Chapter 5: Lightning Doesn’t Ask Permission

AMELIA       

The first crack of thunder hit like a gunshot.

I jolted awake, heart already racing, the room pitch black. Another boom rolled through the building and every light in the penthouse died at once. No soft glow from the city through the windows, no hum of the air system, nothing. Just the sudden, suffocating dark and the rain lashing the glass like it wanted inside.

I hate storms. I always have. Victor knows this, which is why he spent a fortune on blackout curtains and a whole-house generator that apparently decided tonight was the perfect night to take a vacation.

My hands scrambled across the nightstand for my phone. Found it, thumbed the flashlight on. The thin beam shook in my grip as I slid out of bed, bare feet hitting cool marble. Silk camisole, tiny sleep shorts, hair everywhere. I looked like a lunatic and felt like one.

I needed another human being. Any human being. Even if that human being happened to be the same infuriating stepson who’d had his thumb on my lip six hours ago.

I tiptoed down the hallway, phone lighting the way in jittery sweeps, thunder rumbling so hard the floor vibrated. Ethan’s door was closed. I raised my fist to knock, then hesitated. What was I even going to say? Hi, your dad’s wife is terrified of the dark, can you hold my hand?

Before I could decide, a warm, solid body pressed against my back and an arm locked around my waist.

I screamed. Short, sharp, embarrassing.

“Easy,” Ethan’s voice murmured against my ear, low and amused. “It’s just me.”

I spun in his hold, phone flashlight swinging wild, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the bare chest, the low-riding sweatpants. His hand stayed on my waist like it belonged there.

“You scared the hell out of me,” I hissed, breath still coming fast.

“Storm scared you first,” he said. “I heard you moving around. Figured you’d end up here.”

Another flash of lightning lit the hallway white for a heartbeat, and the thunder followed so close it felt like the sky cracked open. I flinched hard.

Ethan’s grip tightened. “Hey. You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’re not.” His thumb brushed the strip of skin between my camisole and shorts, slow, soothing, and way too good. “Come on.”

He started walking me backward, guiding me with that hand on my waist, until my shoulders met the wall beside his door. The flashlight on my phone pointed at the ceiling now, throwing soft shadows over both of us.

“I was going to ask you to check the breaker or something,” I managed.

“Generator’s probably wet. Happens sometimes.” His voice was closer now, body heat rolling off him. “It’ll kick back in a minute.”

Another boom. I squeezed my eyes shut.

His hands slid up to my upper arms, thumbs stroking. “Look at me.”

I did. Big mistake.

In the dim glow he looked older, harder, beautiful in a way that made my chest hurt. Rain hammered the windows behind him, lightning flickering across his face every few seconds like a strobe.

“You want to stand here in the dark, or you want to come inside my room until the power’s back?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to say something smart, something that would put distance between us, but thunder drowned me out again and I flinched so hard my phone slipped from my fingers.

Ethan caught it before it hit the floor, killed the flashlight, and suddenly we were in total darkness. Just his hands on me and the storm and my pulse roaring in my ears.

“Amelia,” he said, soft but firm. “Tell me what you want.”

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe properly. All I could feel was the heat of his palms, the way his thumbs kept tracing little circles on my arms, the fact that we were alone and the whole world had gone quiet except for the rain.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

He stepped closer. Close enough that my breasts brushed his chest with every ragged breath.

“Liar,” he said, and then his mouth was on mine.

No warning. No gentle brush. Just Ethan kissing me like he’d been starving for it.

I made a shocked sound against his lips, hands flying to his chest to push, but my fingers curled into muscle instead, pulling. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth and I opened for him without thinking, tasting mint and rain and pure sin.

He groaned, low and rough, and angled his head to take it deeper. One hand slid into my hair, gripping just hard enough to make my scalp tingle, the other dropped to my lower back and hauled me flush against him.

I felt him. All of him. Hard, thick, pressing against my stomach through thin layers of cotton and silk.

My knees almost gave out.

I kissed him back like I was drowning and he was air. Tongue sliding against his, desperate little noises I didn’t recognize coming from my throat. He backed me harder against the wall, thigh nudging between mine, and I rocked against it without shame.

Lightning flashed again, bright enough that I saw us for a split second, my pale hands clutching his shoulders, his dark head bent to mine, mouths fused.

Then the lights snapped on.

Every sconce, every recessed ceiling light, the hallway flooded with warm gold.

Reality crashed in with the brightness.

I shoved at his chest hard, breaking the kiss, breath sawing in and out. My phone clattered to the floor again, screen cracked.

Ethan didn’t move back. Just stared down at me, lips wet, eyes black with want.

I bolted.

Pushed past him, ran the few steps to my bedroom, slammed the door and locked it with shaking fingers.

I leaned against it, hand over my mouth, tasting him still.

On the other side of the door I heard the softest laugh, almost fond.

“Twenty-seven days, Amelia,” he called, voice husky. “Sleep tight.”

His footsteps faded down the hall.

I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, knees to chest, heart trying to pound its way out of my ribs.

The storm kept raging outside.

Inside me it was so much worse.

And the generator hummed happily like nothing had happened.

Like I hadn’t just kissed my husband’s son like my life depended on it.

Like tomorrow wouldn’t be pure torture.

I pressed my forehead to my knees and whispered the only word I could manage.

“Fuck.”