my stepbrother

I paused mid-swipe, towel still pressed to my damp hair, when that low, lazy voice cut through the quiet.

“Morning…”

I turned. Lorenzo was sprawled on the edge of the bed, elbows cocked behind his head, sheets riding low enough to show the sharp cut of his hips and the heavy line of his cock resting against his thigh. That smug, crooked grin lit up his face like he knew exactly what kind of damage he’d done to me last night and this morning.

Fuck, he was even better in daylight. All sharp jaw and dark stubble, eyes still heavy-lidded with satisfaction.

“Morning?” I echoed, arching a brow. It came out drier than I meant, because come on, we fucked until the sky turned gray, passed out tangled and sweaty, then he woken me up hours later with his mouth on my neck and his cock sliding back inside like he owned the place. Again.

Now he was lounging in my bed like he belonged there, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

I tightened the towel around my waist and leaned against the doorframe. “You planning on leaving sometime today, or should I start charging rent?”

“Oh, quite the gentleman,” he drawled, that wicked grin spreading wider as he stretched lazily, muscles shifting under golden skin. “Not even sticking around for breakfast… or round five?”

“Don’t push your luck,” I shot back, snatching his clothes off the floor and tossing them at his chest. “I don’t do repeats. Get up and get going.”

Lorenzo caught the bundle one-handed, not bothering to cover himself as he stood. Completely naked, unashamed, morning light cutting sharp lines over his abs and down to that thick, half-hard cock hanging heavy between his thighs.

My eyes betrayed me, dropped straight to it. Fuck. My tongue swept across my lower lip without permission, heat flashing low in my gut at the memory of how it felt splitting me open.

He noticed, of course. That grin turned smug, predatory.

“You sure you don’t want another round?” he asked, voice low, stepping closer until the heat of him brushed my skin through the towel.

I swallowed hard, forced my gaze up to his face.

“Get out, Enzo.”

“Glad you still remember my name. Because…”

Lorenzo stepped closer, crowding my space until the heat rolling off his bare skin licked at mine. I swallowed hard, eyes dropping traitorously down his chest—those pink nipples still flushed, dotted with the faint purple bruises I’d left last night. My marks. Claimed territory I had no business feeling proud of.

“…I can assure you,” he murmured, voice low and filthy, “you’ll be screaming it again soon.”

Before I could fire back, he cupped my jaw and kissed me—hard, possessive, tongue sweeping in like he was reminding me exactly who’d wrecked me hours ago. Then he pulled away, grabbed his pants off the floor, and stepped into them, zipping up with a lazy grin.

He brushed past me toward the door, pausing just long enough to smirk over his shoulder. “See you around, Levi.”

I opened my mouth to tell him not to bet on it, but my phone buzzed loud on the counter. Mama flashed on the screen. Shit—I’d ignored like six texts from her this week.

I hit accept and switched to my best dramatic accent. “Creator of the one and only Levi Thompson. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this royal audience?”

Dead silence. Then—

“Levi, did you forget today is my wedding?!” she shrieked so loud I yanked the phone away from my ear.

My stomach dropped straight to the floor.

“You’re getting married?!” I blurted, voice cracking. “When the fuck did you even get a boyfriend?”

How the hell had I missed my own mother’s wedding?

“I can’t believe you’re my son!” Mama huffed, dramatic as ever. “I sent you, like, fifteen messages, Levi. Fifteen!”

Yeah, I’d seen them pop up. Skimmed the first two, assumed it was the usual “come visit your poor lonely mother” guilt trip, and let the rest pile up unread. My bad.

“Where are you right now?” I asked, pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder while I yanked open the wardrobe. “I’ll come to you.”

“I’m at the venue already—the rooftop garden at The Sterling. Hair and makeup are done, but I’m about to have a full meltdown if my only child isn’t here in the next hour.”

***********

I sped across town, tie half-knotted, jacket slung over my arm, praying the navy suit hid the fact that I still smelled faintly of last night’s cologne and bad decisions. The last thing I needed was Mama’s new husband sizing up her twenty-two-year-old son and finding him lacking.

I’d always wanted her happy—really happy—after Dad’s accident turned her into a ghost who moved through our house like she was afraid of taking up space. Five years of muted smiles and untouched dinners. She deserved this. She deserved someone who made her laugh again.

Which only made the guilt twist harder in my chest. I hadn’t been there when she found him. Hadn’t answered the calls, hadn’t read past the first line of her texts. I’d been too wrapped up in my own life to notice hers starting over. Bad son? Yeah. Probably.

By the time I reached The Sterling’s rooftop garden, the ceremony was done. White roses spilled from every corner; the city skyline glittered behind them like it was showing off.

Mama stood near the center, radiant in soft ivory, glowing in a way I hadn’t seen since I was 14. She was thanking an aunt I barely recognized, smile wide and real, when her gaze drifted to the entrance.

To me.

The smile faltered. Her eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—locked on mine, and something quiet and wounded passed across her face. She excused herself mid-sentence and started toward me, heels clicking determinedly across the polished floor, the delicate train of her dress trailing like a silent reprimand.

“Mama, listen to me—”

“You—”

“Yes, I love you so much.” I cut her off gently, thrusting the slightly crumpled bouquet of white roses I’d grabbed from the lobby florist into her hands. Then I pulled her into a tight hug, pressing kisses to both cheeks. “You look really beautiful, Mama. Truly.”

Her eyes softened instantly, the hurt fading behind that familiar warmth. She touched one of the roses, then looked up at me with a small, forgiving smile.

“I’ll forgive you. This once.”

I exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” she said, looping her arm through mine with a proud, glowing grin. “I want you to meet my husband.” She tugged me forward through the crowd. “And Levi—promise me you won’t freak out, okay? If you don’t like him, I’ll divorce him on the spot. No questions.”

I laughed under my breath. Classic Mama—always ready to set the world on fire for me.

“He has a son about your age, maybe a little older”. she added, a little more nervously. “We’ve been worried about whether you two will get along.”

“You know me, Mama. I’m a cool guy. I get along with everybody.”

She squeezed my arm, satisfied, and we stopped in front of two men standing near the bar, their backs to us, deep in quiet conversation.

Mama cleared her throat softly.

“Steve…”

The older man turned first, mid-conversation with a guest, excusing himself with an easy smile. Tall, broad-shouldered, silver threading through dark hair—handsome in that distinguished, put-together way. Expensive watch, warm eyes. Mama had landed a serious catch.

“This is him,” she said proudly, tugging me forward a step. “Levi. My son.”

Steve’s face lit up, genuine pleasure in it. He extended a hand.

“Levi,” he said, voice deep and steady. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s good to finally meet you.”

I shook his hand, managing a smile. He seemed… solid. Kind. The kind of man who’d treat her right. I caught Mama’s eye and gave her our old subtle signal—raised brow, slight nod: He’s more than fine.

She caught it immediately, cheeks pinkening as she looked away, biting back a grin.

“Steve,” I returned. “Likewise.” Then, because I couldn’t help it, “Though I have to admit—I only found out about the wedding this morning.”

His laugh was low, understanding, not a hint of offense. “Your mother warned me you’re hard to pin down. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

“This is my son, Lorenzo. He's about your age. I hope you two can get along well”. My hand froze midway when he finally turned around. Jesus fucking Christ. The man I had just spent the night with.

The same freaking Lorenzo who had fuck me senselessly I could still feel him is my mom's step son…. My stepbrother?

A smirk on his face as he offered me a handshake. “I'm sure we will get along just fine, if not more than fine”.