Sunlight sliced through the blinds like an accusation. I woke up sore in all the best-worst ways—thighs aching, a dull throb between my legs, and the unmistakable stickiness of what we’d done drying on my skin. My sheets smelled like him. Like sweat and that woodsy cologne and pure bad decisions.
*What the actual f**k, Lila.*
I stared at the ceiling, heart hammering. My stepbrother. I’d let my stepbrother f**k me raw last night—begged him for it, came so hard I saw stars while he spilled inside me. No condom. No sense. Just months of pretending that charged look at the wedding never happened, all of it detonating the second he walked through the door.
I should’ve felt disgusted. Instead, heat curled low in my belly just remembering the way he’d growled “little sister” while pounding int
