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CHAPTER 108: You Owe Me A Skirt
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2025-06-03 05:08:47
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Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 112: People Like You
For one uncomfortable second, I don’t have an answer. I stare at a point on Hunter’s desk that’s safe and blank and lifeless—anything to avoid the smirk in his eyes. In the silence, my brain replays the conversation I had with Knox last Friday. I remember challenging him on it. Accusing him of jumping to conclusions because of his own guilt or past or whatever he refused to put into words. And now I’m about to use the exact same logic on Hunter. I straighten in my chair, forcing the words out. “You never know what’s running through the mind of a victim.” “A victim?” he says. “Of what?” I sigh. “Hunter, I really appreciate the offer. But until I know Mateo isn’t crazy, I can’t accept the promotion.” “You’re kidding me, right? I put your name forward, and you’re going to make me retract my recommendation? What has a promotion got to do with anything? Is your new office going to be rigged with a bomb? Or does being top staff make you more susceptible to assassination? This is Knox
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 111: The World Is Not That Small
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** The office has become my only place of freedom. Peace comes with knowing that the guards can’t follow me past these walls. They hover, always hover, but not here. They’re probably across the street right now, staring through binoculars from some rented suite or whatever. Watching. Waiting. Logging my every move. To be here—alone, unshadowed, unbothered—is the closest I’ve felt to breathing in the past few days. Of course, I still had to compromise before Knox stopped pestering me about quitting my job. There’s a discreet camera nestled inside the ceramic cactus pot on the corner of my desk. The mic is worse. It’s stitched into my bra strap today, but some days it’s clipped to the hem of my skirt or hidden in the tiny brooch Knox insisted I wear. It only needs to be on when I’m away from my desk, but I’ve forgotten a few times. And I paid for it with lectures. Today is Wednesday, and I’ve almost trained myself to ignore the constant eyes on me. Almost. It’s
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 110: It's Raining Babies
*** ~~DELILAH~~ *** I’ve been putting this on hold for a while. It’s now or never. The fertility pills have made me bloated, a little weepy, and just irritable enough to snap at a waiter for putting too many ice cubes in my soda. Still, I took them. Because timing is everything, and my calendar tells me this is the window. Peak ovulation. Prime conception. One shot to make good on this increasingly psychotic plan. I’m standing at Finn’s door, trying not to panic. My heart is knocking a weird rhythm behind my ribs. Not because I’m scared of him. Not because I’m new to seducing Finn—God knows that’s never been hard—but because this time, I’m not just looking to scratch an itch. This time, there’s a bigger purpose. A bigger risk. One that could show up as two pink lines in a few weeks and alter both our lives forever. And, okay, maybe I’m also panicking because I’ve been doing Pilates religiously, and the thought of ruining my figure makes me want to cry. I raise my hand to knock
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 109: Tiny Possibility
It’s Sunday, and I am before a mirror, regretting my new choice of nails. I stare at my reflection and try to hold the eyeliner steady with what feels like ten tiny daggers sprouting from my fingers. Each movement is careful. One wrong turn could cause the sharp tip to skip across my lid and ruin everything. Again. I pull back and exhale. I don’t know what possessed me to get them at the salon yesterday. Maybe I was craving change. Maybe I needed a little jolt of something new that didn’t involve crying, fighting, or orgasms that left my chest tight. It was either the nails or going full redhead. I figured the nails were safer. And now I can’t even zip my jeans without stabbing my hip. Behind me, I hear the soft scrape of wood. I glance up at the mirror and find Knox standing at the closet door. He’s fully dressed for night work at his club. Black on black on black. Matte shirt, tailored pants. He doesn’t say a word. Just leans one arm against the doorframe and watches me with a l
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 108: You Owe Me A Skirt
He pulls out completely before snapping his hips forward, and I cry out. My head falls back as he hits a spot that makes my toes curl. “Yes. Oh, yes.” He leans down, and his teeth capture my earlobe, biting down just hard enough to make me yelp. "I want you to feel me. Every inch. I want you to know who's inside you, who's making you feel this way." I moan, my hips lifting to meet his thrusts, urging him deeper. The room fills with the sound of our flesh slapping together, of his grunts and my moans. One of his hands leaves my thigh, trailing up my stomach, leaving a path of goosebumps in its wake. He cups my breast through my blouse, squeezing gently before pinching my nipple. The sensation shoots straight to my core, making me clench around him. "Fuck, Sloane," he groans. "You feel so good." His words spur me on, and I meet his thrusts with abandon. The counter shakes, glasses rattle, and I'm pretty sure my heart stops beating entirely, my body focusing on only one thing: him.
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 107: Back Into Your Head
The words land right in the center of my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. I almost smile. Almost. God. Why does he have to say it like that? With so much passion and authority. So blunt. So certain. Like it’s just a fact and not the thing I’ve been secretly dying to hear again since the last time he said it while I was dozing off in the playroom, that soft whisper of ‘I love you’ against my neck. My whole body reacts before my mind can catch up—chest tightening, skin buzzing, knees a little weak even though I’m sitting. I want to throw myself into his arms. I want to blurt it back and tell him, ‘Yes, I love you too. I’ll stay here forever if you want me to.’ We’ll figure out the closet space and whose mug is whose and grow old yelling at each other over breakfast. I want to be that girl. Just once. But that would be my heart talking. And maybe my hormones, because every inch of me wants to be touched by him when he says stuff like that. My brain, though? My brain is still
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