คุณหนูเดียร์อยากได้เกียร์พี่เดือนสิบ

Chapter one

The first time Lily saw her stepbrother's cock, it was through a screen, and it ruined her life in the best possible way.

She'd been doom-scrolling at 2 AM, three glasses of wine deep and hating herself for it, when the algorithm served her something that made her thumb freeze mid-swipe. Dark bedroom. Harsh LED strip lighting. And a silhouette that made her stomach flip.

Broad shoulders, that particular angle of jaw she could trace in her sleep, the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was about to say something devastating.

No fucking way.

Lily sat up so fast her AirPod clattered to the floor. She cranked the volume, pressed the phone so close to her face her eyes crossed, and watched in horrified fascination as Ethan. Her Ethan, the guy who'd taught her how to drive stick shift and still texted her memes about her favorite reality shows unzipped his jeans on camera and revealed himself to thousands of strangers.

He wasn't just on the internet. He was thriving there.

The username glowed in the corner of the screen: @E_MoneyXXX. Three million followers. Verified. And the caption under this particular video. Tell me what you want, baby. I love hearing you say it. Had 47,000 comments that Lily suddenly needed to read all of.

She didn't sleep that night. She fell down a rabbit hole so deep she needed a helmet.

Turns out, her stepbrother had been building this empire since sophomore year of college. Amateur didn't mean amateurish. Ethan's production value was insane, all moody shadows and intimate close-ups that felt less like p**n and more like being invited into someone's most private moment. He never showed his full face, just that razor-sharp jawline and those heavy-lidded dark eyes that smoldered even through the screen. But Lily would know him anywhere. She'd memorized the constellation of freckles on his left shoulder during a beach trip when she was nineteen. She'd studied the way his hands moved. Long fingers, capable palms while he helped her assemble IKEA furniture the summer before he moved out.

Now those same hands were doing things that made her forget how to breathe.

"Lily? You alive in there?"

She jumped, nearly hurling her phone across her childhood bedroom. Her mom's voice drifted up the stairs, accompanied by the smell of something involving cinnamon.

"Yeah! Just...getting dressed!" Her voice came out strangled. She shoved the phone under her pillow like it was contraband, which, fair. It absolutely was.

Downstairs, her mom was buzzing around the kitchen in that frantic way she got when she was nervous about something. "So, big news. Ethan called last night."

Lily's hand froze around the coffee mug. "Oh?"

"He's graduating in two weeks. And he's... he's thinking about moving back home for a while. Just until he figures out his next move. Gets a job, saves some money." Her mom's eyes were doing that hopeful, pleading thing. "You'd be okay with that, right? Sharing the house again? I know you love having your space now that you're working remotely, but..."

"Yeah," Lily heard herself say. Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her teeth. "Yeah, totally. That sounds... great."

Great. She kept her smile pinned in place while her brain screamed. You've seen him come. You've seen him come and you've touched yourself thinking about it and you're going to hell, you're going straight to hell with no stops.

Two weeks. She had two weeks to scrub her browser history, delete her secret account, and somehow un-memorize the sound of her stepbrother's voice when he was whispering filthy things to a camera lens like it was a lover's ear.

Spoiler alert: she did none of those things.

The night before Ethan arrived, Lily lay in bed with her laptop propped on her knees, headphones in, volume cranked to dangerous levels. This was her ritual now. Her dirty little secret, her shame spiral, her absolute favorite way to ruin her own life. She'd created a burner account specifically to subscribe to his premium content. She told herself it was curiosity. Anthropological interest in the male gaze or whatever.

She was such a liar.

On screen, Ethan was doing that thing he did where he talked directly to the camera, voice pitched low and intimate. "You like watching me, don't you? I can tell. You've been touching yourself since the video started. Your panties are soaked." He paused, smirked that devastating smirk. "Show me. Let me see what I do to you."

Lily's hand was already under the waistband of her sleep shorts before she could stop herself. She was wet embarrassingly, obscenely wet and the shame of it only made her hotter. This was wrong. This was so fucked up. Ethan was her family, technically, legally, in every way that mattered at Thanksgiving dinner.

But he wasn't her blood. And he didn't know she was watching. And god, the way he moved...confident and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you, made her feel like she was dying and being born at the same time.

She'd developed favorites. This one, where he was fresh out of the shower and water droplets tracked down the hard planes of his stomach. The one where he was wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, where he teased for twenty minutes before giving the camera what it wanted. The one where he sounded desperate, where his control slipped and he gasped someone's name. Just a generic "baby," nothing specific and Lily pretended, in the dark privacy of her room, that he was saying hers.

"Lily," he panted on screen, and she moaned out loud because her name was common, it was probably a coincidence, but she could pretend.

She was close. So close. Her hips rolled against her own hand, chasing the friction, chasing the image of him fisting himself with that same competent grip he used to open stubborn jars. The video was building to its climax. His climax and she was right there with him, teetering on the edge, her breath coming in shallow gasps that she couldn't muffle because her other hand was gripping the laptop and her headphones were noise-canceling and she was stupid, she was so stupid...

The knock made her scream.

A full horror-movie, there's-a-killer-in-the-house scream that tore out of her throat and died against the bathroom tiles.

"Lily?" Ethan's voice. Deep and amused and right outside the door. "You okay in there? I heard a noise."

Time stopped. The universe contracted to a single point of absolute terror.

She was in the bathroom. She'd migrated there twenty minutes ago, unable to sleep, telling herself she'd just splash water on her face and reset her brain. Instead she'd brought the laptop. Instead she was sitting on the closed toilet lid with her shorts around her ankles and her hand between her legs and his video was still playing.

"Fine!" she squeaked, lunging for the volume. Her elbow knocked against the sink. The laptop wobbled. "I'm fine! Just...dropped something!"

"Need help?"

No. No no no no.

"Almost done!" She was whisper-shouting, her voice pitched three octaves higher than normal. "Two minutes!"

She heard him shift outside the door. The floorboards creaked. He was leaning against the frame, she could tell, casual in that way that had always driven her crazy even before she'd known what his orgasm face looked like.

"Take your time," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Jet lag's got me wired anyway. I'll wait."

Lily's blood turned to ice water.

On the laptop screen, frozen in her panic, Ethan was mid-stroke, head thrown back, the muscles of his neck standing out in sharp relief as he chased his release. The audio was muted now. Thank God, thank God. But the video was crystal clear, and if he opened that door, if he saw, if he recognized his own bedroom backdrop and his own hand and the way he...

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

A text from her best friend, Becca: Did he get in yet??? Spill the tea, I need to know if he's still hot or if college ruined him.

Lily stared at the screen. At the video. At the door where her stepbrother. Her obsession, her darkest fantasy, the star of every shameful midnight session for the past month was standing not three feet away.

Another text. Becca again: Also I found his T****k. You're gonna need to sit down for this. The man is VERIFIED, Lily. VERIFIED. I'm screaming.

Lily looked at her phone. She looked at the laptop where Ethan's recorded self was still frozen in ecstasy, still waiting to finish. She looked at the door handle, which was beginning to turn

"Lily?" Ethan's voice was softer now and Curious. "Your light's on under the door. You sure you're okay? You sound... breathless."

The handle turned another fraction of an inch.

Lily's finger hovered over the laptop's power button, but her other hand was still between her legs, still aching, still needy, and she realized with devastating clarity that some part of her. A part she was terrified to name...wanted him to open that door.