My Step Brother's Claim: The Alpha's Secret Heir

Clara’s POV

You are not supposed to hear your stepbrother groan your name in the dark while his hand is moving between his legs.

I stood frozen in the quiet second-floor hallway of the Sterling estate, my fingers digging into the stack of clean towels in my arms. The bathroom door was cracked open by barely an inch. Through that tiny sliver of golden light, the rough sound came again.

"Clara. Fuck."

His voice was a deep, gravelly rasp. It did not sound like the Damien Sterling who sat across from me at the dinner table with a cold expression and perfect manners. It sounded like a starving beast that had finally slipped its leash.

I should have turned around. I should have dropped the towels and run back down the hall to my small room in the east wing. Instead, my feet stayed glued to the polished hardwood floor. 

My breath caught in my throat as the wet, steady rhythm of skin on skin drifted through the crack.

"Be a good girl for me, Clara. Take it."

A sudden wave of heat shot straight through my stomach and settled heavy between my thighs. My core tightened, throbbing with an immediate, aching wetness that soaked into the thin fabric of my cotton shorts. I squeezed my knees together, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I was terrified he would hear it.

I should have felt disgusted. I should have felt pure panic.

Instead, my traitorous body leaned closer to the wood.

My mother married Alpha Garrick three years ago, bringing me into this massive packhouse when I was only fifteen. To the rest of the Silverthorn Pack, I was just a quiet, fragile Omega who had no right to share the Alpha's roof. And to Damien, the terrifying nineteen-year-old heir built of pure muscle and brutal authority, I was nothing more than an inconvenient shadow.

He had ignored me for three solid years. Whenever our paths crossed, his dark eyes slid right past me as if I were made of glass. 

Except for the late nights when we both ended up in the kitchen. On those nights, his gaze would linger on the bare skin of my legs, dark and heavy, before he would turn his back and walk away without a single word.

I had spent countless nights lying awake in my bed, touching myself in the dark while picturing his massive hands and sharp jawline. I had hated myself for every single thought.

Now, hearing him whisper my name like a prayer while he stroked himself, every ounce of my buried desire came rushing to the surface.

"Clara." He let out a harsh, broken groan from inside the bathroom. "Look at me while I make you scream."

My nipples tightened into hard points against my shirt. The slick heat between my legs grew heavier, demanding friction that I could not give it. I shifted my weight on the balls of my feet.

The floorboard beneath my right foot gave a tiny, sharp creak.

The sound in the bathroom stopped instantly.

The entire hall fell into a suffocating silence. My blood went cold in a single second. I spun around to run, but before I could take a step, the bathroom door was ripped open.

Damien stood in the doorway. 

His dark hair was messy and damp with sweat. His broad chest rose and fell in heavy, jagged breaths, the thick muscles of his torso glistening in the low hall light. His gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his narrow hips, showing the deep lines of his lower stomach and the undeniable bulge pressing against the dark fabric.

His gold-flecked eyes locked directly onto mine. 

"Were you standing there the entire time, Clara?" Damien asked. His voice was dangerously low, vibrating straight through the floorboards.

"I came to drop off the laundry," I whispered, holding the stack of towels against my chest like a shield. "I was just leaving."

Damien stepped out of the bathroom. He did not bother pulling up his pants or wiping the sweat from his brow. He walked toward me with the slow, predatory confidence of an Alpha cornering weak prey. 

The intoxicating scent of cedarwood, dark amber, and pure male arousal rolled off him in thick waves. It hit my nose and made my head spin with dizziness.

"Did you hear what I was saying in there?" he asked, taking another step.

"No," I lied, stepping backward until my spine hit the cold wall of the hallway. "I just got here."

Damien stopped inches away from me. He reached out with one massive hand and slapped his palm against the wall right beside my ear. He leaned down, his towering frame completely blocking out the light.

"Do not lie to me," Damien growled, his face dipping close to mine. "Your scent is all over this hallway right now. You smell like sweet vanilla and slick heat. You are practically dripping for me."

My face burned with shame. I tried to look down at his bare feet, but he used his free hand to grip my chin. His long fingers were calloused and warm as he forced my head up.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I forced my eyes to meet his. The cold indifference he usually wore was completely gone. In its place was a raw, possessive hunger that made my knees tremble.

"You stood outside that door and listened to me stroke myself while I called you my good girl," Damien murmured, his thumb rubbing across my lower lip. "Tell me the truth, Clara. Did it turn you on?"

"You are my stepbrother, Damien," I gasped out, trying to fight the wet ache pulsing between my legs. "This is completely wrong. If Garrick walks up those stairs, he will kill us both."

"My father is asleep in the master suite down the hall," Damien said, his voice dropping into a dark, teasing purr. "And you did not answer my question. Did hearing my voice make you wet?"

I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. I tried to pull my head back, but his grip on my jaw tightened just enough to keep me still. 

"I see the answer in your eyes," Damien said, leaning in until his warm lips brushed against the shell of my ear. "Three years of pretending you do not exist, and all it took was one open door to break you. You have been thinking about this just as long as I have."

"Damien, please," I pleaded, though even I could hear how breathless and needy my voice sounded.

"Please what?" he whispered, his mouth trailing down the sensitive skin of my neck. He pressed a warm, open-mouthed kiss right over my pulse point. "Tell me to stop, Clara. Tell me you hate this, and I will let you walk away."

His chest pressed against mine, pinning me firmly against the wall. Through his thin sweatpants, I could feel the hard, thick length of his erection pressing directly against my stomach. 

The heat radiating between us was unbearable. My hands, which had been clutching the towels, suddenly gave out. The fabric tumbled to the floor, leaving nothing between my body and his. 

Instead of pushing him away, my fingers moved on their own. They reached out and pressed against the hard ridges of his bare chest. His skin was scorching hot beneath my palms.

Damien let out a low growl of satisfaction at my touch. His hand left the wall and slid down my side, his fingers digging into the curve of my hip. He pulled me flush against him, lifting me slightly onto my toes so I could feel just how big and ready he was.

"Say it, Clara," he demanded, his lips hovering an inch above mine. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," I whispered, giving up the last shred of my control.

A dark smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. He leaned in to crush his mouth against mine, ready to claim everything I had hidden for three years.

Then, from the bottom of the staircase, the heavy sound of a door clicked open.

"Damien? Are you still awake up there?"

Alpha Garrick's deep, commanding voice boomed up the stairwell, accompanied by the slow, heavy thud of his boots stepping onto the first wooden stair.