All Chapters of Mated To My Step-brother And His Best friend: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

SAINT.The cold water wasn't helping.It hit my skin in violent bursts, but it felt like fucking steam.My blood still burned like lava in my veins, and my fucking eyes wouldn't stop glowing red. Valor.The fucker was pacing restlessly and pushing for full control.Valor didn't give a fuck about respecting family or boundaries. Give him full control and watch him hunt for the next available female around. And who else would it be if not Eve?He'd storm into her room and fuck her into a coma.I didn't even want to imagine the things the bastard would do to her once he got a taste."Fuck!" I groaned, pumping my cock harder into my fist as I felt my release so close. This was the fourth release since I walked out on her.Since when did I suddenly become so insatiable? It felt like I was feeding an appetite that wasn't mine.My fist usually gave me a quick fix until I found my next good fuck. But tonight? Tonight seemed different. My body was starving for something so specific that even m

KYRIE."You're certain I'm not a burden to you?" Jessa asked in a soft, drowsy voice as she curled into the blanket. She looked completely spent.I stood by the bed, watching her with arms folded across my chest.She was exhausted but happy. And I had done that. I gave her a good day. Took her around town, let her splurge on random things that caught her eye, even tolerated a full hour at the town's favorite pink-and-glitter ice cream spot.She had so much fun. I was happy to see her happy. Really. But most importantly, I was glad I could get a distraction.I didn't know why exactly I needed a distraction, but I knew I needed one. Because if I had kept on staring through my window all afternoon, I would have ended up hating myself for how pathetic it made me look.All morning, I stared out the window, watching Saint's house like it held my next breath, but never got even a glimpse of anyone. It was all too quiet. I wouldn't lie, I was a bit worried. No. Scratch that. I was just a bit

EVE.I instinctively took a step back. My heart was throwing punches against my chest like it wanted out. My throat was dry, and swallowing felt like trying to gulp down gravel.He had a phone in one hand, and the other hand was casually resting in his pocket.He looked at me with a certain calmness, yet I felt like I was standing before a judge about to read out my sentence.Our gazes locked, and I swear my brain blanked. Like… poof. Vocabulary, logic, poise, all gone. Just air between my ears and heat crawling down my spine.And the way his warm, hazel eyes slowly crawled over my outfit felt like he was peeling me apart. I swear I instantly felt like filth in it, and it made me want to explain myself, even though he didn't ask."Hey..." I managed, rubbing my shaky fingers against each other. I curled them into loose fists by my side, before he could see the tremble. I was nervous as hell."What are you doing here, Eve?" Kyrie finally asked, and his tone told me this whole thing migh

EVE.He walked toward us like he was going to tear someone apart.You know the kind of walk you only see in nightmares?Rodney didn't run – God knows he wanted to. I felt his spine stiffen beside me, but he stood rooted to the spot. Kyrie's presence had already devoured the air around us just before his tall, intimidating frame came to a stop in front of us."What are you doing here?" I whispered, because my voice simply couldn't survive at full volume.I didn't know which was more terrifying. His black jeans and black shirt, which made him look like wrath itself? Or the black shades he deemed fit to wear at night?Why would someone put on dark shades at night? To intimidate?Well, it worked because we were so well intimidated."Leave." His lips barely moved.That was all it took for Rodney to bolt."Kyrie? How...""Get in the car. Now." He commanded. And trust me, it was the kind of command that triggered survival instincts.He didn't wait. He turned around and headed for the car. An

SAINT.I stepped out, tightening the cuffs of my black silk shirt. One quick glance in the mirror on the passenger's sun visor and I barely recognized the bastard staring back at me.The wax in my hair had hardened to a matte crust, pulling the strands flat against my scalp. The color – muddy dark brown, almost black – looked like it belonged on someone who filed taxes early and waved at neighbors.Thin contact lenses dulled my eye color to a murky hazel. A thin scar, courtesy of some theatre-quality latex and a little makeup artistry, ran from the corner of my lip to just beneath my jaw—long enough to pull attention away from the bone structure and curve recognition.I wasn't Saint anymore.Tonight, I was Crivel Carson, just another filthy rich bastard in search of flesh and fantasy.Crivel Carson was just a fabricated identity — a dark market tech investor with interests in human obedience research, performance-altering drugs, and digital surveillance trade.We walked into the hotel