My husband's twin, my ruin

CASSIE'S POV

I wake to the weight of an arm slung across my waist. I stir in the sheets, subconsciously smiling. My skin still hums from last night, every nerve alive in a way it never has been before.

Yesterday was my wedding day and as far as I can remember I had been very happy walking down the alter with David Jeffson. 

I shift, pressing back into the warmth, and his grip tightens like he's afraid I'll slip away. Turning, I find his mouth and kiss him slow and soft.

The tingle between my legs flares again, sharper than anything I'd ever felt with him before. Last night I came — hard — and I'd never done that with him. Not once in five years. This wasn't just a consummation. It was a reminder, a proof that we were now bound to each other. Finally, irrevocably his.

My phone rings on the nightstand. I reach for it without looking, still half-lost in the afterglow. "Hello?"

"Honey, I'm so sorry." David's voice fills the line. "I had to fly out last minute for an important deal. Got stuck at the airport. Did my brother make it home to help with the luggage?"

I freeze.

My eyes drop to the man beside me. Same strong jaw. Same dark hair. Same mouth I'd kissed a hundred times in the dark — except it was never David's mouth at all.

My husband's twin.

The one I'd always tried not to look at too long.

"He's here," I manage, voice shaking. "Everything's fine. I'm just waiting for you."

The call ends. The silence that follows is deafening.

I hadn't known. God help me, I hadn't known. Mark was never home — there was never any reason to learn the difference in the dark, in my own bed, on my wedding night. I should have noticed. I should have fucking noticed when I woke to an overly normal morning and something felt different in the best possible way.

I scramble to pull away, but the arm around me locks tighter. Panic claws up my throat, and beneath it — beneath the terror — is something worse. My mind keeps replaying how good he felt. How my body shattered in a way it never had before. In a way David never managed, even in the handful of times he'd touched me.

I inch toward the edge of the bed. Maybe if I moved slowly enough none of this would be real. Maybe I could disappear from these sheets before things got any worse.

I made to move but his fingers dug into my hip and yanked me back against his chest.

I curse under my breath. My body betrays me instantly — hips pressing back, pulse spiking, the memory of his mouth on my clit flooding in without permission. The way his cock had stretched me open. The way he fucked me until I screamed.

No. It should have been David. This was wrong.

A low voice rumbles against my ear. "Not so fast, honey."

I twist in his grip, heart slamming. "Get off me, Mark." My voice comes out harder than I feel. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?"

He chuckles. His voice is dark and warm. I shove at his chest. "We didn't — you didn't fuck me. Tell me you didn't."

He ignores me, tugging me back toward him, unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world.

"Mark." My voice cracks. "You're not meant to be here. You're my brother-in-law. Your brother just called me—"

His hand slides down my spine, palm hot on bare skin, and he pauses like he's savouring the way I shudder. Then his lips brush my ear. "You really don't remember what you said last night?"

I shake my head.

"When I brought your luggage up," he says, voice dropping low, "you spent five minutes ranting to me how your husband always left you hanging. How he couldn't make you come." 

He paused slightly. "That you'd been avoiding me because you were scared of how wet I make you. That you wanted a taste of the twin who actually knows how to fuck."

Heat floods my face. The words land like a slap because they're familiar. Filthy and true. I remember the champagne buzz. My tongue loosening. The way I'd stared at his mouth while complaining about David's quick, unsatisfying thrusts.

Mark's fingers trace the curve of my ass. "I did you a favour. Gave you what you've been craving."

"No." I'm still trying to pull away, my voice barely above a whisper. "Forget it happened. It was a mistake."

He rolls me onto my back in one smooth motion, pinning my wrists above my head. His cock, already hard, presses against my thigh. "You can lie to yourself all you want," he says. "But you came on my cock like a desperate little slut. You don't just walk away from that."

I struggle. My hips twitch toward him on their own.

He lowers his mouth to mine — not quite kissing, just breathing the same air and something in my chest unravels against my will.

"Your husband's on his way home," he murmurs. "But until then—" his knee nudges my legs apart. "you're mine."