My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 73

The red light from the forest was peeking through the window, hitting the side of her face. Her hair was a wild brown mess, her lips were parted and wet, and her green eyes were dark and deep like the ocean at night.

For the first time, I didn't see the gold-digging stepsister who had invaded my home.

I saw a woman.

And she looked like an angel that had fallen into the mud and didn't mind the mess.

I shouldn’t have looked at her twice but I did. Her hair fell in loose, natural waves around her face, light brown. Her nose was straight, her lips full, slightly parted like she didn’t even realize it.

My eyes moved before I could stop them.

Down her throat.

The soft line of her neck pulled tight when she swallowed, and my jaw clenched without warning. I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, hard enough to ground myself, but it didn’t help.

I shouldn’t be looking at her like this. I shouldn’t be seeing her like this. My gaze kept going anyway.

Her body wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was… small, soft in the right places. The kind that didn’t need to try. The curve of her chest, the narrow dip of her waist, the quiet shape of her hips...

I swallowed.

No.

She’s your sister.

Step.

Not blood.

Not really.

It didn’t matter.

It should matter.

It was a lie. I didn't want her to stop.

She didn't listen. She slid her palms up my chest, her small thumbs brushing over my nipples. I felt a bolt of white-hot lightning strike my gut.

I reached up, my hand wrapping around her throat. I didn't squeeze, but I held her there, my thumb resting right over her heartbeat.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

She let out a soft, broken moan and leaned into my palm, her eyes fluttering shut. "More," she breathed, "Touch me more."

My mind started to scream at me, a loud, warning siren in the dark.

She’s your stepsister.

The thought was a cold splash of water, but the fire in my blood was too hot to go out. I thought of our father, I thought about Vincenzo. He had drawn a line in the sand, deep and permanent. He had told us she was off-limits. She was family, and in our world, that meant she was a sacred thing. We couldn't break her. We couldn't own her. We sure as hell couldn't touch her.

If Dante or Silvio walked through that door right now and saw me like this—kneeling at her feet, my hands mapping her skin—they wouldn't just be angry. They would kill me. We were brothers, bound by blood and crime, but some sins were too big for even blood to wash away. Touching her was the ultimate betrayal. It was a stain that would never come clean.