Craved By My Brother-In-Law

Boundaries

Dina

The lock on my bedroom door clicked into place, but it offered zero protection against the worry in my chest.

My back hit the wall, and I slid down until my knees met the floor. My hands were shaking so much I had to clench them into tight balls and put them between my laps. My cheek burned with adrenaline, but my mouth and my lips felt swollen, bruised, and feverish.

He kissed me.

In his kitchen. A mere few rooms away from the master suite where his brand-new bride was sleeping.

“Look me in the eye and say that again, Dina.”

His voice still replayed in my skull. His deep voice, laced with so much confidence. How could he do that to me? I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying desperately to scrub the sensation of his fingers digging into my hair out of my memory. I had slapped him. I had called him weak, told him to man up, swore to his face that our night at the club meant nothing.

It was the biggest lie I had ever told in my twenty-three years of living.

I scrambled to my feet, kicked off my slippers, and threw myself under the heavy duvet, dragging the fabric over my head as if the darkness could choke out the guilt eating my gut alive. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to take me.

Then the noise started.

Through the adjoining wall, a gasp pierced the midnight silence.

“Oh, Collin! Harder... please, baby!”

My body went rigid as iron. The blood in my veins turned to ice water.

“Yes! Right there, darling!” Angela’s high-pitched moans reverberated through the drywall, rising in exaggerated, screeching pitches that sounded more like an audition than an actual climax.

I clamped my hands over my ears, squeezing until my knuckles ached. But Angela wasn't being subtle. She was screaming loud enough to alert every maid on the second floor. She wanted the staff to hear. She wanted the walls to rattle.

Most of all, she wanted me to hear it.

Angela had always operated this way. When she snatched my college track, she spent weeks talking about her textbooks over breakfast. When she coerced me into breaking up with my boyfriend, she made sure to mention every high-society boy who asked her to cotillion. Now, she was making damn sure I knew she possessed Collin Malcolm’s ring, his name, and his body.

Except... it was all wrong.

I had been under Collin. I had felt the warmth of his body, heard the guttural growls he couldn't hold back when he lost control, felt the devastating rhythm of a man completely consumed by raw hunger. A man who moved like that didn't inspire fake, staccato shrieks like a bad porn tape.

Yet, as another shrill cry cut through the wall, my sick, twisted mind betrayed me.

The dark ceiling dissolved into images of Collin leaning over me in the kitchen. His storm-gray eyes flashing in the dark. The tight grip of his hands on my hips, crushing me against the counter. I imagined his mouth trailing down my neck, his rough fingers tearing through my clothes, his whispers filling the space instead of Angela's sickening performance.

Stop it! Stop it, Dina!

I dug my nails into my palms until my skin bled. He is your sister’s husband. You are sick. You are disgusting.

The guilt sat on my chest like wet cement. I lay there shivering in the dark, torturing myself until the silence finally returned around three in the morning.

By morning, the master dining table looked like a spread from a high-end magazine.

I stood near the sideboard, clutching a lukewarm cup of black coffee, keeping my head ducked. When Collin walked into the dining room, the entire room’s oxygen seemed to vanish.

He wore a tailored navy three-piece suit, his dark hair damp and swept back, exuding his usual perfection. Not a single trace of sleep or intimacy clung to him. But as he pulled out the head chair, his eyes snapped directly to mine.

I flinched, my heart skipping a beat, and immediately dropped my gaze to the flooring.

“Morning, husband!”

Angela floated into the room, practically glowing in an expensive silk designer wrap dress that was tied loosely at the front, intentionally displaying a collection of faint red marks along her collarbone.

She leaned down, throwing her arms around Collin’s neck from behind before pressing her cheek against his. “You were so wild last night, Collin. My back is killing me.”

Collin didn't flinch, nor did he lean into her embrace. He merely set his coffee cup down with a clink on the saucer, his face turning into an impenetrable mask of granite. “Sit down, Angela. The staff are waiting to serve breakfast.”

Angela’s pout lasted half a second before she spun toward me, her eyes gleaming with triumphant vanity. “Dina! You’re awake. Did our noise wake you up last night? I told Collin to keep it down, but when he loses control, well... you know how men are.”

The coffee tasted like battery acid in my mouth. “I slept fine.”

“Good,” Angela chirped, waving an airy hand toward the door. “Listen, the private chef’s delivery arrived, but there’s no organic almond milk, and I only drink imported French roast beans. I need you to run to the high-end market downtown and grab them for me right away.”

Treating me like an unpaid errand girl. Right on cue.

“I’ll go,” I said quickly, desperate for any excuse to get out from under Collin’s suffocating presence. “I can take the subway—”

“No,” Collin’s voice sliced through the air like a blade.

Both Angela and I froze.

Collin didn't look at Angela. His storm-gray eyes were locked on me. “Dina is not a maid. She is a guest in this house. We have three drivers and an entire butler staff on payroll. If you want almond milk, Angela, ring the kitchen bell.”

Angela’s mouth dropped open in outrage. Her face turned an ugly shade of red. “She’s my sister, Collin! She came here specifically to assist me while I adjust. It’s a family errand, not domestic abuse!”

She whipped her head toward me, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. “You don’t mind running out to pick up a few things for me, do you, Dina? Since you care so much about my comfort?”

The threat was obvious. Do what I say, or remember what I can take.

“It’s no trouble,” I whispered, avoiding Collin’s burning stare entirely. “I need some fresh air anyway. I’ll go right now.”

I practically ran out of the dining room before either of them could say another word.

I walked out to the driveway, inhaling the crisp morning chill, trying to steady my racing pulse. Every step away from the front door felt like a temporary reprieve from execution.

“Dina.”

The sound of my name made my spine snap straight.

I spun around. Collin had followed me out. He was standing on the grand stone steps with his jacket discarded while the cool wind tugged at the collar of his vest. He took long strides toward me until he stopped only a few feet away, casting a shadow over my smaller frame.

“Collin, stop,” I said, stepping back until the heels of my boots hit the front gate curb. “Angela will see you through the glass. Have you completely lost your mind?”

I expected him to sneer. I expected the arrogant monster from the kitchen who had dared me to call our night a mistake.

Instead, Collin stared down at me with an expression that made the breath catch in my throat. His features were completely blank. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, dark and painfully sincere.

“I’m not here to disturb you, Dina,” he said quietly, his baritone voice lacking its usual cold edge.

I swallowed, my chest tightening. “Then what do you want?”

Collin drew in a slow, ragged breath, his hands sliding into his trouser pockets as if physically restraining himself from reaching for me.

“Last night,” he began, each word sounding like it cost him something heavy to pull out. “In the kitchen. I crossed a line. I was heavily intoxicated from the reception, and my head wasn't clear.”

The words felt like a freezing bucket of water thrown over my head.

“You were... drunk?” I managed, my voice sounding impossibly small.

“Extremely,” Collin replied, his gaze dead level and completely serious. “You were right to slap me. You’re my wife’s sister, and this is your home now. I won't ever corner you or put my hands on you like that again. I'm sorry.”

He gave me a single, crisp nod of respect, turned on his heel, and walked back up the stone steps into the mansion.

I stood completely frozen on the driveway as the wind whipped loose strands of hair across my face.

He had apologized. He had admitted he was wrong. He had promised never to touch me again. It was everything I should have wanted. It was the only honorable, moral thing a man in his position could say.

So why, as I watched his broad back disappear behind the heavy front doors, did my heart clench so hard that it felt like it was breaking all over again?