In Love With Him

Chapter 5

Kennedy’s POV

I tried everything I could to distract myself.

Cleaning.

Reorganizing my bookshelf.

Color-coding my closet.

Even rewriting the opening paragraph of my summer essay draft that wasn’t due for two more weeks.

But nothing worked.

Every time I closed my eyes, there he was — Dominic, standing at the sink in nothing but his boxers. Muscles flexed. Tattoos on full display. That smirk on his lips like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on me.

My brain had completely betrayed me.

No, not just my brain — my imagination.

I flopped onto my bed face-first and let out a muffled groan into my pillow. Then I turned my head slightly and screamed into it.

“He’s your step-brother, Kennedy!”

I was scolding myself like that was going to change anything. But the mental images wouldn’t stop. His abs. His arms. His V line. That outline through his boxers…

I clutched the pillow tighter and whimpered internally.

This wasn’t me. This so wasn’t me.

Even if he wasn’t technically my step-brother… he was still the opposite of everything I ever pictured myself being into. Cocky. Overconfident. Probably emotionally unavailable. And definitely too experienced for a girl like me.

God, a girl like me…

I rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling, and sighed.

The truth was, I didn’t really have a type. Not because I was open-minded — more like… I’d never really had anyone. I was always too busy being responsible, holding this family together since I was eight. After Mom died, everything fell apart. Dad checked out emotionally. Max was too little to understand what was happening. So I stepped up.

And dating? Kissing boys? Being normal? That felt like a luxury I wasn’t allowed to have.

I had kissed a boy once. In the cafeteria. On a dare. The entire thing was awkward, short, and tasted like cherry Gatorade and regret.

And that was the beginning and end of my romantic experience.

Still a virgin.

Still awkward.

Still slightly mortified that even my best friend Marty lost her virginity last year at prom — of course she did — and she hadn’t stopped trying to “fix” me since.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed.

MARTY:

You alive? I need pool time, it’s like a sauna outside. Can we come over?

ME:

Sure. Bring Finn too.

At least they’d distract me.

I changed into my favorite black bikini — simple, flattering, a little edgy — and tossed my hair up again in a fresh bun. I was tying the strings behind my neck when the knock came at the door.

I padded down the stairs barefoot, still tying the back.

When I opened the door, I was greeted by a wave of humidity… and chaos incarnate.

Marty stood grinning in a neon pink one-piece that screamed Barbie-core and confidence. Her sleek dark hair was clipped back, her brown almond shaped eyes sparkled in the sun, and she held a duffel in one hand and an iced latte in the other.

Beside her stood Finn — dramatic, expressive, and rocking a black tank top that showed off his glittery manicured nails, frosted tipped hair and a pair of rainbow swim trunks.

He raised his arms like I’d just opened the gates of heaven. “Pool day, bitches!”

They breezed in like they owned the place, and I shut the door behind them before Dad or Helen could witness Finn’s enthusiastic runway strut down the hallway.

We headed straight to the backyard.

Finn immediately climbed onto the diving board and perched there like a lifeguard about to judge everyone’s body insecurities. Marty dropped her bag and sat at the edge of the pool, dipping her feet in, sunglasses already on.

I dropped onto one of the poolside lounge chairs and stretched out.

They both turned toward me like sharks scenting blood in the water.

“So,” Marty started sweetly. “How’s the new blended fam situation?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I guess.”

“Guess?” Finn raised a brow and crossed his legs dramatically. “Oh no. That’s code. Spill it, ho. What’s up with your troubled, broody stepbrother?”

I tried to stay neutral. Chill. But my body betrayed me — heat crawled up my neck, into my cheeks.

Finn noticed immediately.

“Oh my God, you slut!” He splashed me with a flick of his foot. “He’s hot, isn’t he?! You’ve got the hots for your step-brother! You w***e!”

“I do not,” I snapped, sitting up and pushing the water off my stomach. “He's... okay.”

Marty leaned forward, grinning. “Okay? Ken, we’ve known you since you still wore that Sailor Moon backpack to school. You don’t blush over ‘okay.’ Spill.”

I exhaled dramatically, throwing my head back.

“Okay, fine. He’s… tall. Muscular. Chestnut brown hair. Tattoos. He has this whole dark, cocky MMA fighter vibe. He’s confident, and his arms are like… insane.”

They both squealed like banshees.

“Oh my God, he sounds like a walking thirst trap,” Marty said, eyes wide.

Finn gasped again like he was on a soap opera. “You totally have the hots for him, don’t you, you skank! That’s so sexy. It’s forbidden and angsty. I love it.”

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. “Jesus Christ, please kill me.”

“Or let him do it,” Finn added with a wink.

Marty giggled and tossed a pool noodle at me. “Okay, but seriously… he’s hot and you’re both adults. It’s not like you were raised together. It’s not that weird.”

“He’s basically my stepbrother,” I muttered. “And besides, he’s not even my type.”

Finn threw his hands up. “b***h, you don’t have a type. You’ve kissed one boy in your entire life and ran away afterward like he had cooties.”

“Because it was in front of the entire school!” I reminded him. “And it was a dare!”

They both burst into laughter.

Finn leaned back on his elbows, eyes still locked on me. “Just saying… don’t knock the fantasy. Hot, brooding stepbrother with a temper and tattoos? That’s like, every w*****d dream ever written. Don’t be afraid to… explore.”

“I hate you both,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help laughing.

Even as I said it, though, I knew the truth.

The thoughts were already there.

And they weren’t going anywhere.

---

Dominic’s POV

The MMA gym wasn’t half bad.

Now, it wasn’t California — nothing ever really is — but it had the essentials: a clean ring, plenty of bags, the right gear, and even a couple of heavy hitters that looked like they could throw down. It would do.

I’d spent most of the morning in the back ring, sparring with a guy named Dean who looked like he’d been eating protein powder since kindergarten. He had good technique, but I took him out with a clean combo and a choke that left him gasping.

That high — the burn in my lungs, the sweat on my back, the ache in my knuckles — was the kind of therapy I understood. It drowned everything else out. Focused me. Calmed the chaos.

Or at least it used to.

As I was walking out the front entrance, wiping the sweat off my face with a towel, I spotted a group of beach bunnies heading toward the strip plaza. Sun-kissed skin, tiny shorts, and that spring-break look that always screamed thirst trap. Not that I was complaining.

They saw me.

And like clockwork, the smiles came.

The blonde in the middle, tall with a neon green crop top and legs for days, looked me up and down like she already owned me. “Hey, are you new around here?”

I smirked. “Just moved in.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, biting her lip. “Want a tour guide? I’m very hands-on.”

I chuckled. Flirty, forward, and probably great at faking moans. “Sounds like fun.”

She pulled her phone from her back pocket. “Lemme give you my number.”

We exchanged digits. She blew me a kiss before walking off, swaying her hips for dramatic effect. A walking cliché — but it worked. Or it should have.

Problem was, the second she walked away… my mind drifted.

To Kennedy.

Goddamn it.

I hadn’t even realized I’d thought her name until I was picturing her again — messy bun, long legs, tank top barely holding back her curves, that look in her eyes when she’d caught me shirtless.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I shook it off and headed back home, tugging my hoodie over my head. My Camaro was supposed to be getting delivered either today or tomorrow. If there was ever a time I needed my car and a good cruise to clear my head, now was it.

When I walked through the front door, I heard voices echoing from the backyard. Laughter, splashing. High-pitched and familiar.

“Yo,” I called out.

Max was halfway down the stairs, hair sticking up like a haystack. He looked like he just woke up from a coma.

“Who’s here?”

He yawned and scratched his head. “Kennedy’s weird friends. They’re out by the pool.”

“Ah. The inner circle.”

He trudged past me toward the living room and dropped onto the couch like gravity betrayed him. The TV snapped on — Game of Thrones.

“You allowed to be watching that?” I asked.

He smirked without looking at me. “You sound like Kennedy.”

I laughed. “Hey, I’m not judging. Just don’t blame me when your brain turns into medieval mush.”

“Too late.”

I shook my head and headed toward the back. Curiosity tugged me to the sliding glass door.

And there they were.

The little Asian girl — cute, tiny, with a high ponytail and a pink swimsuit that made her look twelve — was giggling with a tall, flamboyant guy sitting on the diving board. The dude had frosted tips, painted nails, and enough sass for five people.

But none of that registered long.

Because then I saw her.

Kennedy.

Laid out on a lawn chair, sunglasses on, black bikini stretched across her curves like it had been painted on.

And it hit me like a brick.

Damn.

Her skin practically glowed in the sun. Her stomach flat, her waist perfect. That bikini hugged her body in all the right ways — her chest soft but perky, thighs thick, smooth and pale and begging to be touched. She shifted slightly, one leg crossing over the other, and my mouth went dry.

I tried to pull my eyes away, but I couldn’t.

And then… I felt it.

The heat rising in my gut. The blood rushing where it shouldn’t be. That low, familiar pressure I hadn’t felt in a while — the kind that demanded release.

I cursed under my breath and turned away from the door fast. Too fast.

I walked quickly, nearly jogging up the stairs, heart pounding. I locked my bedroom door behind me and leaned against it, chest heaving.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She’s off limits. She’s not like those other girls. She’s…

She’s Kennedy.

But that image of her, sprawled on that chair in that goddamn bikini, wouldn’t go away. And no matter how many times I tried to force it out of my mind, it stayed burned behind my eyes.

I could still see the curve of her hip.

The soft line of her thighs.

The way her lips moved when she laughed.

The way her skin looked like it would taste sweet, like vanilla and trouble.

I needed to get this out of my system.

My jaw clenched, and for a second I just stood there — fighting it.

But the ache in my chest… the tension in my pants… it wasn’t going anywhere.

So I closed the blinds. Sat on the bed. And let it happen.

I hated myself for it.

But my body didn’t care.

I pulled out my d**k, it was the hardest I've ever felt it. I started stroking it, closing my eyes trying to picture the beach bunny from earlier who gave me her number. But that wasn't doing, my mind had its own plan. Instead I pictured Kennedy laying in my bed naked, biting her lip, rubbing her thick thighs together. It didn't take long for me to c*m, which was a first.

I cleaned myself up with the towel from my gym bag and threw it in my hamper.

Even after, as I lay there staring at the ceiling, guilt settling in the pit of my stomach, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Her mouth.

Her legs.

Her eyes.

That little freckle on the inside of her right breast.

I exhaled hard and rubbed a hand down my face.

This wasn’t going to go away.

And I was in deep trouble.