Home alone with my stepbrother 1
818 Words
Zara’s POV
Coming home was supposed to be relaxing. A lazy weekend. Sleep. Netflix. Steal snacks from the pantry. Instead, I walked through the front door and found a hastily scribbled note on the kitchen counter:
“Zara – We had to leave town for a last-minute trip. Be back Monday. Love you! – Mom & Alan”
Perfect.
Just prefect!
I rolled my eyes and tossed my keys on the marble counter. The house was too quiet. Too clean. And worst of all, too empty… except for one person.
Caleb.
My stepbrother.
We never talked much, not really. Even after two years of technically being “siblings,” we’d always kind of… orbited each other. I mean, it wasn’t that he was mean or anything. He was just distant. Broody. He was always working out, always avoiding conversation, always so serious, and felt like he was better than everyone. And don’t get me started on how good-looking he was—because that part was just unfair.
He had no business being that hot. Sharp jawline, tousled dark hair, tattoos down his forearms, and abs that belonged on the cover of a gym calendar. He had that quiet, smoldering thing going on—like he could break you in half but would rather make you beg. If he weren't my stepbrother, I would have been begging him to fuvk me from the moment I met him.
I mean, I can still do that. Technically, he is not my blood relative, and so I doubt if it matters if we fuvk.
And we were alone together now for three whole days. Lord, have mercy.
I sighed and kicked off my sneakers, heading upstairs to throw on something more comfortable. I ended up in my favorite oversized hoodie and tiny pajama shorts, which barely covered anything, but I wasn’t expecting company. Or maybe I was. Maybe I liked the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
Later, I passed the garage on my way to the laundry room and paused. The door was open just a crack, and inside, I could hear grunts, heavy breathing, and thuds of weights hitting the floor.
Curiosity won.
I peeked inside.
There he was—Caleb—shirtless and drenched in sweat. His biceps flexed as he pushed through a set of curls, veins thick and pulsing. His back muscles rippled as he turned toward the bench. I bit my lip and quickly backed away, my pulse racing.
For a moment, I couldn't help but imagine myself under him while he dove into me.
What the hell was wrong with me? He is my brother, for God's sake! Well, step, but technically, the same.
I avoided him most of the day, pretending to scroll through my phone and not care. But every time I heard him walking around the house, my heart would stutter.
By evening, the sky had turned a strange shade of purple. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain lashed at the windows. The lights flickered once. Twice. Then went out completely.
Great.
I groaned and groped around for a flashlight, only to run into a tall, hard wall of muscle in the hallway.
“Jesus!” I gasped, clutching my chest.
Caleb’s voice was low, amused. “Relax. It’s just me.”
I could barely see his face in the dark, but I felt him close. Too close.
“Power’s out,” I mumbled, like he couldn’t tell. “You got candles or anything?”
“Living room. Come on.”
We fumbled our way to the couch, the only light now coming from the occasional lightning strike. Caleb lit two candles and set them on the coffee table. The glow flickered over his face, throwing his cheekbones and jawline into sharp contrast.
He tossed a blanket toward me and sat down on the opposite end of the couch.
We both reached for the blanket at the same time.
Our fingers brushed.
Neither of us said a word. He shifted slightly closer, just enough for our knees to touch beneath the fabric.
I told myself to move. To shift. To put a pillow between us. But I didn’t.
I stayed right there. Waiting for what to happen.
The storm outside got louder, but the quiet between us was heavier.
His thigh was warm against mine. When he adjusted his position just a little, I felt the deliberate press of muscle, the flex of tension.
He didn’t pull away.
Neither did I.
My eyes flicked up to his. His gaze was unreadable but locked on me.
I swallowed. My mouth felt dry.
Maybe it was the storm, the darkness, the quiet house, or two years of unspoken heat suddenly bubbling to the surface.
But I knew, right then and there, something had shifted.
Something dangerous.
Something delicious.
And it wasn’t going to be easy to ignore.
- Writer
