Brother’s Protective Claim (After Dark Taboo)

Chapter 1

I’d always felt his eyes on me. Even when I was too naive to understand what that heavy stare meant.

My older brother Ryker watched. Me.

He was two years older, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that always looked like he’d just run his hands through it after a fight. He protected me from everything… bullies at school, creepy boys who came on too thick, and even my own bad decisions.

I sat frozen on that old couch, memories weighing heavy in my chest, the ones of a protective big brother that used to make me feel safe and loved in the simplest way. But lately, those same memories carried an edge, a warmth that spread too low in my belly and made my skin prickle with guilt.

I remembered the time in high school when some asshole cornered me at a party. I didn't know how my brother had known where I was or what happened, but Ryker showed up like a storm, dragged the guy outside, and made sure he never looked my way again.

He’d always been there, my big brother, my shield. But those memories felt twisted now, colored by something deeper and scarier that I didn’t know how to name.

It was like the lines between safety and something hungrier had blurred without me noticing, leaving me restless and confused in my own skin every time he walked into a room.

But lately, that protection felt different. Hungrier.

I was twenty now, home from college for the summer, and the tension between us had thickened like smoke from a raging fire.

Ryker had moved back into the house after a stint doing “security work” that left him with new scars and a sharper edge. He barely spoke to me anymore, but I caught him staring at me every time I looked his way.

At my legs in tiny shorts and the way my tank tops clung when I came back sweaty from runs. The way his eyes would linger on the curve of my neck when I tilted my head back laughing at something stupid on TV or how his jaw would tighten when I stretched on the couch in my sleep shorts.

I told myself it was nothing. Just my messed up imagination running wild because I’d been away at college too long and missed the familiar safety of home. But deep down, my body knew better. It reacted to him in ways it never should for family.

My pulse would quicken at the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, and I’d catch myself wondering what his calloused hands would feel like sliding over my bare skin instead of the rough way I sometimes touched myself alone at night thinking about things I had no business imagining.

But being with my brother was wrong, and I sure as hell couldn’t be with him the way I wanted, so instead of fucking things up, I brought home a guy from the bar. I had a few classes with him last year, and although Max wasn’t the smartest, he was cute enough.

I needed something to ease the arousal I had for my brother, and since Ryker was out of the question, Max would do.

Our parents were out for the night, and I’d taken Max to the basement rec room. We were both half-drunk, making out on the old leather couch. His hand was clumsy under my shirt, fingers pushing inside my bra while I moaned—a totally forced and fake one—softly.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” Max groaned, unzipping his fly to stroke his cock.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut, trying to lose myself in the moment, but all I could picture was Ryker’s rougher hands, his stronger grip, and the way his scent always lingered in the house like a constant reminder.

Max’s touch felt wrong, mechanical, nothing like the fire I imagined when I thought about the man I wasn’t supposed to want.

The contrast made my stomach twist with guilt, but my body was slick and aching anyway, betraying me with every awkward grope from Max while my mind was fixed on the one person who was completely off-limits.

I was pressing my chest into his hand, my thoughts on Ryker and him doing this to me, when the basement door slammed open.

Ryker stood there in nothing but gray sweatpants, chest heaving, eyes black with rage. The light from the hallway carved shadows across his abs and the obvious rage on his face as he stared at Max.

“Get the fuck out,” he snarled.

Max scrambled up, zipping his pants. “Dude, what the—”

When Max didn’t move fast enough, Ryker grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him toward the stairs. “Touch her again and I’ll break every bone in your body. Out. Now.”

The door slammed behind Max, and his frantic footsteps could be heard through the house and out the front door. Silence crashed over the room. I sat there, skirt hiked up, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Ryker’s gaze dropped to my disheveled clothes. His jaw flexed. “You let him put his hands on you?”

My face burned. “Ryker… it’s not—”

He crossed the room in two strides, towering over me. One big hand wrapped around my throat, not squeezing just holding.

Possessive.

I was shocked at his words. They hit somewhere deep and raw, and I couldn’t stop myself from whimpering. Heat pooled low in my belly even as shame burned my cheeks. The air between us electrified, years of stolen glances and unspoken want finally cracking open.

Ryker slid his hand from my throat to cup my cheek, surprisingly gentle for how furious he looked.

His thumb brushed my lower lip as he gruffly murmured, “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said roughly.

“Every time you smile at me, every time you say ‘big brother’ in that sweet voice… it fucks me up. I’ve been fighting it for so long.

But seeing you with him tonight?” His words made my pulse race. “I can’t do it anymore, Henleigh.”

Henleigh. He almost never used my full name anymore, and hearing it now, rough and low like that, sent a shiver straight through me. I could smell the faint scent of soap on his skin mixed with the clean sweat from whatever workout he’d been doing before he burst in.

My nipples were still tight from Max’s clumsy groping, but it was Ryker’s nearness that made my whole body ache.

The forbidden weight of it pressed down on my chest because this was my brother, the guy who used to sneak me extra cookies after dinner when Mom said no, and the one who taught me how to throw a punch so no one could ever hurt me.

And now his breath was mingling with mine, his dark eyes searching my face like he was looking for permission or maybe forgiveness for what we both knew was coming.

He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to pull away, but I didn’t. Our lips met, tongues touching, tentative and restrained. It was soft at first, then turned hungry, desperate. The kiss tasted of forbidden fruit and years of longing. When he pulled back, we both were breathing hard.

Ryker rested his forehead against mine and panted roughly, like it was taking everything in him to keep his control and composure.

One of his hands lingered on my waist, fingers flexing like he wanted to pull me closer but was holding back with iron will.

The leather couch creaked under us as I shifted, my skirt still bunched up around my hips, but he didn’t look down.

He kept his gaze on my eyes, intense and burning, like if he glanced anywhere else he’d lose the thin thread of restraint keeping us from going further.

“This is wrong,” I whispered, even as my hands fisted in his shirt.

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice hoarse. “But I don’t care. Not anymore.”

The words hung between us, heavy and honest in a way that scared me more than anything. I could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest, and his muscles were coiled tight like he was ready for a fight… or for something else entirely.

Memories flashed through my head: Ryker carrying me on his shoulders at the pool. Ryker staying up late helping me with math even when he was exhausted from his own stuff. Ryker looking at me across the dinner table these past weeks like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

All of it twisted together now into this aching, terrifying need. My body hummed, wet and needy in a way Max could never have caused, and the shame of that only made the pull toward Ryker even stronger.

We stayed like that for a long moment, the weight of the line we’d just crossed hanging heavy in the air. No further touches, just the terrifying, thrilling knowledge that everything had changed between us.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Part of me wanted to run upstairs and pretend this never happened, to bury the feelings like I had for months. But another part–the louder part now–wanted to pull him back down and keep tasting the danger on his lips.

Ryker finally stepped back, his hand lingering on my arm for a second longer than necessary, like he couldn’t quite let go yet.

The basement felt smaller, the air thicker.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, the same nervous habit I’d seen a thousand times, and muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like a curse and a prayer mixed together.

When he looked at me again, there was no going back to how things were. The line had been crossed, and we both knew it.

My lips still tingled from the kiss, swollen and sensitive, and I could taste him on my tongue.

The flavor was something dark and masculine that made my thighs press together instinctively.

The basement light flickered slightly overhead, casting long shadows across his broad shoulders as he stood there breathing hard.

I wanted to reach out and trace the new scars on his body, to ask what kind of trouble he’d gotten into while he was away, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I just sat there, heart racing, wondering how we were supposed to go back to being a normal brother and sister after this.

The guilt was already creeping in, cold and sharp, but it couldn’t quite drown out the warm pulse of want that kept building every time his eyes met mine.

Ryker looked like he was fighting the same war inside his head, his fists clenching and releasing at his sides before he finally turned halfway toward the stairs, giving me one last long look that promised this was only the beginning.