My Brother's Roommate ..

~~Shirly~~

MY STEPBROTHER'S BESTFRIEND.

It was dark and quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around the whole house. Everyone was asleep. Or at least, they should have been.

I wasn’t dreaming when I felt it—fingers sliding deep into my pussy, curling and pumping like they owned me. My body jerked, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even cry out, not with the moans already strangled in my throat. My hand shot up to my mouth, muffling the sounds that wanted to escape as his fingers drove deeper.

I should’ve screamed. I should’ve pushed him away. But my body betrayed me, opening up for every thrust, my wetness giving me away. Heat rolled through me, my thighs trembling around his hand.

A low groan brushed against my thighs, hot and deep, and that was when it hit me.

Damien.

My brother’s best friend.

The bastard was finger-fucking me while everyone else slept just a wall away.

~~~~~

I was new in town, clueless about most places, when Mom decided I’d be staying with my stepbrother, Lucien. She said the daily bus fare to college was draining her too much, and living with him would make things easier.

I didn’t argue. In fact, the thought secretly thrilled me. Lucien wasn’t around the house much since he worked, but he was still nine years older than me—old enough to be off-limits, forbidden. Yet that never stopped me from wanting him.

For as long as I could remember, I’d stared at him too long, dreamed too hard. He was the one I wanted to take my virginity. I used to imagine his cock stretching me open, thick and curved, fucking me until I couldn’t breathe. The guilt always burned after, but the hunger never left.

So on Tuesday morning, I packed my bags and headed to his place. My stomach knotted with nerves, but also with excitement. Every step toward his apartment felt like I was walking into my own dirty fantasy.

I knocked three times on his door. My heart pounded, ready to see Lucien’s face again, ready to taste him if I had the courage.

But when the door swung open, it wasn’t Lucien.

It was him.

A stranger.

He stood there shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, the waistband clinging to a deep V carved into his stomach. My eyes dropped before I could stop myself, tracing the sharp lines down to the thick outline pressing against the thin fabric of his pants.

My breath caught. Hunger twisted low in my belly. He had damp brown hair, sticking to his forehead like he’d just stepped out of the shower. Drops of water still clung to his chest.

And God, he was huge.

“Hello?” His voice was sharp, annoyed. He snapped his fingers in front of my face, dragging me out of the trance.

Heat flooded my cheeks.

“Who are you?” I stammered, trying to move past him, but he shifted, blocking me with his broad chest.

“Who the fuck are you?” he shot back, his smirk curling slow and cocky when his eyes flicked down my body.

The way he looked at me—hungry, like he knew exactly what I was thinking—made my thighs clench together.

I should’ve pushed him. I should’ve demanded answers. But instead, my voice came out weak. “This is Lucien’s apartment. I’m supposed to be staying here.”

The doorway was a wall of muscle. His arms stretched wide, gripping both sides of the frame like he owned not just the apartment—but me.

“That’s not the correct answer to my question,” he drawled, blocking my way. His voice had that lazy, dangerous edge that made my skin prickle.

I glared, jaw tight. “Didn’t you just hear me? This is Lucien’s apartment. I’m supposed to be welcomed by him, not interrogated by some smug asshole at his door. So either you move, or I’ll call—”

“Call who?” His smirk deepened, cutting me off before I could finish. “Lucien? Sweetheart, this is my apartment. If you’re not going to turn around right now, I’ll be happy to slam this door in your face.”

Heat shot through my chest, anger and humiliation tangling. “Lucien is my brother. Stepbrother. He’s expecting me.” My voice sharpened like a blade as I leaned closer. “So who the fuck are you? His guest? Don’t tell me you’re gay and the two of you are fucking.”

His laugh was low, dark, and infuriating. The bastard actually smiled at that, slow and amused, like I’d just entertained him.

“So you’re the sister…” he murmured, eyes dragging over me in a way that made my stomach twist. “Knew it. I just needed you to say it.”

And before I could stop him, his hand closed around the strap of my bag.

“Don’t touch my shit.” I yanked it back, glaring daggers. “You think this is hilarious, huh?”

I shoved past him, dragging my bags inside with more force than necessary, refusing to let him see how unsteady I felt under that gaze of his.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped suddenly, the playfulness gone, voice hard and commanding.

I froze. Because the truth was, I didn’t know. I had no clue which door was Lucien’s, no idea where to go. My heart pounded loud in my ears as his presence loomed behind me, hot, suffocating, and far too close.

"Well, I’ve had a long day, and I definitely need to rest. Maybe take a bath too… and where the fuck is my brother?" I muttered as I turned, only to slam head-on into him.

My forehead collided with his, hard enough to make me gasp. My palms instinctively pressed against his bare chest, and heat radiated off him like fire.

“Fuck…” he muttered low, the word rumbling through his chest under my hands.

“Aren’t you just walking trouble that needs to be avoided, huh?” His voice was rough, his tone laced with a dangerous amusement.

My breath stuttered. I wanted to snap back, but the words tangled on my tongue. “I just… um—”

He nodded slowly, eyes sharp, lips curling at the edge. “Okay…?” The single word came out like a dare.

His gaze dragged down me before he spoke again, his tone mocking yet heavy. “You know, for a young girl like you… you’ve got a sharp tongue. Lucien didn’t mention that part.."

I froze when his fingers brushed my bare shoulder. The fabric of my thin shirt offered no shield, and the heat of his skin against mine made my stomach twist. His touch was deliberate, slow, trailing down until he reached my hand. His rough fingertip slid over mine, teasing, testing, claiming.

My throat tightened. “What… what exactly did he say about me?” The question spilled out like a secret I shouldn’t have asked, my voice shaky, my chest rising and falling too fast. “What were the things he told you?”

A smirk curved his lips as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Curious, huh?” His whisper was dark, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.