LOGINNYRA'S POV
He thrust forward, burying himself deep inside me in one rough, claiming push. I cried out sharply, the intense stretch burning sharp at first, but god... it felt so full, so right, even though it hurt a little. Luca froze on top of me, breathing hard like he was fighting himself again. “Fuck, Nyra... you’re too tight,” he growled, voice all wrecked. “Breathe, baby. Relax that tight little pussy around my cock. You’re taking your stepbrother so fucking well already. Just breathe through it for me.” I whimpered, nodding desperately as tears pricked my eyes. “It’s so big… Luca… it hurts but… oh god, it feels so deep.” “That’s my good girl,” he praised, kissing me deep and slow while staying buried to the hilt. His hands stroked my sides even as his hips started moving in those slow, deep strokes that made my toes curl and my heart ache with years of forbidden wanting. Every thrust hit spots I didn’t even know existed, sending sparks shooting through my whole body. “Fuck, Nyra. Look at me while I fuck you. Watch your stepbrother ruin this virgin cunt that’s been dripping for him for years.” I moaned loudly, nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure and confusing emotions crashed over me. “Luca… yes… it feels so good… don’t stop, please don’t stop.” My voice was broken and needy, but I couldn’t hold back. He picked up the pace, hips slamming harder, guiding my legs higher around his waist. “Wrap them tighter, baby. Let me get deeper inside this greedy pussy. Yeah, just like that. This tight cunt was made for my cock, wasn’t it? So wet and hot, sucking me in like a desperate little slut for her stepbrother.” His dirty words mixed with rough praise made me clench around him even harder. One hand squeezed my breast hard, pinching and twisting my nipple while the other gripped my hip possessively. “Moan louder for me, Nyra. Let the whole house hear how much you love getting fucked by me.” I couldn’t hold back. Moans spilled out louder with every deep thrust. “Luca… oh fuck… harder… please! Fuck me harder!” My body shook as another orgasm built fast and intense, tears slipping down my cheeks from the overwhelming mix of pleasure, shame, and years of hidden pain. He flipped me suddenly onto my knees, face pressed into his pillow that smelled so much like him. He gripped my hips hard and thrust back in from behind, even deeper this way. “Push back on my cock, baby. Show me how bad you need it. Fuck yourself on your stepbrother’s dick like the desperate little whore you are.” I did, rocking back against him desperately, moaning loudly into the pillow as he railed me with everything he had. His hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back. “That’s it. Take every thick inch. This pussy is mine tonight. Say it while I fuck you.” “Yours… it’s yours, Luca!” I gasped between loud moans, lost in the feeling and the heartbreaking intensity of finally having him. The pleasure crashed over me so hard I saw stars. I came clenching around him violently, crying out his name again and again as waves of ecstasy rolled through me, mixed with stupid tears because I knew this would probably destroy me. He didn’t stop, pounding through my orgasm, his balls slapping against me. “Good girl… come all over my cock. Milk me with that tight pussy. Fuck, you feel incredible. So perfect and wet for me.” With a deep, guttural groan he finally buried himself to the hilt and came hard, spilling deep inside me while murmuring filthy sweet things against my neck. “Take all my cum, baby… you’re mine, Nyra. Fucking mine.” We collapsed together, bodies tangled, sweaty and sticky, breathing ragged. For one brief, stupid, perfect moment it felt like everything had finally changed between us. Like maybe he felt it too. But then reality hit like a slap. Luca pulled out and rolled off me fast, like I had burned him. He sat on the edge of the bed, back to me, running his hands through his hair. The silence stretched thick and ugly. “Get dressed,” he said, voice cold again. “This never happened.” My chest tightened. “Luca... what? We just...” He stood up, yanking his pants on without looking at me. “You’re my stepsister, Nyra. This was a mistake. A stupid fucking mistake.” His words cut deep. No warmth, no soft aftercare, just that wall slamming back up. “Go back to your room, and don’t ever pull shit like this again.” Tears burned my eyes as I grabbed my clothes, hands shaking. Shame crashed over me, mixing with the leftover heat. I felt used, dirty, and so damn stupid. “I hate you,” I whispered, but it was a lie. That just made it hurt more. He didn’t answer. I left crying, replaying everything. After that weekend, everything changed. Luca went back to keeping his distance even harder, barely in the same room with me. Those cold stares returned, maybe colder. I tried acting normal around the family, smiling my perfect smile, but inside I was messed up. The obsession didn’t die... it twisted into something heavier. Resentment mixed with longing. I caught him watching me sometimes when he thought I wasn’t looking, but he never said shit. Never touched me again. I threw myself into school, got accepted to a good program abroad. Leaving felt like the only way to breathe. Mom and George thought it was great for my future. Luca didn’t say a word when I announced it at dinner... just gave me that hard look and left the table early. Part of me hoped he’d stop me, tell me not to go, he didn’t. So I left, telling myself it was over. New country, new start. I’d forget him. But I didn’t, not really. The years passed... studies, new friends, trying to date normal guys who never measured up. The memories of that night haunted me in the quiet moments... his hands, his voice, the way he’d lost control for me. I buried it deep, built a new version of myself. Polished, independent, less rebellious on the outside. When I came back, I did it with a different last name for work stuff, a fresh identity to keep things clean. Landed a job that looked perfect on paper. Then... the marriage. It happened fast. He was nice enough, stable, from a good family. Mom pushed it hard, saying it would ground me when I came back lost and drifting with no clear path. At the time I had no real choice… the family pressure, the financial weight, everything made refusing feel impossible. I said yes because it felt like the only safe path left. Safe from the chaos and heartbreak Luca brought out in me. Safe from feeling too much. But safe didn’t mean happy. And now… A hot, wet tongue traced the shell of my ear, slow and deliberate. Luca’s breath ghosted over the damp skin, sending a shiver straight down my spine. I jolted back to the present, heart slamming. We weren’t in the past anymore. I was still in the tiny guest bathroom, gripping the sink, cold water dripping from my hands. Luca’s body pressed close behind me, trapping me against the counter. His scent wrapped around me again. My face felt flushed, thighs pressed tight together from the memories. “You really think I believe that bullshit about you being happy?” he murmured, voice low and rough right against my ear. Anger flared up hot and sudden, mixing with the ache his closeness dragged back up. I spun around to face him, eyes narrowing. “Happy? You have the nerve to ask that after everything?” My voice came out shaky but sharp. “You didn’t even come to my wedding, Luca. Not even showed up, not a call, not a message... nothing. You just disappeared like I was some dirty secret you wanted to forget.” His jaw tightened. For a second something raw flashed in his eyes… pain, regret, something deeper he wasn’t saying. It made my stomach twist. Footsteps approached. “Babe? You okay in there?” Richard’s voice called out. Luca leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Tell him you’re fine.” His hand squeezed my hip teasingly. “I’m… I’m good,” I called back, voice shaky. “Just catching up.” Richard chuckled. “Alright, don’t take too long. Food’s getting cold.” We returned to the dinner table. Richard soon brought up his business. “Man, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about my business. It’s going through a rough patch right now…” I cut in fast. “Richard, not now. We don’t need to bring that up here. We don’t need your help, Luca.” But he insisted. “Babe, please. Luca’s good with this stuff. Suppliers pulling out, cash flow’s a mess and almost going down,one I could really use your help.” Luca leaned back, eyes flicking between us. He already seemed to know the situation. “I can check it out. No promises though, I don’t fully trust how things are being run over there.” Mom jumped in. “Luca, you’ve always been the one who fixes things in the family. Please help them, it would mean a lot.” Luca’s gaze shifted to me. “What do I get in return?” Mom didn’t hesitate. “Nyra has been looking for a job since we got back and you haven’t found a secretary yet. She can start working for you, keep it in the family and help Richard too.” I tensed. “Mom, no. I don’t want to do that.” Luca locked eyes with me. “Yes, you can work with me, Nyra. It makes sense. I’ll make sure it’s worth your time.” Richard nodded, relieved. “Babe, it could be good. At least temporary.” I felt trapped. “Fine,” I said bitterly. “I’ll do it. But just until things get better for us.” Luca’s eyes flashed satisfied. “Good. Don’t be late to the office tomorrow morning. I like my secretaries punctual.” The rest of dinner dragged on with forced small talk. My mind spun between the past and this dangerous new reality.NYRA'S POV I stayed late on purpose. Told Richard I had a deadline, which wasn't exactly a lie... the Henderson renewal paperwork actually did need finishing... but I could have finished it from my kitchen table just as easily, and some part of me knew that when I packed my bag that morning and told him not to wait up. The office had gone quiet by eight, most of the floor emptied out, just the hum of the building settling into itself and the occasional distant ding of an elevator nobody was riding. Luca's door was open. I found him at his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to the elbows, glasses pushed up into his hair the way they always ended up whenever he'd been reading too long. The low desk lamp threw warm light across the sharp line of his jaw and the open collar of his shirt. Something about the sight of him like that... unguarded, still working, waiting without looking like he was waiting... landed low in my stomach and stayed there. "You're still here," I said from the door
NYRA'S POV Richard came home late again, keys hitting the counter harder than they needed to, and I heard it from the kitchen where I was pretending to care about the pasta I was making, some habit of domestic normalcy I couldn't seem to let go of even now. The water had gone cloudy from too much salt. The sauce clung to the wooden spoon in thick, sticky threads. I kept stirring anyway, because if I stopped moving I would have to feel the full weight of the day still sitting under my skin. "Hey," he said, dropping his bag by the door. He looked wrong somehow, tie already loose, color gone out of his face in a way that had nothing to do with tiredness. The kitchen light caught the shine of sweat at his temples. His shoulders sat higher than usual, like he was bracing for something that had already happened. "Hey. Dinner's almost ready." "Not hungry." He went straight for the liquor cabinet instead, poured something amber two fingers deep, drank half of it standing at the counter be
NYRA'S POVI heard it in the break room, of all places, two of the junior associates by the coffee machine not bothering to lower their voices because they didn't know I was in the next aisle over, restocking printer paper for no reason except that I needed a task that didn't involve thinking."...I'm telling you, it's basically decided. My cousin works at Cole Foundation, she said Vanessa's already talked to a planner.""No way. Sterling? He seems way too closed off for that.""That's what everyone says, but apparently the families have been circling it for years. Something about the supply chain deal too, so it's not just romance, it's strategic. My cousin said the announcement's just waiting on the right moment. George's health, probably. They don't want it to look tacky.""God, imagine being that rich. Marrying for a supply chain."They laughed, easy, moved on to something about the vending machine being out of the good chips, and I stood frozen behind the shelf with a ream of pap
George called Luca into a private lunch two days later, and I only knew about it because Clara mentioned it in passing while restocking the coffee. Offhand, like it was nothing. “Big lunch with his dad today. Country club. Whole production.” It shouldn’t have made my stomach drop the way it did. But I’d learned enough by now to know that nothing in this family happened without a reason attached, and country club lunches with George didn’t get scheduled for small talk. Luca came back from it two hours later. Jaw tight. Tie loosened like he’d been fighting the knot the whole drive back. He went straight into his office without stopping at my desk the way he usually did. I gave him twenty minutes before I followed, coffee in hand as an excuse, and found him standing at the window with his hands braced against the sill. Shoulders set in a way I recognized from the plane, from the storm, from every moment he was holding something back by pure force. “That bad?” I asked, setting the coff
She came in on a Wednesday, no appointment on the calendar, which should have been my first warning, because nobody walked onto this floor without Clara knowing about it three days in advance. I heard her before I saw her...the particular click of heels that meant money, unhurried, confident, the kind of walk that assumes doors open themselves. When I looked up from my desk, she was already past Clara’s station, Clara trailing a half-step behind with the look of a woman who’d tried to stop something and failed. “You must be Nyra.” Vanessa Cole was exactly what my mother’s voice had promised and somehow worse for being real. Tall. Composed. Dressed in something the color of good coffee that probably cost more than my monthly salary. Hair pulled back in a way that looked effortless and definitely wasn’t. She smiled at me, warm on the surface, and underneath it I felt the same assessment Marcus Webb had given me at dinner, quick and thorough and finished before I’d said a single word.
Mom’s texts had gotten more frequent since I started working for Luca. Little check-ins dressed up as nothing...how’s the new job, come by soon, miss your face. I’d been dodging most of them with excuses that weren’t quite lies, just not the whole truth either. Sunday dinner finally caught up with me. There’s only so many times you can say you’re busy before your own mother starts hearing it as something else. Richard begged off. Said the Webb thing again. It had started to feel less like an excuse and more like a whole second life he was living somewhere I wasn’t invited. I drove over alone, and some small, guilty part of me was relieved about that before I’d even parked. Luca’s car was already in the drive when I pulled up. Just seeing it there made something low in my stomach tighten. Heat. Memory. The shape of his hand on mine on the tarmac still lived under my skin like a brand. Mom answered the door with flour still on her hands, pulling me into a hug that smelled like garlic







