Ravaged By Her Cold-Hearted Stepbrothers

Losing Control

Rhea

I shouldn't feel this way. Not about them. They were my stepbrothers—technically, legally—and that should have been enough to make me sick. It was forbidden, twisted even to glance at them with anything but disdain. Yet here I was, aching for their hands to rip the towel away, for them to f**k me in all the filthy, ruined ways I'd fantasized about in the dead of night when the house was silent.

The word family felt like a lie when they looked at me like I was a meal they were about to share.

I stiffened as I felt Brandon’s erection press firmly against my ass, the hard ridge of him through his jeans unmistakable. I spun around to face him, my breath hitching in a series of shallow gasps. He was just as devastatingly handsome as Jackson, but with a sharper edge. While Jackson had that slicked-back, polished look, Brandon was the serrated edge to his brother's blade—black hair shaved at the sides, eyes so dark they looked like polished onyx, reflecting nothing but my own frantic expression.

“I’m not disorganized,” I managed to choke out, looking for a gap to escape. “I’m just looking for something to wear. Now get out!”

Jackson reached past me, his arm brushing my shoulder, and plucked a tiny, silk red dress from a hanger. “You should wear this. I’d love to see what your ass looks like when this hem rides up.”

“It’s a family dinner, Jack, not a club,” Brandon countered, his voice mocking as he grabbed a modest pink flared dress from the bed. “This is decent. You are meeting our grandparents for the first time. This will make a good first impression. Grandma is hard to please, and we wouldn't want her thinking you're the little slut we know you are.”

I snatched the dresses from them, tossing them onto the heap on the bed. “I don’t want either! Just leave!” My frustration was peaking, mostly because I was terrified of the traitorous pulse between my legs. “Tell Mom I’ll be down in ten!”

They didn't move. Instead, Jackson’s hand came up, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with agonizing slowness before sliding into my damp hair, tilting my head back so I had no choice but to drown in his eyes. “Ten minutes is a long time, Cat. A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

Before I could protest, his mouth crashed onto mine. It wasn't a question; it was a conquest. His tongue forced its way past my lips, tasting of hunger and dominance. My head spun as he kissed me thoroughly, the room tilting on its axis. Just as I started to go limp, to melt into his strength, he pulled away with a cruel smirk, leaving me gasping.

Brandon didn't give me a second to breathe. He stepped in immediately, his hands gripping my waist to hold me still.

Brandon’s kiss was different—slower, hungrier, his teeth grazing my bottom lip until a broken moan escaped my throat and went straight into his mouth. I felt Jackson’s hands roam over the towel, his palms heavy and possessive against my breasts, while Brandon’s hand slid down to the small of my back, pulling me flush against his heat until there wasn't a millimeter of air between us.

Two men were kissing me, one after the other, marking me as theirs. I’d shared stolen kisses before—quick, reckless things at parties, but this was an eclipse. This felt dangerous. Consuming. Like a blood pact I wouldn’t be able to undo once the first drop was spilled.

“Look at you,” Jackson whispered against my ear, his breath hot and ragged, thick with triumph. He looked down at the floor, where a stray drop of my juices had hit the dark hardwood. “You’re leaking for us, little sister. You’re so wet you’re dripping on the floor like a b***h in heat.”

The shame should have been cold, but it felt like gasoline on a fire, turning my blood into molten lead.

“We’re going to f**k you so hard you won’t be able to walk to dinner,” Brandon promised, his voice a low, vibrating growl against my neck. He ground his c**k against me again, the friction of his heavy denim against my damp center making my knees buckle. “You’ll be crawling to the table, and every time you look at our father, you’ll remember the way we tasted.”

I felt their dual weight pressing in, the sensation of two hard erections dry-f*****g me through the thin towel and their heavy jeans. I was lost in it, my head lolling back against Jackson’s shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut as I finally stopped fighting the forbidden reality of them breaking me open.

"Say it," Jackson commanded, his fingers dipping dangerously low beneath the edge of the towel, brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. "Say you want your brothers to ruin you."

"I..." The words died in my throat as a loud, violent bang echoed from the hallway downstairs.

The trance shattered instantly. The reality of the house, my mother, and the impending dinner rushed back in. I pushed away from them, my chest heaving, my skin buzzing with an electric current that refused to die.

“Rhea!” my mom’s voice shouted up the stairs, sharp and impatient. “Downstairs. Now!”

Jackson ran a hand through his hair, smoothing the strands back into place as if nothing had happened. They started toward the door, at the door, Jackson paused and looked back at me, his green eyes dark with lust.

“We’ll finish this later.” He promised.

“And when we do,” Brandon added, his voice low, “we won’t stop until you’re begging for us to kill you or come again. Whichever comes first.”

The words sounded more like a threat than a promise.

I stood there shaking in the center of my room, clutching the towel to my chest, craving the touch of the two men who hated me. I knew then that wanting them wouldn't just change my life, it would destroy it.