BOOK ONE: Craving the wrong brother's dick(1)

~Aria’s POV~

It’s my wedding day, the one I’ve pinned on vision boards since I was sixteen, and every time I close my eyes to breathe, all I see is my husband’s brother’s cock.

Thick. Heavy. Veined in a way that makes my mouth water and my cunt clench so hard the lace garter bites into my thigh.

I’m standing here in white, pure as the lies I’m about to tell, while my pulse throbs in perfect rhythm with the memory of Damien.

I remembered what happened a few days ago. I was looking for my sweet husband when my legs led me to Damien’s room. Julian always loved staying with his brother Damien,so maybe he was in there. 

My legs led me to the bathroom. The door stood ajar, steam spilling out in thick waves. I should have turned away. Instead I stepped inside.

There he was—Damien. He stood naked under the shower, water streaming down the hard planes of his chest, over carved abs, lower. My gaze dropped before I could stop it. His cock hung heavy between strong thighs, thick even soft, darker than the rest of him, swaying slightly as he moved. A pulse throbbed between my legs so hard I swayed.

He turned.

Our eyes locked through the glass. His eyes widened, then darkened, traveling over me slowly and deliberately. Water poured over his shoulders, down that ridiculous body, and suddenly his hand drifted lower, fingers brushing himself like he couldn’t help it either. My nipples tightened against my thin dress,heat flooded me so fast I felt dizzy.

He didn’t speak,he didn’t cover up,he just watched me watching him, the corner of his mouth lifting in a knowing half-smile that made my heart slam against my ribs.

I quickly snapped out of the thought and groaned. The thought alone made me wet.I hope no one notices the wet spot blooming darker on the silk because the only thing I’m ready for is to drop to my knees and let the wrong brother ruin me for life.

I raised the veil and I gazed at my reflection in the mirror but the woman staring back at me was a fraud, because every heartbeat between my legs was screaming one name that wasn’t the groom’s.

Damien Harrington!

My fiancé’s older brother. The notorious Damien who’d left a trail of broken hearts, the one my friends warned me about with giggling, scandalized whispers “He’ll ruin you and you’ll thank him for it.”

I thought I was immune. I was wrong.

He’d been doing it all weekend,those lazy glances across the rehearsal dinner table, the way his eyes dragged over my mouth when I laughed, the way his tongue touched his bottom lip when he thought no one was watching. 

The bridal suite was quiet except for the rustle of tulle and my own ragged breathing. I adjusted the veil for the hundredth time, trying to anchor myself in the reality that in twenty minutes I’d be vowing forever to Julian. Just then,the door opened without a knock.

Damien filled the doorway, black tux perfect, tie still loose like he couldn’t be bothered with rules. His gaze slammed into mine in the mirror first, then slid down the bare line of my spine where the dress dipped low, then lower, until I swear I felt it on the backs of my thighs.

“Wrong room,” he said, voice low, amused, not sorry at all. “Thought this was mine.”

He didn’t move to leave. I couldn’t speak. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth while heat pooled so fast I had to press my knees together.

He stepped inside anyway, letting the door click shut behind him. “You look…” He paused, eyes raking over me again, darker this time. “Christ, you look like something I shouldn’t be allowed to see.”

The compliment hit like fingers sliding under my dress. I swallowed, managed a shaky, “Thank you.”

He gave a half-smile that was pure danger and started across the room. I thought he was coming for me—God, I wanted him to, but he stopped at the dresser, frowning at the scattered pins and the single white rose boutonnière lying there like it had been waiting for him.

“Julian asked me to grab this,” he muttered. “Forgot it earlier.”

My eyes dropped to the dresser. “Please,” he said softly, politely, “move aside, sweetheart.”

The endearment unraveled me. Sweetheart. Like I already belonged to him. I should have stepped back. Instead I stepped forward.

One inch. Two. Until the scent of him flooded my senses and the heat of his body brushed the bare skin above my dress.His eyes dropped to my mouth.

I saw the moment his control cracked; his jaw flexed, and the hand not holding the rose curled into a fist at his side.

“Careful,” he warned, voice rough.

I wasn’t careful.

My arms lifted without permission, sliding up the crisp lapels of his jacket, fingers curling around the warm nape of his neck. He was taller, I had to rise on tiptoe in my satin heels, veil tumbling back as I pulled.

He let me.

His head lowered the last inch, breath fanning my lips, giving me one heartbeat to change my mind,to step away.

But stubborn Aria didn't. I crushed my lips against his.

His hands were on me instantly–one fisting in the lace at my lower back, the other plunging into my carefully pinned hair, ruining the style as he angled my head exactly how he wanted. He groaned into my mouth, a sound so hungry it vibrated straight to my clit.

I kissed him like I was starving. Like I’d been starving for months and only just realized it. My tongue met his and he took over, licking into me, deep and filthy, the kind of kiss that promised he’d fuck the same way–no mercy.

He walked me backward until my spine met the wall beside the mirror, veil tangling between us. His thigh shoved between mine, pressing up against the damp lace of my panties, and I whimpered shamelessly into his mouth.

“Jesus, you’re soaked,” he growled against my lips, grinding that hard muscle right where I needed it. “This for me? On your wedding day?”

I couldn’t answer, I was too busy riding his thigh, dress rucked high, desperate little rocks of my hips chasing the pressure.

He laughed, dark and dangerous, and bit my bottom lip. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me who’s making this pretty pussy cry.”

“You,” I gasped. “Always you.”

His hand left my hair, sliding down to cup me through the soaked fabric. Two fingers pressed hard, right over my clit, and my knees buckled.

“That’s right,” he whispered, mouth brushing my ear, breath scorching. “And after you say ‘I do’ to my brother, I’m going to bend you over and remind you who you really belong to.”

A knock sounded at the door–my father’s voice.“Sweetheart? It’s time.”

Damien didn’t let go. If anything, he pressed closer, fingers still teasing me through lace, eyes locked on mine.

“Answer him,” he ordered softly.

I swallowed a moan. “C-coming, Daddy. One minute.”

Damien’s smile was pure sin. He brought those wet fingers to his mouth, licked them clean while I watched, then picked up the forgotten rose like nothing had happened.

He pinned it to his lapel, adjusted his tie, and leaned in for one last, gentle kiss. It was almost tender and fuck! It was completely devastating

“Your husband awaits, little bride,” he murmured. “Be prepared, because next time, there's no turning back.” He walked out, leaving me trembling against the wall, lipstick smeared, veil askew, thighs slick, and the taste of him still burning on my tongue.