In Love With Him

Chapter 18

Dominic’s POV

She was gone.

The second Kennedy’s feet hit the stairs, the air in the room shifted. That buzz—that pull—snapped like a stretched rubber band. I was still sitting on the couch, motionless, staring at the TV but not seeing anything.

I hadn’t meant for that to happen, for it to go that far.

It started as a test.

A touch. A little pressure on her thigh. A way to see how far I could push without crossing the line. I thought she'd flinch. Move away. Smack my hand. Say something sarcastic. Anything.

But she didn’t.

Instead she leaned in.

She let me.

Hell—she shifted, like she wanted me to keep going. Her skin was so soft, warm, almost trembling beneath my fingers. I felt every quick breath she took. I heard the hitch in her throat when my thumb grazed higher. When I edged just under the hem of her shorts and felt the heat radiating from her skin…

Damn.

My body still hadn’t calmed down. I glanced down, jaw tightening.

Yeah. That was a problem.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to slow my breathing and will my blood to move away from my d**k that was rock hard now. But all I could think about was the way her body molded against mine, like it belonged there.

The scent of her—coconut and vanilla—still lingered on me. I was never really into that smell before. It was too sweet, too... basic. But on her?

It was intoxicating.

Like something I wanted to breathe in forever. Something I wanted smeared across my pillow. Embedded in my skin.

Jesus. I dragged a hand down my face. I needed to get a grip.

She was my stepsister.

Technically. Legally. Whatever.

Didn’t matter.

What mattered was the fact that she trusted me. She looked at me like I wasn’t the monster everyone else thinks I am. And I was out here testing boundaries like a bastard who couldn’t control himself.

I was supposed to be the strong one. The one who doesn’t screw up.

But one look at her—those big bright eyes, those full lips she chewed on when she was nervous, the curve of her thighs when she curled up on the couch—and I was gone. Fighting instincts I didn’t even realize I had.

And now she was upstairs. Probably freaking out. Probably hating me.

I let my head fall back against the couch.

What the hell was I doing?

This wasn’t a game anymore. I wasn’t in control of this.

She wasn’t just some sweet, good girl who’d fall into bed and then disappear. She was Kennedy. The girl who memorized car schematics for fun. Who swore like a sailor when Max pissed her off. Who kept everyone at arm’s length and somehow still made them want to get closer.

I wanted to get closer.

That terrified me.

I needed to stop this.

Before I touched her again.

Before she touched me back.

But the truth I didn’t want to admit?

I didn’t want to stop.

---

Kennedy’s POV

My pulse hadn’t stopped racing since I left him in the hallway.

Why did his voice do that to me?

That low, smooth “Anytime, princess” shouldn’t have made my knees feel weak—but it did.

I used to hate that nickname. Princess. It sounded mocking at first, like he was teasing me. But now…

Now when he said it, it sounded different. Like he meant it. Like I was his princess.

God. Get it together.

I ran the water for Max’s bath, keeping the temperature warm and soothing. He was hunched over on the toilet, pale and groaning dramatically like he was dying.

I reached for the lavender bubble bath—partly to calm him, partly to calm myself.

The sweet scent of flowers and herbs filled the room as I poured it into the tub. The bubbles foamed up quickly.

“All right, come on, let’s get you in,” I said gently.

He mumbled something about feeling like a raisin as I helped him lower himself into the water.

The cloth in my hand moved in lazy circles over his back and shoulders. The warm steam fogged the mirror. My thoughts should’ve been on Max… but they kept wandering.

To him.

I pushed the thought away and focused on Max’s tiny frame in the tub.

He used to be so small. I remembered giving him baths like this when he was little. He’d splash so hard I’d be soaked by the end of it, and he’d always demand bubble beards or ask if he could “swim” even though the tub barely held his knees.

He used to call me “Kenny.”

A little pang of bittersweet nostalgia tugged at my heart.

When he was clean, I dried him off with a towel and helped him step into fresh pajamas. He leaned on me the whole time, completely wiped out.

By the time I got him to his room, he collapsed into bed like a sack of potatoes.

I tucked the covers around him, brushing the damp hair off his forehead. He felt warm—but not feverish. Just worn out.

I leaned down and kissed his clammy forehead.

“Get some rest, Maxie,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just snored.

I left his room and quietly shut the door behind me. The hallway was dark and still.

I paused at the top of the stairs. My eyes drifted—unwillingly—to the other side of the hall.

Dominic’s room.

Was he still awake?

My pulse quickened again, thinking about the way he’d looked at me. The way his voice dropped. The way his hand had lingered on my thigh.

A part of me wanted to knock on his door. Just… to talk. To ask what that was.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I told myself to stop being ridiculous.

I turned and slipped into my room, closing the door behind me.

My shirt came off and hit the hamper. Then my shorts. I pulled on one of my oversized band tees and a pair of thin sleep shorts.

My hands paused at the hem of my shirt for a second. I glanced toward the window. I knew his room was down the hall.

Was he looking out too?

I told myself no. And even if he was—so what.

I crawled into bed, glancing at the clock. It was nearly midnight.

Great.

I had school in the morning, and I’d barely survived today.

Still… as I turned off my bedside lamp and let the room fall into darkness, all I could think about was the way his hand felt on my skin. The way his voice said my name.

Princess.

I swallowed hard and pulled the blanket tighter around me.

God help me.

I was in so much trouble.