PLAYING WITH FIRE: My Obsessed StepBrother

chapter 5

Chapter 5

Morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of my room, casting a warm pattern across the desk where I had tossed and turned again the night before. My body still hummed from the hallway encounter and my own fingers. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ethan’s face—his dark eyes burning with barely contained obsession. The way he had denied everything in the kitchen yesterday only made me want to push him harder. He could pretend it was a mistake all he wanted. I knew better.

I took my time getting ready, choosing a soft, flowing pale blue dress that buttoned down the front. It looked modest but was short enough that bending over would reveal plenty of thigh. I left the top two buttons undone—just enough to tease without being obvious. My hair fell in loose waves, and I added a touch of gloss to my lips. Innocent on the surface. Deadly underneath.

When I walked into the dining room, the family was already gathered. Elena was sipping her coffee and chatting about charity committees. Dad was half-buried in his tablet. Ethan sat in his usual spot, his hair slightly messy. He glanced up as I entered, and for a split second, raw hunger flashed across his face before he shut it down.

“Morning, Elena. Morning, Dad,” I said cheerfully, sliding into my seat directly across from him. Our eyes met, and I smiled sweetly. “Morning, big brother.”

The word landed exactly as I’d hoped. Ethan’s jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jump. His fork hovered over his eggs for a moment before he set it down with controlled precision.

Elena laughed softly, completely unaware. “You two and your old troubles. It’s almost cute how much you fight.”

“Cute?” I tilted my head, keeping my voice light and playful. “Ethan has always looked out for me, hasn’t he? He has that protective big brother vibe.” Under the table, I slipped off one heel and slowly ran my foot up his leg.

He stiffened instantly, eyes narrowing in warning. But he didn’t pull away. Not immediately. I felt the heat of his leg against the inside of my knee. The tension radiating from him was pure electricity. My heart pounded with the thrill of it—publicly polite, privately playing with fire.

Dad grunted something about a meeting, barely looking up. Elena passed me the fruit bowl. “Sophia, you must tell us about your designs in London. Any exciting projects?”

I kept my expression innocent while my foot continued its slow exploration, pressing more firmly against Ethan’s thigh. “Lots of them. I’m actually working on a new line. I might need some local help with fabric and models.” I glanced at him. “Do you know anyone with good hands, big brother?”

His hand disappeared under the table. For a second, I thought he might shove my foot away. Instead, his strong fingers wrapped around my ankle in a tight, almost painful grip. The possessive hold sent a rush of heat straight between my legs. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin there—a warning and a promise at the same time. I bit my lip to hide my smile.

“Sophia,” Ethan said, his voice low and edged with gravel, “you should focus on settling in before jumping into anything reckless.”

“Reckless?” I laughed softly, pressing my foot higher despite his grip. I could feel the hard muscle of his thigh tensing under my toes. “Just catching up with old friends. Speaking of which, I’m meeting Jake tonight for dinner. Remember him from London?”

Ethan’s grip tightened on my ankle, bordering on bruising. His eyes darkened dangerously across the table. Elena perked up. “Jake? That’s lovely. You should bring him by the house sometime.”

“Oh, I might,” I said sweetly, never breaking eye contact with Ethan. Under the table, I rubbed my foot against the growing hardness I could barely reach. He was rock hard. The knowledge made me instantly wet.

I leaned forward to reach for the coffee, letting my dress dip a little lower. “Jealous again, big brother? You’ve been off since I got back. Maybe you need to get out more yourself.”

He released my ankle sharply and shifted in his seat, jaw locked. “Not a good idea,” he muttered, voice barely above a growl. “The house isn’t a hotel for your friends.”

Elena chuckled. “He works too hard, that’s his problem. Ethan, you should join Sophia sometime and reconnect as siblings.”

The word “siblings” hit him like a slap. He stood up suddenly, chair scraping loudly. “I have calls to make.” His eyes met mine for one burning second—anger, lust, and something deeper—before he stalked out of the room.

My pulse thrummed. I finished breakfast with a satisfied little smile, chatting easily with Elena while my mind replayed the feel of his hand on my ankle and the hardness under my foot. He was unraveling, thread by thread.

The rest of the morning dragged. I answered work emails in my room, sketched a few designs, but my body stayed on edge. Every sound in the hallway made me wonder if he was watching again. Around midday, I decided to test the waters further. I changed into workout clothes—a tight sports bra and tiny shorts—and headed to the home gym in the basement, knowing he usually used it in the afternoons.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, I found him there. Shirtless, pounding the punching bag like it had personally offended him. Sweat glistened across his sculpted back and shoulders, muscles flexing powerfully with every hit. My mouth went dry.

I lingered in the doorway, stretching slowly. “Need a spotter, big brother?”

He froze mid-punch, turning to glare at me. His chest heaved, eyes raking over my barely-there outfit. “Get out, Sophia.”

“Or what?” I stepped closer, voice dropping. “Will you pin me against the wall? Finger me until I come screaming your name?”

His breathing grew ragged. He wiped sweat from his brow and stepped toward me with dangerous grace. I thought he might snap right there—throw me onto the mat and take what we both wanted. But he stopped short.

“Last time was a mistake,” he said roughly. “This morning too. Stop pushing before I do something we can’t take back.”

I rose onto my toes, lips brushing his ear. “But I want you to do something, Ethan. I want you obsessed. I want you to lose control.”

He exhaled sharply, fist clenching at his side. He yanked off his boxing gloves, turned, and walked out, leaving me alone with the scent of his sweat and the echo of his frustration.

I smiled to myself, thighs already slick with arousal. The way he kept denying it was addictive. And tonight with Jake would push him even further.

I couldn’t wait to see how he lost control next.