The blue glow of Nikolai’s triple monitors washed over his room like some kind of digital temptation, and I stood in the doorway with my heart hammering so hard I could feel it between my legs.
It was 2:17 a.m. The rest of the house was dead asleep. Mom and my stepdad were gone for the weekend, which meant the only person awake in this giant house was my stepbrother — Nikolai — hunched in his ridiculous high-back gaming chair, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard while he trash-talked his teammates in that low, gravelly voice that always made my thighs press together.
I was nineteen. He was twenty-three. And I’d been wet for him since the day our parents got married two years ago.
Tonight I was done pretending.
I’d spent the last hour touching myself in my room, biting my pil
