The house between them

**Chapter 12**

**The House Between Them**

I stayed in my room longer than I should have after Richard left.

The sheets were a mess. My body still hummed with the leftover pulse of what he had done to me—the controlled way he had taken me, the deliberate pace, the way he had made me say his name while he came inside me. I could still feel him. Deeper than Josh. Heavier. The kind of claim that lingered in the muscles of my thighs and the soft ache between my legs.

I showered again. The water ran hot enough to turn my skin pink, but it didn’t erase the feeling. When I stepped out and looked in the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back. Flushed. Eyes too dark. Lips still slightly swollen. There was a new mark on the other side of my neck, higher than the one Josh had left, where Richard’s mouth had been.

I covered both of them with concealer and a sweater with a collar that sat too high for the weather.

Downstairs, the house smelled like garlic and something rich simmering on the stove. Richard was in the kitchen, sleeves still rolled, moving with the same calm precision he brought to everything. He had changed into a soft black sweater that made his shoulders look even broader. When he heard me on the stairs he glanced over, and the look in his eyes was quiet, knowing, and entirely too intimate for a man who was supposed to be my stepfather.

“Sit,” he said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

I sat at the island because standing felt like it might give too much away. My body was still too aware of him. Every time he moved past me to reach for a plate or a glass, the air between us tightened.

He set a bowl of pasta in front of me—simple, careful, the kind of meal that looked like care instead of demand. Then he poured two glasses of water and took the seat across from me instead of at the head of the table.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. The only sounds were the quiet clink of forks and the low hum of the refrigerator.

“You’re quiet,” Richard said eventually.

“I’m thinking.”

“About what I said before I left.”

It wasn’t a question. I still answered. “Yes.”

He nodded once, as if that was the answer he expected. “Josh will be home soon. He’ll notice.”

My stomach tightened. “Notice what?”

Richard’s gaze dropped briefly to my neck, then returned to my eyes. “Everything. He already suspects. After tonight he’ll know.”

The words settled between us like a third presence at the table. I looked down at my plate, appetite fading.

“What happens then?” I asked.

Richard didn’t answer right away. He took a slow sip of water, set the glass down, and studied me with that same unreadable calm.

“Then we stop pretending this house is big enough for both of us to want you the same way,” he said quietly. “And you decide how you want to be claimed.”

Before I could respond, the front door opened.

Josh’s voice carried down the hallway, casual and loud. “Smells good. Who’s cooking?”

He appeared in the kitchen doorway a second later, backpack slung over one shoulder, dark hair messy from the wind. He stopped when he saw the two of us sitting across from each other at the island. His gray eyes moved from Richard to me and back again. Something sharp flickered behind them.

“Cozy,” he said.

Richard’s expression didn’t change. “There’s pasta. Help yourself.”

Josh dropped his bag by the wall and walked to the stove. He served himself a plate, then deliberately took the seat beside me instead of across. His thigh pressed against mine under the island. The contact was light. Possessive.

“You look different,” he said under his breath, low enough that only I could hear. “Again.”

I kept my eyes on my plate. “I took a shower.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Richard stood and carried his empty bowl to the sink. The movement was unhurried, but the air in the kitchen had shifted. Josh’s hand settled on my knee under the counter, fingers curling just tightly enough to make a point.

“I’m going to work in my office for a bit,” Richard said. His eyes met mine over Josh’s head. “If either of you need anything, you know where I am.”

He left. The sound of his office door closing a moment later felt deliberate.

Josh waited until the footsteps faded. Then he turned fully toward me, gray eyes hard.

“What the fuck is going on, Ellie?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” His voice stayed quiet, but there was an edge to it that made the hair on my arms rise. “You’ve been off since yesterday. This morning you could barely look at him. Now you’re sitting here having quiet little dinners like the two of you share secrets. And there’s a mark on your neck that isn’t mine.”

My hand lifted automatically toward the collar of my sweater. Josh caught my wrist before I could touch it.

“Don’t,” he said. “I already saw it.”

We stared at each other. The kitchen suddenly felt too small.

“He knows,” I whispered.

Josh went still. “About us?”

“Yes.”

For a second something dangerous passed through his expression—anger, calculation, a flash of pure territorial heat. Then he laughed once, short and without humor.

“Of course he does. He’s been watching you like a man who already decided he wants what’s mine.” His fingers tightened on my wrist. “Did he touch you?”

I didn’t answer fast enough.

Josh’s jaw flexed. “Did. He. Touch. You.”

“Yes.”

The word hung in the air between us. Josh released my wrist and sat back, staring at the empty doorway Richard had disappeared through. When he looked at me again, his eyes had gone almost black.

“Where?”

“Josh—”

“Where, Eliana.”

“My room. Earlier.”

He closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them, the possessiveness there was sharper than I had ever seen it.

“And you let him.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation wrapped in something darker.

I swallowed. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“It never is with you.” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going upstairs. You’re coming with me.”

“Josh—”

“Now.”

I followed him because the alternative was staying in the kitchen with the ghost of Richard’s words still echoing. Josh didn’t speak as we climbed the stairs. He didn’t touch me until we were inside my room with the door locked behind us.

Then he turned and pinned me against it with his body, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice low and rough. “Under this roof, in this bed, in every way that counts. I don’t care what he thinks he can offer you. I don’t care what he already took. You’re still mine.”

His mouth crashed into mine—hungry, angry, claiming. There was nothing controlled about the way Josh kissed me now. It was pure possession, all sharp teeth and demanding tongue. His hand shoved under my sweater, palm sliding up my bare stomach until he found my breast and squeezed.

I made a sound against his mouth. He swallowed it.

“Did he make you come?” Josh asked against my lips, already pushing my sweater higher.

“Yes.”

A dark, almost painful sound left his throat. He yanked the sweater over my head and tossed it aside. His eyes raked over my bare chest, the faint marks, the way my nipples had already tightened.

“Then I’ll make you come harder.”

He spun me around and bent me over the edge of the bed. My palms hit the mattress. Josh shoved my leggings and underwear down in one rough motion, then I heard the sound of his own clothes being pushed out of the way. The blunt head of his cock dragged through my folds—still slick from Richard earlier—and he pushed in with one hard thrust that forced a cry from my throat.

He didn’t give me time to adjust. He fucked me like he was trying to overwrite every memory of his father’s hands, every controlled stroke, every quiet claim. His hips snapped against mine, deep and relentless, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to leave new bruises.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s me. Not him. Me.”

I could only moan into the sheets. The dual sensation—still sensitive from Richard, now being taken so roughly by Josh—made everything sharper, almost too much. Josh reached around and found my clit, rubbing in tight, mean circles while he drove into me.

“Come on my cock,” he ordered. “Now. Show me who you belong to.”

The orgasm tore through me with a broken cry. My body clenched around him in helpless pulses. Josh followed a few thrusts later, burying himself deep and coming with a low, guttural sound that sounded almost like a snarl.

He stayed inside me for several long seconds, breathing hard against the back of my neck.

Then, quietly, he said, “If he touches you again, I want to know. Immediately.”

I didn’t answer.

Josh pulled out, fixed his clothes, and left without another word. The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.

I stayed bent over the bed, legs shaking, the evidence of both men still inside me and on my skin, and realized the house had officially become a battlefield.

And I was the only territory either of them cared about claiming.

---

Later that night, long after the house had gone quiet, I lay awake listening to the dark.

Somewhere down the hall, two doors stayed closed.

Two men stayed silent.

And somewhere in the space between them, something was waiting to break.

I just didn’t know yet which of them would be the one to shatter it first.