Innocent, Fertile & Milky For My Possessive Stepbrother (Milky Fertile Fantasies #7)

1. IRIS

IRIS

I step through the double doors, squinting against the afternoon sun, when Joan and Ness erupt into another fit of giggles beside me.

"Did you see that? He totally smiled at us." Joan clutches Ness's arm, bouncing on her toes.

"At me, you mean." Ness shoves her playfully, cheeks flushed. "God, he's so hot."

I follow their gaze across the courtyard where Nate Bailey strides toward the field, dark hair catching the light, that easy confidence radiating off him like cologne. He glances back, flashes that trademark grin, and both my friends practically melt into the concrete.

"Iris, say something." Joan whirls on me. "Isn't he gorgeous?"

"He's... nice." I fiddle with the flannel's string, the oversized fabric swallowing my frame.

"Nice?" Ness gapes. "Girl, are you blind? That jawline could cut glass."

I chew my lower lip. Nate is objectively attractive—the kind of guy who knows it, too, with his perfectly fitted jeans and branded sneakers. But when I look at him, I feel... nothing. Not the flutter in my stomach, not the heat that creeps up my neck when?—

Stop.

I shove the thought away before it—Oh—my stepbrother Ivan's face flashes through my mind—those piercing dark hazel eyes that always seem to see straight through me, the sharp angle of his jaw when he clenches it, the way his midnight-brown hair falls in those thick, textured waves.

At twenty-seven, he's all brutal edges and controlled intensity, broad shoulders and that elaborate dark ink stretching across his chest, disappearing under his shirt.

The memory of accidentally walking in on him only in his boxers last week hits me like a physical blow.

My body reacts instantly. Warmth floods between my thighs, and—oh God—the familiar tingle in my breasts that makes me suck in a breath. I cross my arms, pressing them against my chest as dampness seeps into my bra.

Not now. Please not now.

"Earth to Iris?" Joan waves a hand in front of my face.

"Sorry, what?" My voice comes out higher than normal.

"We were saying we should eat lunch near the field tomorrow. You know, casually." Ness wiggles her eyebrows.

"Sure. Whatever." I shift my weight, hyperaware of the slickness between my legs, the sensitivity that makes every step feel amplified.

I'm fertile. My cycle. ovulating—right in the middle of it, actually. My body's primed and ready, hormones screaming at me in ways I can't ignore.

But it doesn't matter. It can't matter.

Ivan's my stepbrother. Off-limits. Forbidden. All those words I repeat like a mantra every time my thoughts drift to the way he moves through a room, that quiet dominance in every gesture, or how his hand felt on my shoulder this morning?—

Stop it.

I force my attention back to Nate, now surrounded by a cluster of girls near the bleachers. Maybe if I tried harder, I could see what everyone else sees. He's got that charm, that smile that makes people gravitate toward him.

He's just not my type.

And I absolutely refuse to understand why that is.

We turn the corner onto Maple Street, and Joan launches into another breathless recounting of Nate's "totally deliberate" eye contact in the hallway.

"I swear, Ness, he held my gaze for like three full seconds?—"

"That's called staring, Joan. He was probably confused about which classroom?—"

"You're just jealous because?—"

I tune them out, scanning the line of parked cars along the curb until my eyes land on the sleek black Range Rover idling at our usual spot. My breath catches.

Ivan.

He's got the driver's side window rolled down, one tattooed forearm draped casually over the frame, those dark hazel eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.

At twenty-seven, he shouldn't be this devastatingly gorgeous—shouldn't make my eighteen-year-old heart race like I'm some lovesick teenager. Except I am. And he does.

The afternoon sun hits the sharp planes of his face, catching in that thick mane of midnight-brown hair. His jaw tightens when a group of guys walk past, gaze tracking them before snapping back to me.

Always watching. Always protective.

"Oh my God." Joan grabs my wrist, nails digging in. "Is that your stepbrother?"

"Yeah, he picks me up most days." I keep my voice level, fighting the blush creeping up my neck.

"Iris." Ness stops dead, staring. "You didn't mention he looks like that."

"Like what?" I fiddle with the flannel's string.

"Like a whole meal." Joan fans herself dramatically. "How old is he again?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Still." Ness sighs, adjusting her backpack. "What I wouldn't give to have that waiting for me after school."

My stomach twists. Jealousy flares hot and sudden in my chest—irrational, inappropriate, completely unwelcome. I have no right to feel possessive over Ivan. He's my stepbrother. That's it.

Except when his eyes track my approach, darkening slightly, jaw working like he's biting back words?—

"Girl, you're blushing." Joan elbows me, grinning. "Do you have a crush on your stepbrother?"

"What? No. That's—" My voice pitches up. "That's ridiculous."

"Sure." Ness winks. "Well, if you don't want him..."

"Goodbye." I shove past them, cheeks burning.

Their laughter follows me across the sidewalk, but I barely hear it over the thundering of my pulse. Each step toward Ivan feels weighted, charged with something electric and dangerous.

His gaze never leaves me. When I'm close enough, I catch the subtle flare of his nostrils, the way his knuckles whiten against the steering wheel.

"Hey." I aim for casual, miss by a mile.

"Get in." His voice comes out rougher than usual, sending shivers down my spine.

Behind me, Joan and Ness are still giggling, waving enthusiastically at Ivan. I glance back, catch them mouthing "so hot" at each other, and something fierce and primal claws at my insides.

Mine.

The thought slams into me unbidden, unwanted, undeniable.

I wrench open the passenger door and slide into the leather seat, pulling the door shut with more force than necessary. The interior smells like him—woodsmoke and something darker, masculine, intoxicating.

"Bye, guys!" I wave through the window, managing a smile that feels brittle.

Ivan doesn't acknowledge them. Instead, he turns toward me with that expression—the one that means he's about to ruin my day and thoroughly enjoys doing it.

"That's my flannel."

I glance down at the oversized blue-and-black plaid swallowing my frame. "Oh. I?—"

"Did I say you could borrow it?"

"You weren't using it." The words come out smaller than I intend.

"Not the point." He shifts in his seat, those dark hazel eyes raking over me in a way that makes my skin prickle. "Though I'll admit, you pull off the whole 'drowning in fabric' look better than most."

Heat floods my cheeks. "It's fashion?—"

"Sure. Except even when you clean up nice and follow all those rules, guys still run from you." His mouth curves into something between a smirk and a scowl. "You know why?"

I cross my arms, pressing them against my chest. "Enlighten me."

"You look uptight. Closed off. Like you'd flinch if someone tried to hold your hand." He pauses, jaw working. "Tell me something, Iris. Are you still a virgin?"

My mouth drops open. "That's—that's none of your business."

The silence stretches between us, charged and dangerous. Ivan studies my face, reading every micro-expression like I'm a witness on the stand and he's cross-examining.

"Thought so." Satisfaction bleeds into his voice. "Virgin and innocent."

"You're wrong." The words tumble out defensive, panicked, because he sees too much—always has. "I'm not. I have a boyfriend, actually."

His entire demeanor shifts. Shoulders tense, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

"Boyfriend." The word comes out flat, deadly.

"Yes." I gesture wildly toward the field where Nate's jogging with the team. "That guy. The one my friends were swooning over."

Ivan's head swivels. He tracks Nate across the grass, watches him laugh with a cheerleader in her short skirt who keeps touching his arm.

Before I can backtrack, before I can take it back, Ivan rolls down his window.

"Hey. You. Nate!"

No. No, no, no?—

Nate looks up, jogging closer with that easy smile. "Yeah?"

"You Iris's boyfriend?"

"Ivan—" I grab his arm, but he doesn't budge.

Nate's smile falters. Confusion flickers across his face. "Uh... what?"

"Her boyfriend. You. Are you dating my stepsister?"

"I—" Nate glances between us, clearly lost. "I don't?—"

"Then take her home." Ivan jerks his chin toward me. "Since apparently nobody asked me to pick her up."

Horror crashes over me in waves. The cheerleader's staring. Half the team's watching. My face burns so hot I might combust.

"Ivan, stop?—"

"Nobody asked you to pick me up anyway," I hiss, mortified beyond words. "You just do."

"Because you're my responsibility." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Our parents sent you to my house. It's closer to your school. Which means I make sure you get there and back in one piece."

"I don't need?—"

"Still." He cuts me off, jaw clenched. "You don't need me driving you around."

Nate backs away slowly, hands raised like he's defusing a bomb. The cheerleader tugs him back toward the field.

I sink into the leather seat, wishing it would swallow me whole.

"This is humiliating."

"Truth hurts." Ivan starts the engine, pulling away from the curb with controlled precision. "Or maybe you're just jealous."

"What?"

"Your friends. Gushing over me." His mouth twitches. "Got under your skin, didn't it?"

My breath catches. He knows. Somehow he always knows exactly which buttons to push, which threads to pull until I unravel completely.

"You're delusional."

"Am I?"

The way he looks at me then—dark and knowing and impossibly intense—makes everything inside me clench with want.

I roll my eyes toward the window, watching the familiar streets blur past. My chest still burns with mortification, but I refuse to let him see how much he's rattled me.

"How do you even know Nate?" The question comes out sharper than intended. "He just transferred here."