Chapter 4; Shadow

EMMA

Three days.

That was all it had taken for my body to betray me and turn into a traitor.

I woke up aching. I fell asleep aching. Every time I closed my eyes I felt the ghost of his hand at my throat, the stretch of him inside me, the low sound he made when he came across my skin. My own fingers brought no relief. The second I tried, my mind supplied his voice good girl and the fake orgasm died before it could start. It was as if my body had decided it only recognized one person now, and that person was the cold-eyed stepbrother I was supposed to be forgetting.

Avoiding him should have been easy in a house this size. It wasn’t. Richard and my mother had all but disappeared into wedding plans and quiet dinners for two. Rhys, on the other hand, seemed to occupy every hallway, every staircase, every damned doorway I needed to walk through. He never said much. He didn’t have to. One look from him and the mark on my throat already fading to a yellowish bruise throbbed like he had just put it there.

I both wanted him gone and wanted him to push me up against the nearest wall. The contradiction made me furious.

That afternoon I walked into the kitchen for water and found him already there, leaning against the counter with a glass in hand. We stared at each other. The air went tight.

“You’re staring,” I said.

“You’re hard to miss when you keep looking for me.”

“I am not looking for you.”

He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving mine. “Could’ve fooled me. You’ve turned down every corridor I’ve been in for three days.”

Heat climbed my neck. “Maybe I’m just unlucky.”

“Or maybe,” he said, voice dropping, “you’re hoping I’ll forget the part where you told me it wasn’t even that good.”

I grabbed a glass, filled it too fast, and nearly spilled it. “Stay away from me, Rhys.”

“Say that like you mean it and I might consider it.”

I set the glass down hard. “I mean it.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Liar.”

I muttered a string of curses under my breath, spun on my heel, and stalked out of the kitchen, walking straight into a wall.

Except the wall had hands. Large, steady hands that caught my waist and kept me from bouncing backward onto the floor. I looked up and froze.

Three men stood in the hallway like they had stepped out of a magazine spread no ordinary person was allowed to touch. The one holding me had warm brown eyes and a calm mouth that somehow still looked dangerous. To his right stood a man with an easy, almost lazy smile and golden-brown hair that caught the light. The third was taller, darker-skinned, broad enough to block most of the hallway, with an expression that could have cut glass. He took one look at me, then at the hands still on my waist, and walked off without a word.

“You okay?” the one holding me asked. His voice was low, careful.

I stepped back quickly. “Fine. Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Rhys had followed me out. I felt him stop directly behind me, close enough that the heat of him brushed my spine.

The calm-eyed man glanced over my shoulder, then back at me. “Theo,” he said simply. “That’s Tristan.” He nodded at the smiling one. “And the one who just left is Cade. We’re Rhys’s best friends.”

Tristan’s smile widened a fraction. “Has been since we were kids. You’re the new stepsister, right?”

Rhys’s voice came from right behind me, flat and cold. “I’m not her brother.”

I turned just enough to catch his eyes. “I don’t want you as my anything either.”

Theo’s brows lifted slightly. Tristan looked openly amused. I didn’t wait for whatever came next. I muttered another apology and fled up the stairs two at a time, heart slamming so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Later that afternoon I came back down in the softest thing I owned a thin white sleep set that barely qualified as clothing because I thought the kitchen would be empty. I needed water. That was all.

It was not empty.

All four of them were there. Rhys leaned against the island. Theo sat at the counter with a plate he wasn’t eating from. Tristan had a glass of something amber in hand. Cade stood by the open fridge, broad back to the room, radiating the kind of silence that felt like a warning.

Conversation died the second I stepped in.

Four pairs of eyes landed on me and stayed there. I felt every inch of the thin fabric clinging to my hips and chest. My nipples tightened under their combined stare and I hated that they could probably see it.

Rhys’s gaze dragged from my face down to my bare legs and back up. A sarcastic little smile touched his mouth.

“You’re back for more already?”

I lifted my chin. “In your dreams.”

I ignored the rest of them and walked straight to the fridge. Cade didn’t move. I had to step in close, close enough to smell clean soap and something darker underneath. I leaned past him to reach for a bottle of water on the top shelf. The movement arched my back and pressed my chest forward. A sharp, collective inhale sounded behind me.

Tristan’s voice came first, lazy and delighted. “Well. If this is an offering, I don’t object.”

Rhys laughed once, low.

Theo kept his eyes on his plate like it had become the most interesting thing in the world.

Cade turned his head just enough to look at me. Up close his eyes were even more intense dark, hungry, and completely unapologetic. The air between us felt charged enough to spark. I made a small, embarrassing sound in the back of my throat, clutched the water bottle, and ran.

I didn’t stop until I was back in my room with the door locked. My hands were shaking. The thin sleep shorts were damp between my legs and I hadn’t even been touched.

Evening came too fast.

I told myself I only needed more water. That was the only reason I went back down. The kitchen was quiet this time. I leaned over the counter, forehead nearly touching the cool surface, trying to talk my body down from the constant, humiliating ache.

I didn’t hear him until he was already behind me.

One second I was alone. The next, solid heat pressed the full length of my back. Rhys’s hands landed on the counter on either side of my waist, caging me in. I felt him hard, unmistakable against the curve of my ass.

“Rhys”

“Quiet.” His voice was low against my ear. One hand left the counter and slid up, fingers wrapping loosely around the front of my throat, tilting my head back until it rested against his shoulder. “You’ve been walking around this house for three days looking like you need to be fucked. Are you finally ready to stop pretending we can forget that night?”

A small, helpless moan slipped out of me before I could stop it. He smiled against my neck.

“That’s what I thought.” His mouth brushed the fading mark he had left. “You still feel me every time you close your eyes. Don’t you? The way I held you open. The way you came on my fingers with my hand around this pretty throat.”

My hips moved without permission, a slow, desperate roll back against the hard length of him. He made a dark, satisfied sound and gripped my waist hard enough to still me.

“Ah-ah. You don’t get to take what you want. Not yet.” His laugh was soft and mean. “Beg first. I know you’re soaked for me. I can feel how hot you are even through these pathetic little shorts. So ask me nicely and maybe I’ll take the edge off.”

Shame and want crashed together so hard I felt dizzy. I shoved back against his chest with both hands.

“I’m not wet for you,” I lied, voice shaking. “And I am never begging.”

I slipped out from under his arm and walked away on unsteady legs. Behind me his voice followed, quiet and absolute.

“You better not touch yourself tonight, Emma. Every single one of your orgasms belongs to me now. Remember that.”

I made a high, mortified sound and fled up the stairs for the third time that day.

In my room I dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, thighs pressed tight together, chest rising and falling too fast. The pulse between my legs was vicious. Every filthy word he had whispered still echoed. I tried to breathe through it. I tried to think about anything else my mother, the wedding, the fact that three more men who looked like sin now knew my name.

Nothing worked.

I twisted onto my side, then onto my back again, legs restless, the thin shorts damp and useless. The ache only grew. After what felt like an hour of fighting myself I sat up, dragged both hands through my hair, and stared into the dark.

“Fuck it.”