005

LIV

“Do you think he wants you?”

Her voice came from the dark. Flat and quietly.

I didn’t turn or utter anything.

Not because I didn’t have an answer —

but because yes.

Yes, I thought he wanted me.

Not just thought — felt it.

Every time his eyes dropped to my legs.

Every time his hand twitched when I passed.

Every time he said my name like it left a taste he wasn’t sure he hated.

But I didn’t say any of that, I just let the silence sit.

Let her fill in the rest.

Behind me, I heard the mattress shift. Her knees uncurled. The weight of her breath thickened.

She wasn’t asking because she didn’t know, she was asking because she did.

Because she felt it too.

And she couldn’t stand that maybe—just maybe—he wanted me more.

I went to bed soaked, not from him.

From this.

From being wanted and hated at the same time.

From knowing her eyes followed me when his didn’t.

From knowing she was more obsessed than jealous.

From knowing she was fucking breaking.

And the next day? She broke harder.

*****

I was barefoot in the living room, braless in a baby tee that stuck to my tits from sweat, my thighs parted on the edge of the couch like I didn’t care who walked in.

I heard the door click, heard Sabrina’s voice go flat in the hallway — not angry, just scared.

The kind of scared you get when something you buried shows up wearing a leather jacket and smelling like cigarettes.

Then I saw him.

Fuck.

Tall. Inked hands. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked straight at me like he already knew I’d taste good.

My stomach clenched, but my pussy clenched harder.

Who in the fucking sex scene was this hottie?

“Liv, this is Zane,” Sabrina said, like she read my thoughts.

She didn’t look at me.

She was wearing shorts she hadn’t worn in a year — too tight, too high — and a top that looked like it belonged to me.

She was flushed, but not from heat. From nerves. From the fact that she brought a bomb into a house already burning.

“Zane,” she repeated, like that name didn’t already hang heavy in the room.

He didn’t shake my hand, he didn’t look away.

“Didn’t know this was a family reunion,” he said, low and slow.

I crossed my legs. Let my thigh shift just enough to show how high the shorts had ridden up.

“Half-sister,” I corrected. “We didn’t grow up together.”

He smirked.

“Noted miss.”

I didn’t need a history lesson to know what happened.

Zane was hers, at some point. Probably when she was lonely and pissed off and pretending she didn’t want Caleb to touch her.

But Zane wasn’t a rebound.

He was a threat, and now he was in the house.

And watching me like I was something ripe he wasn’t supposed to bite.

My nipples hardened for some reason. My shorts got damper. And I saw the exact moment his eyes dropped to my hips — then slid back up with no shame.

“You always dress like that?” he asked.

I smiled.

“You always stare like that?”

He didn’t respond, they way he played with his fingers afterwards was enough.

Sabrina felt… uneasy.

She dropped her keys too loud on the counter. Opened the fridge with too much force.

Zane didn’t even look at her.

“Caleb home?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “He’s still at the site.”

Zane’s eyes flicked to me again. “Shame.”

“Why?” I asked.

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, shirt riding up just enough to show the top of his waistband.

“Curious what kind of man runs a house like this.”

His tone was filthy, not mocking. Observing.

And I liked being observed.

Sabrina walked past me too fast, brushing my shoulder like it was an accident. She didn’t say anything, but her whole body was screaming.

She hated that he was looking at me.

The silence sat for a beat too long.

Then: “You hungry?” she asked him.

He grinned. “Starving.”

She moved to the stove while he stayed near me.

Too near.

He didn’t touch me or say anything else. Just stood at the edge of the living room and stared while I sat, half-spread, tits bouncing with every breath.

It felt like foreplay, except, the only thing touching me was his stare.

Caleb walked in just after six, slammed the door harder than usual.

Then steps. Heavy. Angry.

He paused at the archway and stared at all of us.

Me on the couch, legs still parted.

Zane standing too close.

Sabrina plating dinner like she was trying to prove she still knew how to be useful.

And Caleb?

He looked at Zane. Then back at me.

And I swear something inside him cracked.

He didn’t speak, just clenched his jaw so tight I thought his teeth would snap.

Zane didn’t move an inch.

He just turned — slowly — and held out a hand.

“Zane. Zane Mercer.”

Caleb looked at it and ignored the stretched hands.

He looked at Sabrina afterwards, and that was it.

He walked past us. Straight to the fridge, got a beer and remained silent.

I stood up and walked behind him, letting my hip graze the counter.

“hmph.” His breath hitched.

We all heard it, but all acted like we didn’t.

Dinner wasn’t quiet afterwards.

It was louder than it should’ve been — not in volume, but in energy. Sabrina moved with so much swiftness, while Caleb was drinking too hard.

Zane? Zane looked like he was waiting for a dare.

So? I sat down across from him at the table, thighs bare, nipples outlined in cotton, and acted like I wasn’t dripping between my legs.

I was.

I could feel the wet fabric of my shorts clinging to me. I didn’t shift to hide it, I shifted to make it worse.

Zane noticed.

His eyes dropped once, then came back up with a smirk like he knew what color I’d taste like.

And across the table, Sabrina saw it.

She didn’t say anything, but the fork in her hand bent just slightly.

I reached for the bread.

Zane reached too.

His fingers brushed mine.

Hot. Calloused. Deliberate.

And Caleb — who hadn’t looked at me all week — looked now.

Hard.

His stare slammed into me. Then into Zane. Then back to his drink.

He didn’t speak, to be honest, he didn’t need to.

Because every breath in this room was a fucking accusation.

Sabrina broke first.

“You were with her, right?” she asked Zane. Voice tight.

He didn’t blink. “Define with.”

Her face turned red.

Caleb didn’t look up.

I licked the edge of my knife and Zane watched me.

“Jesus,” Sabrina muttered.

She stood up.

“I need air.”

She stormed out, unfortunately, no one followed her. :(

I stood up as well.

“Thanks for dinner,” I said softly, brushing past Caleb’s chair.

He looked up at me.

“Where are you going? hmm?” he asked.

“To change.”

He didn’t respond afterward, but I damn knew his eyes followed me.

I went straight up the stairs and didn’t close my door.

I left it wide open.

Ten minutes later, someone knocked.

I didn’t answer.

Zane walked in anyway.

“The door was open.” He let out.

I turned from the mirror.

“Did you come to stare or speak?”

He smirked.

“I don’t speak unless it’s worth saying Yk?.”

His eyes dropped to the soft curve of my stomach, my tits, my bare thighs.

“You’re dangerous.”

I smiled.

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, “no one’s stopped you.”

My throat dried, I could see his cock peeking from his pants.

He didn’t touch me, but he didn’t leave.

And when Sabrina appeared in the doorway behind him — face flushed, breath uneven — everything in the room changed.

“You need to go Zane,” she said to him.

He didn’t move, but I did.

I sat on the bed, legs apart, tank top sliding low.

“Do you?” I directed to him.

She didn’t answer, but her eyes didn’t leave my chest, giving me a stare that felt like lust and judgement at the same time.

Caleb showed up last.

His knock wasn’t a knock. It was a fist on wood.

“Liv.”

I stood up and rushed to the door.

Zane was still in the room, Sabrina hadn’t left either.

Caleb saw all three of us and didn’t speak.

His eyes locked with mine.

And for one second — one long, loaded, catastrophic second — I thought he’d tell them to leave, shut the door and finally take what he wanted.

But he didn’t.

He just looked at Zane, then at me.

Then left.

Ugh. What sort of timing was this? What if these two were not here—

What if—?

I was snapped back to reality when Zane finally spoke..