Sin with My Ex's Brother

Chapter 2 Caught in the Sauna

The sauna was thick with steam, faintly scented with cedar. I turned the temperature up and let the scalding mist wrap around my naked body. Through the fogged mirror, I looked at the woman inside it.

Skin pale and smooth. Curves soft and inviting. The fullness of my breasts rose and fell with each breath, and my waist was so slender it looked as though a man's hand could close around it.

As the heir to a tech empire, I had taken care of myself since I was a girl. I had the kind of body countless men would crave. So why wouldn't Liam touch me?

The hurt, the resentment, and the restless heat inside me tangled together until I could barely think. My hand moved out of my control, sliding slowly down my flat stomach.

When my fingertips brushed that secret, aching wetness, I couldn't stop a soft, needy gasp from escaping my lips.

Mia's pleading voice from the next room replayed in my mind.

"Too big." "Over an hour."

Those words lodged themselves in my mind and refused to let go.

What if the man pinning me down with that absolute strength was Victor?

Once the thought took root, I couldn't shake it.

I closed my eyes, and Victor's face rose in my mind—gold-rimmed glasses, refined features, and a dangerous wildness beneath all that restraint. I imagined his large, powerful hands moving over my skin.

My fingers moved faster. My breathing grew ragged and broken.

Lost in the feverish thrill of excitement and forbidden desire, I actually moaned his name before I could stop myself.

"Victor... ah... Victor, harder. Harder..."

Creak.

The glass door of the sauna was suddenly pushed open with a soft sound.

Terror shot through me.

For one frozen second, it felt as if all the blood in my body had turned to ice. My eyes flew open. Through the steam as it slowly drifted apart, I saw a tall, imposing figure standing at the doorway.

It was Victor.

He'd clearly just stepped out of the shower too. A white towel hung low on his hips, knotted loosely, barely covering what it needed to. He stood at least six-six, broad-shouldered, his chest hard and his abs cut so deep they looked carved out of stone. Under the dim light, every inch of him radiated something raw, something dangerous, something that made it hard to breathe.

A drop of water slid down the sharp line of his jaw. Traced over the swell of his chest. Disappeared into the shadow of his Adonis belt, just above where the towel hung.

And now, those deep eyes behind his glasses were staring darkly and intensely at my parted legs.

And at the hand I had not managed to pull away in time.

I was doomed.

It was the only thought left in my head.

I had fantasized about my own husband's brother. And he had caught me in the act.

He must think I was a w***e. A filthy, desperate w***e. He'd look at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe. He'd tear me apart with words I couldn't unhear.

I grabbed for a towel, fumbling, trying to cover myself. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Every inch of me was trembling.

But the disgust never came. The cruel words never came.

Victor reached behind him and pulled the glass door shut. Sealing us in.

The sauna had been small to begin with. With him in it, it shrank. The air thickened. Every breath I took came shorter than the last.

He crossed the space between us in a few unhurried strides. Then he was right in front of me, looking down, his eyes giving nothing away.

"Chloe."

His voice was unexpectedly gentle, deep with the tolerance and magnetic calm of a mature man.

"Why are you hiding here alone? Is something wrong with your marriage? Did Liam hurt you?"

The moment I heard that soft question, especially after Liam's cold cruelty earlier, the fragile wall around my heart collapsed.

Tears burst from my eyes.

I covered my face and cried like a child who had been wronged for too long.

Under Victor's patient coaxing, I broke. Between sobs, in pieces, I told him everything.

I told him how Liam had torn me down. Called me cold. Called me stiff. Told me I was too tight and dry as sandpaper, that being inside me gave him nothing but misery. I poured it all out—every humiliation, every cruel word, every night of being made to feel like something defective. All of it, into the lap of this man I thought I could trust. A doctor. Family. Someone older, someone safe.

"He even told me to come to you..." My voice broke. "For intimate therapy..."

I couldn't say it without crying. I buried my face in my hands. I couldn't look at him.

When I finished, Victor said nothing.

The sauna was silent except for the low hum of the heater.

I lifted my head, uncertain, and that was when I saw it. His eyes had changed.

The warmth was gone. Every trace of it. What looked back at me now was something else entirely—sharp, focused, hungry. The look of a predator that had just realized the prey was already bleeding.

He leaned in. Not all the way—just enough that I could feel the heat of him, just enough that his face was almost against my cheek. His thumb came up, rough and calloused, and brushed the tear from the corner of my eye. When he spoke, his voice had gone rough. Low. The kind of low that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Cold? Too tight?"

He laughed under his breath. A short, quiet laugh. There was mockery in it, and underneath the mockery, something he wasn't trying very hard to hide.

His finger trailed down my cheek. It came to rest at my collarbone, and the rough callus on his fingertip dragged across my skin and sent a shiver straight through me.

"As a gynecologist," he said, "I really can't stand by and let some incompetent quack misdiagnose my patient."

His eyes moved down. Slowly. Past my throat, past my collarbones, past my chest, until they stopped on the towel between my legs.

"Lie back on the bench." His voice left no room for argument. "Open your legs. Let me examine you myself. Let me see exactly how tight you really are."