gaze, something that made my breath catch and my pulse race.
“I have a much better solution,” he murmured, the words sliding over my skin like silk. His thumb traced lazy circles on the inside of my wrist, each sweep sending sparks of electricity up my arm.
My heart hammered against my ribs as if trying to escape, to leap across the space between us and offer itself directly to him. The rational part of my brain was screaming at me to run, but my body had other ideas, leaning imperceptibly toward him like a flower seeking the sun.
“Um, if you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting—” My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, breathy and unsteady. Real smooth, Lan. You sound like you’ve been running laps with Colt instead of just sitting here having a mild cardiac event.
“Stop overthinking.” His voice wrapped around me like warm honey, sweet and rich and impossible to escape. “Come here and let me help you sleep better. Unless you’d rather toss and turn all night?”
I hesitated, caught between desperate want and paralyzing fear.
We’d already crossed this forbidden line, last night when his hands had first claimed me, had shown me pleasure I’d never known possible.
That had been a moment of weakness, a onetime thing we could possibly explain away.
But this? This felt deliberate. Intentional.
This was Jaxson—the man I’d loved for years, my stepbrother, the person who’d held our family together through grief and hardship—choosing to cross that boundary again. With purpose.
Say no. Say no right now. Be the responsible one for once in your life.
The strange warmth I’d felt that first night was already blooming in my chest again, stronger this time, spreading through my limbs like liquid sunlight.
That inexplicable pull toward him that I’d experienced before was now almost physical, as if invisible threads connected us, drawing us together with a force that felt ancient and inevitable.
But before I could voice any of these thoughts, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back against his chest with a strength that made my breath catch.
The moment my back connected with his chest, that strange warmth in my center flared brighter—not just desire, but something deeper, more fundamental.
It felt like recognition, like two halves of a whole finally reuniting after centuries apart.
His body was a wall of heat behind me, solid and secure, his breath tickling my ear as he whispered, “Besides, this wouldn’t be our first late-night adventure, would it? No need to play shy now.”
Shy? I wasn’t shy. I was having a full-blown existential crisis while simultaneously trying not to combust from the feel of his body against mine.
There’s a difference. One that apparently my body didn’t care about, because I was melting back against him like ice cream on a hot sidewalk, my resistance evaporating faster than Nico’s attention span during a history lecture.
But then his hands were on me, positioning me between his legs, my back to his chest, and coherent thought became as rare as Nico voluntarily cleaning his room.
His scent enveloped me, that unique blend of expensive cologne and Jaxson that haunted my dreams. It was intensifying somehow, growing richer, deeper, mingling with something that seemed to be emanating from my own skin—a sweet, honeyed fragrance that bloomed between us like invisible flowers.
I found myself melting against him, nuzzling into his chest like some touch-starved cat. It should have been embarrassing how quickly I surrendered, but shame couldn’t survive in the warmth spreading between us—a warmth that seemed to chase away every thought except yes and please and finally.
His hand slid beneath the oversized shirt, moving with a deliberate slowness that made my breath hitch.
Each inch of skin he revealed seemed to heighten that strange connection between us, that inexplicable sense that this was more than just two bodies drawn together by hormones and proximity.
His palm hovered just above my stomach, radiating heat without touching.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “But I need to hear you say it, Lan.”
Stop? Was he kidding? I’d sooner ask Colt to throw away his color-coded spreadsheets.
The tenderness in his voice nearly broke me. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t find words past the knot in my throat. Instead, I covered his hand with mine, pressing it against my skin in silent permission.
The first touch of his fingers against my bare stomach sent electricity racing through me, my nerve endings lighting up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
That strange warmth that had been building between us intensified, flowing through my veins like liquid sunlight.
It wasn’t just physical pleasure—it was like every cell in my body was sighing with relief, like they’d been waiting for this touch for centuries, not just years.
“Oh God,” I gasped as his fingers splayed wide across my abdomen, his palm covering almost my entire stomach.
His hand was so much larger than mine, a physical reminder of the differences between us that somehow made this even more thrilling.
The warmth radiating from his touch wasn’t just body heat—it was something deeper, more ancient, like an energy that had always existed between us finally awakening.
His fingertips traced slow, deliberate circles on my skin, moving lower with each rotation.
Each brush felt like a promise, a tease of what was to come.
I could feel the slight calluses on his palm—evidence of the life he’d built for us, the work he did to keep our family together—creating the most delicious friction against my oversensitive skin.
“We’re really doing this again,” I whispered, half statement, half question, my voice trembling with equal parts terror and anticipation. “We’re crossing that line again.”
“If you want to,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine.
His hand paused just above the waistband of my boxers, waiting for permission, while that strange warmth continued to build between us, wrapping around us like an invisible thread binding us together.
“Yes,” I breathed, arching slightly into his touch. Subtle, Lan. Real subtle. Why not just write Touch Me on your forehead in neon? “Please, Jaxson. Touch me there again.”
His fingers dipped lower, slipping beneath the elastic.
I held my breath, every muscle tensing as I waited for that moment of contact.
When it finally came—his fingers wrapping firmly around my hard cock—I couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped me.
The heat of his palm against my most sensitive flesh was almost unbearable, the slight roughness of his skin creating a friction that had me biting my lip to keep from crying out.
I felt branded by his touch, marked in ways invisible to the eye but undeniable to my senses. It was as if his fingerprints were being etched into my soul, reclaiming something that had always belonged to him.
“Jaxson.” His name fell from my lips like a prayer, like salvation, like the answer to a question I’d been asking my whole life. “Jaxson.”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against my ear, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest into my back. “I’ve always had you.”
Those words shouldn’t have made sense—they were too possessive—but my body recognized their truth even if my mind couldn’t understand it. Some part of me had always been his, just as some part of him had always been mine.