My Stepbrother's Obsession

Chapter 4: The Spiral

Three days. That's how long I make it before I'm back in his apartment.

Three days of pretending everything is normal while my body remembers exactly how his hands felt on my skin. Three days of family dinners where I can barely look at him without my face burning. Three days of lying in bed at night, hyperaware of the cameras, wondering if he's watching me the way I can't stop thinking about him.

On the fourth night, I don't even bother pretending I won't go.

Mom and David are at another one of their dinner dates. The house is empty. I grab my phone and text the number I should've blocked: "Are you home?"

The response is immediate: "Always for you."

I'm crossing the yard before I can change my mind.

He opens the door shirtless this time, hair damp like he just got out of the shower. The sight of him stops me in my tracks.

"That was fast," he says, but there's satisfaction in his voice. Like he knew I'd come back. Like he's been counting down the hours too.

"Don't." I push past him into the apartment.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you won." I turn to face him, arms crossed. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" He closes the door, leaning against it. "Then why are you here, Sloane?"

Because I can't stop thinking about you.

Because normal boys my age feel boring now.

Because you've ruined me for anyone else and you know it.

"I don't know," I lied.

He crosses to me in three long strides. "We really need to work on your honesty."

Then his mouth is on mine and thinking becomes impossible.

It's different this time. Hungrier. More desperate. Like the three days apart broke something in both of us. I kiss him back just as fiercely, nails digging into his shoulders.

He walks me backward until my legs hit the couch. But instead of pushing me down like last time, he lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively as he carries me toward the bedroom.

"Not the couch this time," he murmurs against my neck. "I want you in my bed. Want to f**k you where I've imagined it a thousand times."

The words should shock me. Instead, they make heat pool between my thighs.

He lays me on his bed, and I have a moment to take in the space. It's sparse like the rest of his apartment. But the walls have photographs of vintage cars. Not me. Those are hidden in his secret room.

"What are you thinking?" He climbs over me, settling between my legs.

"That you're good at compartmentalizing."

"I have to be." His fingers find the hem of my shirt, sliding underneath. "Otherwise I'd never be able to sit across from you at dinner without losing my mind."

He pulls my shirt over my head, then sits back on his heels to look at me. The intensity in his gaze makes me shiver.

"You're staring."

"I've been watching you for two years. Now I get to touch." His hands skim up my ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my bra. "Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

I reach for him, pulling him back down. "Show me."

What follows is slower than last time. He takes his time undressing me, kissing every inch of skin he reveals. When he finally removes my bra, his mouth closes around my n****e and I arch off the bed with a gasp.

"So responsive," he murmurs, switching to the other breast. "I knew you would be. Watched you touch yourself twice through that camera.

The sounds you made..."

"That's creepy," I manage, even as my hands tangle in his hair, holding him to me.

"I know." He kisses down my stomach. "But you're still here."

He removes my jeans and underwear in one smooth motion, leaving me completely bare beneath him. For a moment, he just looks at me, spread out on his bed.

"Perfect," he whispers, almost to himself.

Then his mouth is on me and I stop caring about anything else. He takes his time here too, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me grip the sheets. When he slides two fingers inside me while his tongue works, I come apart with a cry.

Before I can catch my breath, he's moving up my body, shedding his sweatpants. I watch him roll on a condom with shaking hands.

"Wait." The word comes out breathless.

He freezes. "Do you want to stop?"

"No. I just..." I reach up, cupping his face.

"This is insane. You know that, right? What we're doing."

"I know." He turns his head, kissing my palm.

"But I can't stop. I've tried. For two years, I tried to make myself feel this way about anyone else. It's only you, Sloane. It's only ever been you."

The confession breaks something in me. I pull him down, kissing him hard. "Then take me."

He enters me in one slow thrust, and we both groan at the sensation. He stills, giving me time to adjust.

"Move," I beg.

He does, setting a rhythm that builds and builds. His face is buried in my neck, breathing hard.

"You feel incredible," he groans. "So perfect. Made for me."

I wrap my legs around him, meeting his thrusts. The angle changes and suddenly he's hitting somewhere that makes stars burst behind my eyes.

"There," I gasp. "Right there."

He adjusts, hitting that spot with every thrust now. I can feel myself getting close, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

"Look at me," he commands, and I do. His ice-blue eyes are dark with desire. "I want to watch you come on my cock."

The words push me over the edge. I shatter around him, and he follows moments later, groaning my name.

We lie tangled together afterward, both catching our breath. His hand traces lazy patterns on my hip.

"Stay tonight," he murmurs.

"I can't. Mom and David will be home soon."

"Then stay until you have to leave."

I should go now. Should put distance between us. Instead, I curl into his side, letting myself have this moment.

"Tell me something," I say after a while.

"When did it start? The watching."

He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer.

"Morrison's Coffee. Two years before the wedding. You were reading about personality disorders and you bit your pen exactly seventeen times in forty-three minutes. I counted."

"That's specific."

"I remember everything about you." His arm tightens around me. "Every detail. Every moment. It's all catalogued up here." He taps his temple.

"That's not normal, Crew."

"I know. But it's the truth." He presses a kiss to my hair. "You're the only thing that makes sense in my head. Everything else is just noise."

I should be scared by that admission. Maybe I am. But there's something else too.

Something that feels dangerously like belonging.

My phone buzzes. A text from Mom: "On our way home, honey."

"I have to go." I sit up, reaching for my clothes.

Crew watches me dress, and there's something possessive in his gaze that makes my skin tingle.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asks.

"This can't become a regular thing."

"It already is." He stands, pulling on his sweatpants. "We can pretend otherwise, but we both know you'll be back."

I hate that he's right.

I slip out into the night, crossing the yard quickly. I'm almost to the back door when I hear it.

David's voice. Coming from the side of the house.

"I don't know, Patricia. Something feels off lately."

I freeze, pressing against the wall.

"What do you mean?" Mom's voice, concerned.

"With the kids. Sloane's been distant. And Crew actually showed up for breakfast this week. Multiple times."

My heart hammers.

"That's good though, isn't it? Maybe they're finally warming up to each other."

A pause. Then David: "Maybe. Or maybe something else is going on.”