Eden's POV. Kane’s hand didn’t stop. His palm slid higher up my inner thigh, slow and deliberate, the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of my leggings. Every nerve in my body lit up like a live wire. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All I could do was stare at his face — those steel-gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip and my core clench with shameful need. “Eden,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. “You’re not telling me to stop.” I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. The fire crackled beside us, casting dancing shadows across his sharp jaw and the faint scar on his forearm. Outside, the wind howled, snow battering the windows as if the storm itself wanted to trap us here forever. “I… I should,” I whispered. My voice sounded small, shaky. Pathetic. “You’re my stepbrother, Kane. This is wrong. Mom and Dad just died. We’re grieving. We’re stuck here. We can’t—” His thumb brushed higher, dangerously
Last Updated : 2026-05-08 Read more