THE STEPBROTHER SECRET 1

The heavy oak door slammed shut as Ariadne hauled her battered suitcase across the marble foyer, the wheels scraping loud enough to echo off the vaulted ceiling. Sweat glued her thin tank top to her back, her chest heaving from the long trek up the driveway she’d refused to let the driver handle. This wasn’t her world. Never would be.

“Slumming it already?” The deep, velvet-rough voice stopped her cold.

Lysander leaned against the curved banister at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed over a chest that strained his black tee. Broad. Cut. Every inch of him radiating that arrogant, fuck-you wealth mixed with pure raw masculinity. His green eyes dragged down her body slow and deliberate—lingering on the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way her shorts clung to her thighs from the heat.

Ariadne’s grip tightened on the handle. Heat flared low in her belly despite the anger. “Some of us don’t need a butler to wipe our asses after we shit. Back off, Lysander.”

He pushed off the railing and stalked toward her, each step measured, predatory. At twenty-two he moved like a man who knew exactly what his body could do to a woman. He stopped barely a foot away, close enough she smelled his skin—clean sweat, expensive cologne, and something darker. Masculine. Addictive.

“Still got that mouth on you, Ari,” he murmured, voice dropping into a gravelly tone that slid straight between her legs. “Makes me remember how it felt wrapped around my cock that night at camp. Wet. Greedy. Choking on me while you begged for more.”

Her breath hitched hard. Three years. One forbidden night in the pouring rain behind the boathouse—his hands pinning her wrists above her head, thick cock slamming into her from behind while thunder covered her screams. They’d never spoken of it after. Buried it. Until her mother married his father and dropped them into this twisted hell.

“Shut your filthy mouth,” she snapped, but her voice came out breathy. Her nipples pebbled painfully against her bra. “That never happened.”

Lysander’s smirk was pure sin. He reached out, bold as hell, and hooked a finger under the strap of her tank top, tugging it slightly. “Liar. I still jerk off thinking about how tight your pussy squeezed me when you came the second time. Dripping down my balls while you called me a bastard and told me not to stop.”

Ariadne slapped his hand away, but she didn’t step back. Couldn’t. The air between them crackled, thick with three years of denied hunger. “We’re family now, you sick fuck. Stepbrother. Keep your hands and your dirty thoughts to yourself.”

“Stepbrother,” he repeated, tasting the word like it turned him on more. His eyes darkened, pupils blown. “Makes it hotter, doesn’t it? Every time you glare at me across the dinner table, I imagine bending you over it. Spreading those pretty thighs and eating your cunt until you’re crying my name loud enough for our parents to hear.”

Her core clenched. Wetness flooded her panties. She hated how easily he did this—how her body remembered every brutal thrust, every bite mark he’d left on her shoulder that she’d hidden for weeks.

“Dream on, rich boy.” She shoved past him, dragging the suitcase toward the stairs, ass swaying with each angry step. She felt his stare burning into her like a brand.

Lysander followed right on her heels, close enough his breath brushed her neck. “Your room’s right next to mine. Thin walls. Bet I’ll hear you touching that needy little clit at night, trying not to moan my name. Pathetic, Ari. Just admit you’ve been starving for my dick since camp.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, pushing into the lavish bedroom—king bed, silk everything, a far cry from the roach-infested place she’d grown up in.

He stepped inside after her, closing the door with a soft, final click. “That’s the plan, sweetheart. Sooner or later.”

Ariadne spun, back hitting the dresser. He crowded her instantly, one hand planting beside her head, the other hovering near her hip without touching. Teasing. The almost-contact was worse than if he’d grabbed her.

“You think you’re so irresistible?” she whispered, chest rising fast. “You’re just a spoiled prick who gets hard playing with fire.”

His lips curved, inches from hers. “And you’re the fire I want to burn in. That night at camp? You rode me like you were dying for it. Nails in my back. Begging me to fill you up raw.” His voice lowered to a filthy rasp. “I still remember how your pussy fluttered when I came inside you. How you kissed me after like you never wanted to let go.”

Memories crashed over her—his heavy body pinning her to the dock, rain soaking them both, cock stretching her so perfectly she saw stars. The way he’d growled “mine” against her throat as he spilled deep.

She shoved at his chest, but her fingers curled into his shirt instead, gripping. “It was a mistake. We were horny teenagers. It’s done.”

Lysander’s hand finally moved, sliding down to grip her waist, fingers digging in possessively. “Doesn’t feel done. Feels like you’re soaked right now just from me talking dirty to you.” His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, deliberate. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me your pussy isn’t throbbing for me to bend you over this bed and fuck the attitude out of you.”

Ariadne’s lips parted on a shaky exhale. For a second, she almost gave in—almost yanked him down for the kiss they both craved.

Instead, she twisted free, heart hammering. “Get out. Our parents will be back soon.”

He stepped back slowly, adjusting the obvious bulge in his jeans without shame. “This ain’t over. The family trip to Camp Evergreen next week? Same cabins. Same lake. Same dark corners where I first ruined you.” His eyes promised violence and pleasure. “Seven days trapped together. I’m done pretending I don’t want to claim what’s mine.”

The door shut behind him, leaving her legs trembling and her body screaming for relief she refused to give herself.

---

The week that followed was pure torture wrapped in silk and silver.

Mornings in the sunlit dining room became silent wars. Lysander would saunter in wearing nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants, the deep V of his hips on full display, abs glistening from his workout. He’d sit across from her, legs spread wide, and stare while sipping black coffee.

“Sleep well, sis?” he’d ask, voice dripping mockery and heat.

“Better than you, judging by that morning wood you’re not hiding,” she’d fire back under her breath when their parents weren’t looking.

His foot would slide up her calf under the table, slow and suggestive, stopping just short of her inner thigh. She’d press her legs together, hating how her clit pulsed in response.

Evenings brought louder clashes. Arguments about everything—her “poor attitude,” his arrogance—always ending with them inches apart, breathing hard, eyes locked in a battle of who would break first.

One midnight, Ariadne crept to the kitchen for water. Lysander was already there, shirtless, sweatpants riding dangerously low after another gym session. Muscle rippled as he reached for a bottle. The sight made her mouth water.

He turned, catching her stare. “Like what you see?”

“Disgusted,” she lied, but her eyes betrayed her, tracing the happy trail down to the thick outline pressing against the fabric.

Lysander stalked closer, backing her against the island. “Then why are your nipples so fucking hard?” He didn’t touch, just hovered, letting the tension coil tighter. “Why are you biting your lip like you want me to shove my cock down your throat right here?”

Ariadne’s breath came fast. “Because I hate you.”

“You hate how bad you need me.” His hand ghosted over her hip. “The camp trip starts in two days. When we get there, I’m not holding back anymore. I’m going to remind you exactly how good it feels when I fuck you stupid.”

She slipped away before she did something reckless, but his words followed her to bed, leaving her tossing and turning, thighs sticky with arousal she refused to ease.