In Love With Him

Chapter 4

Kennedy’s POV

My alarm went off at exactly 6:30 a.m.

I didn’t need it. I was already awake. My body had long trained itself to rise early, even during the summer. Years of routines, of structure, of needing a head start before the day piled on. It was the only time of day that felt like mine—quiet, uninterrupted, still.

I tossed the covers off and stretched, yawning into the back of my hand. The early morning light bled soft orange through the crack in my curtains. I slipped out of bed in my usual morning wear: a fitted black spaghetti strap tank top and a pair of black girl boxer briefs. Comfortable. Minimal.

My hair was twisted into a messy bun, a few strands already falling loose, sticking to the back of my neck in the humid Florida air.

I padded barefoot across the room into the bathroom.

And froze.

Dominic was already there.

He stood at the sink, lazily brushing his teeth, looking like a Calvin Klein ad come to life.

Boxers. Just boxers.

Not even the decency of a T-shirt.

His chest was broad, tanned, smooth except for the tattoos that laced across his skin in black ink. I saw the full design of the Celtic knot sleeve wrapping around his right arm like it had been painted on him, ancient and raw. But it was the tattoo on the left side of his chest that caught me off guard — a Celtic cross right over his heart, with Helen inked in cursive beneath it.

His mother’s name. My stomach tightened in a way I didn’t expect.

My eyes drifted lower.

His abdomen looked like it had been carved out of stone. Every line of muscle — every single indent — was sculpted and glistening faintly under the bathroom light. An eight-pack. Eight. I didn’t even know that was real outside of fitness magazines. His V-line disappeared down beneath the waistband of his boxers, and—

Oh.

There was a very… noticeable outline.

My mouth went dry.

My cheeks burned.

Then, his eyes met mine in the mirror.

And he cleared his throat.

“If you’re gonna stand there gawking,” he said with that infuriating smirk, toothbrush still in his mouth, “least bring me a towel or something.”

I snapped out of my daze so fast I nearly dropped my toothbrush.

“I wasn’t gawking,” I snapped defensively, marching into the bathroom. “I just—wasn’t expecting you to be up this early.”

I tried to sound annoyed. Cool. Unbothered. Anything but embarrassed. Anything but turned on.

Dominic pulled the toothbrush from his mouth, rinsed, then grinned at me.

“I’m always up early. Like hitting the gym before it gets crowded. No distractions.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I focused on my reflection, squeezing toothpaste onto my brush with a hand that was way too shaky. I kept my eyes forward, refusing to look at him again… except for the couple of times I definitely did sneak a glance from the corner of my eye.

We stood side by side at the sink, brushing our teeth in silence. His presence next to me felt too big, like he took up more than just physical space. I could feel the heat of his skin, the faint scent of his body wash — sandalwood and something dark — and it made me shift my hips, trying to ignore the warmth gathering low in my stomach.

No.

Absolutely not.

Get it together, Kennedy.

I finished first, spit, rinsed, and wiped the sink. Then I cleaned my side — neatly, thoroughly, just like always — and placed everything back where it belonged.

Without looking at him, I turned toward the door.

But before I stepped through, I tossed a glance over my shoulder. “Don’t forget to clean up after yourself.”

He looked over his shoulder, eyes twinkling with that same cocky amusement.

“Anything you say, princess.”

My jaw tightened.

I closed the door behind me and walked straight into my bedroom, shutting the door a little harder than I meant to.

And yet… I couldn’t stop the way my heart was racing. Or the way my thighs clenched as I leaned back against the door, closing my eyes.

What the hell was wrong with me?

---

Dominic’s POV

I don’t know why, but I kind of expected her to be up early.

Kennedy just struck me as that type — rigid schedule, tightly wound, probably made her bed with hospital corners before the sun even cracked the sky. I don’t know. Something about her screamed discipline. Order. Control.

But what I wasn’t expecting… was how goddamn sexy she looked first thing in the morning.

That messy bun with a few strands slipping loose, softening her sharp features? Yeah, that nearly undid me.

And then there was that tank top — thin, tight, hugging every curve like it was tailored for sin. No bra. I noticed. I’m not blind. Her breasts were perfect, the kind of perky that made it impossible not to look, just enough to tease without overdoing it. And when she moved, they shifted ever so slightly beneath the fabric. Just enough to drive a man insane.

But what got me most?

Those girl boxers.

I don’t usually care when girls wear that kind of stuff — too tomboy for me, not really my vibe. But Kennedy?

She pulled them off like they were designed just for her.

They sat snug on her waist, hugging the curve of her hips, her porcelain legs stretching beneath them, smooth and long. And when she turned to the sink beside me… I caught the full view in the mirror.

Her ass.

Jesus.

I knew it was nice from the jeans the other day — I noticed — but this was a whole new level. Full, round, impossibly plump. The shorts rode up just enough to show that delicious curve at the bottom, a little peek of what was usually left to imagination. My chest tightened. My grip on the toothbrush faltered.

Then came the real kicker.

She was staring at me.

Her eyes had drifted down, just like mine had, and for a moment, they lingered. I saw the heat flush her cheeks, saw the panic ripple across her features before she scrambled to pretend she hadn’t just mentally undressed me.

“If you’re gonna stand there gawking,” I said with a smirk, toothbrush still in my mouth, “least bring me a towel or something.”

“I wasn’t gawking,” she said. “I just—wasn’t expecting you to be up this early.”

Right.

You were, princess.

And I loved it.

I told her I like hitting the gym early, before other people crowded it.

When she turned back around, I got a full view of her from behind, and yeah, I took it in. The way her hips swayed. How those shorts cupped her perfectly. How smooth her skin looked — flawless, like marble carved into a sinfully soft masterpiece. She shifted her legs slightly, thighs brushing together, like she was trying to calm herself down.

And I swear her n*****s were harder than they had been when she walked in.

Was she turned on?

I probably should’ve looked away. Respect her space. Respect boundaries.

But I didn’t. I couldn't.

Because in that moment, I didn’t see the nerdy, moody loner my mom described. I didn’t see the overachieving straight-A student with anxiety and a list of bathroom rules.

I saw a girl who was gorgeous.

A girl who didn’t even realize just how sexy she was.

And when she walked away — hips swaying, tank top riding just slightly higher with every step — I couldn’t help but watch.

Then she paused in the doorway to her room and tossed a parting shot over her shoulder.

“Don’t forget to clean up after yourself.”

I smirked, licking the toothpaste off my teeth. “Anything you say, princess.”

And then her door closed, cutting off my view.

I stared at the door for a second too long, then dropped my head and turned back to the mirror.

What the hell am I doing?

I splashed cold water on my face, hard. Once. Twice.

I needed to get it together.

That girl is not just some hot chick from down the hall. She’s my step-sister now. Sort of. Technically. Enough that I should know better.

But my brain didn’t care. And clearly, neither did the rest of me.

I looked at myself in the mirror, water dripping from my jaw, hair messy from sleep. I looked like a guy who was about to make some bad decisions.

Stop it.

I reached for the towel and dried off, doing my best to push the image of Kennedy’s body out of my mind. But the damage was done. That tank top. Those shorts. The way her thighs shifted, trying to press back a feeling I knew all too well.

I knew what turned-on looked like.

And Kennedy?

She’d been right there with me.

That thought stuck with me all the way back into my room.

I closed the door behind me and dropped onto my bed, the sheets still cold.

I had to get my head on straight.

But even as I stared at the ceiling, all I could see was her.

All I could feel was that heat, still simmering between us.

And I had a bad feeling it wasn’t going away anytime soon.