All Chapters of Craving The Wrong Brother: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

“Of course I have to think about him,” I say, more to myself than Knox. “It's what any normal person would do.” I hastily adjust my glasses, the frames askew from our passionate, mind-blowing, and reckless escapade. My fingers tremble as they push the lenses up the bridge of my nose. I’m acutely aware of the mascara streaking down my cheeks, painting me as the very picture of post-coital disarray. I rake my hands through my hair, attempting to tame the wild strands, and smooth down my dress. In the mirror’s reflection, Knox watches me. His expression is unreadable. His dark eyes track my every movement, and even though I try not to look at him directly, I can feel the heat of his stare. “Your post-nut clarity is annoying,” he says. “I feel used right now, Kitten.” “Then you've got it better. I feel stupid.” I turn around to finally face him, and his eyes zero in on me. “Because you fucked me and liked it?” he asks. I avert my eyes, shame curling in my gut. I’ve just had sex wi

*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** Knox rolls his eyes and starts the car, turning up the heater as well. Warm air washes over my wet skin as we drive in silence. No music. No snarky one-liners. At some point, it becomes unsettling. Knox is just… driving. At a normal pace. Like a normal person. No engine revving. No cutting corners like he’s in Fast & Furious. He doesn’t floor it. He just drives. And I hate how uneasy that makes me. I turn to him. His eyes are on the road, focused. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, and I suddenly remember where those lips have been. What they did. My face flames. “You’re driving at a normal pace,” I say, trying to distract myself. “Finally doing something right for the first time in your life?” He doesn’t look at me. “Doing the right thing is overrated.” “Only you would say a thing like that.” “I just want to live long enough to do the wrong things with the wrong people.” When he says this, his face turns in my direction. I look a

Victoria rolls her eyes and strolls over to her husband. She kisses him lightly on the cheek. “Of course they can, silly.” “I don’t think so,” he says. “If anyone walks into this house and says he’s your best friend, I’ll kill him.” Victoria throws her head back and laughs. “You’re such a Neanderthal, Julian. People don’t think with their genitals all the time. Sloane and Finn are emotionally supportive friends. It’s natural. Besides, I’m a little too old to be having new friends, so don’t trouble yourself about killing anyone for my sake.” I want to disappear. They're talking about me and Finn, dissecting our entire relationship dynamic, as though we're not right here. Finn glances at me, smiling like this is totally normal. The plus side is that Julian has lost his brooding expression. He's now grinning at his wife. Watching them together—how Julian softens, how Victoria looks at him as though they haven't been together for decades already—it stirs something foreign in me. So

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I hate that my heart is pounding so loudly I’m afraid everyone in the house can hear it. “It’s so…” “Beautiful?” he finishes, with that cocky little tilt of his head. Yes. But that wasn’t the word I was going for. Exquisite. Breathtaking. Impossibly intimate in front of his entire family. That’s what it is. But I nod. He steps behind me, and the world tilts a little. Maybe from the anticipation. Or maybe because I’ve stopped breathing again. He doesn’t touch me right away. He leans in, close enough for me to feel the heat rolling off his chest. His scent curls around me like smoke. He brushes my hair to the side with slow, intentional fingers, his knuckles grazing the back of my neck. My skin erupts in goosebumps. “Relax,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. As if that’s even an option. I feel him reach around me, the chain of the necklace grazing my collarbone. His knuckles brush my jaw on the way up, unintentional maybe, but i

I feel like I didn’t hear that correctly. Finn looks triumphant. Convinced. Like he’s cracked some sort of ancient brotherhood spy code to break Delilah’s icy, manipulative heart. “You want to kiss me at the rehearsal dinner?” I ask. “Yes, I do. You have kissed a man before, haven’t you?” I recoil. "Oh, right, you screwed my brother. How could I have forgotten? Unless, of course, you both were too busy doing other things and didn’t have the opportunity to kiss. Then I’d have to show you how, so it looks authentic at the event." I just stare at him, my anger simmering beneath the surface. I can't remember the last time I was this annoyed at someone. All the times I’ve mentioned the men I’ve made out with, gone on a date with, or actually started a short-term relationship with—though you couldn't exactly call it a relationship—he doesn’t remember? I’ve memorized everything about him. The date he kissed Delilah for the first time. The exact day they first had sex. Her favorite colo