FORBIDDEN LOVE

Aiden’s POV*

Hearing her call my name completely erased whatever restraint I had left. 

  I lose control of myself and keep thrusting in and out of her.

 I knew we were crossing a line we could never uncross, but seeing her completely caught up in the moment with me made it impossible to pull back. The ambient noise of the room faded into the background, replaced only by the erratic sound of our breathing and the sound of flesh hitting each other . 

We were entirely consumed by the rush of the risks we were taking, pushing the limits until the tension finally broke. 

   "Aiden I'm so close, don't stop please."

  And with one last thrust we both cum holding and moaning each other's name 

I collapsed forward, completely exhausted, and too weak to get up.

Then, the heavy sound of the door swinging open cut through the silence like ice.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

The door hung open behind him, and for one unbearable second nobody moved. I felt Lily go rigid beside me, and some useless part of my brain still reached for her before I caught myself and pulled back instead, too late, always too late.

It wasn't anger on my father's face. That I could have handled. It was disappointment, raw and unguarded, the kind that carves itself into a man's expression and stays there — like watching someone realize, in real time, that the son he thought he knew had never really existed.

She was supposed to be my stepsister. Just my stepsister. Nothing more, nothing complicated, nothing that could break a family apart from the inside.

But she wasn't just that anymore. She hadn't been just that for a long time, if I was honest with myself, and now my father had the proof of it written all over his face — and there was no version of what came next that didn't cost us everything.

Flashback — 5 months ago

LILY'S POV

The car pulled into the driveway, and my stomach twisted itself into something tight and unfamiliar. I had spent the entire two-hour drive staring out the window, memorizing the disappearing shape of the only house I'd ever called mine, as if committing it to memory could somehow keep it from vanishing completely.

"We're here," my mother said, her voice bright in a way that felt forced, like she was trying to convince herself as much as me.

I said nothing. What was there to say? Three weeks ago she'd stood in a courthouse in a cream-colored dress and married a man I'd met exactly four times. Now I was supposed to call his house home.

The front door opened before we even reached it, and Richard stepped out, all easy smiles and open arms. He wrapped my mother in a hug like he'd been waiting all day just for that moment, pressing a kiss to her lips that made me look away, suddenly very interested in the gravel beneath my shoes.

"Welcome home," he said.

Home. The word sat strange in my chest, foreign and unearned. This wasn't my home. It was his house, his kitchen, his staircase, his life — and now, apparently, mine too, whether I liked it or not.

"Thank you," I managed, because that's what you say when you don't know what else to do with your hands or your face.

My mother squeezed my shoulder, a small, apologetic gesture, like she knew exactly how hollow this all felt and had no way to fix it.

Richard turned toward the staircase, and something in his posture shifted — pride, maybe, or hope. "There's someone I want you to meet properly," he said. Then, louder, calling up toward the second floor: "Aiden! Come say hello to your sister."

Sister. The word landed wrong, too, though I couldn't have told you why yet.

I heard him before I saw him — footsteps first, unhurried, almost lazy, like whoever they belonged to had never once in his life felt rushed by anything. Then he appeared in the kitchen doorway, and every thought I'd been holding onto scattered.

He had no shirt on. That was the first thing I noticed, and immediately hated myself for noticing. Broad shoulders, skin still damp like he'd just come from a shower, a towel slung carelessly around his neck. His hair was long enough to curl slightly at his jaw, dark and messy in a way that looked effortless because it probably was. And then his eyes lifted to mine — a green so deep and clear it looked like something out of a forest at dusk, not something that should have belonged to a real person standing in a kitchen doorway.

He didn't smile. He just looked at me, unhurried, the way he seemed to do everything, like he had all the time in the world to decide what he thought of me.

"This is Lily," Richard said, gesturing between us with the kind of enthusiasm that made the moment feel even more unbearable. "Lily, this is Aiden — my son."

My son. Not your brother. I noticed the distinction even if Richard hadn't meant anything by it.

"Hey," Aiden said finally. His voice was low, unbothered, like this whole introduction was an inconvenience he was tolerating rather than an occasion.

"Hi," I said back, and hated how small my voice sounded.

For a moment neither of us moved. My mother and Richard were already drifting toward the living room, caught up in their own quiet happiness, oblivious to whatever current had just passed between their children. Aiden's gaze held mine a beat too long — long enough that I felt heat rise in my face, long enough that I had to look away first.

"Welcome to the family," he said, and there was something in his tone I couldn't quite place. Not warmth, exactly. Not hostility either. Something sharper. Something that made my pulse stutter in a way I refused to examine.

Then he turned and walked back up the stairs, leaving me standing in the entryway of a house that wasn't mine, next to a family that wasn't mine, with my heart doing something it absolutely had no business doing.

I didn't know it yet, but that was

the moment everything started to go wrong.