Engaged To One, Claimed By The Other

Oh s**t. The stranger who f****d me until my legs shook and my voice broke three weeks ago is standing across this glittering ballroom right now, black suit, no tie, that same dark gaze locked on me like he can still taste me, and Elliot just said the words I never wanted to hear. “Mea, meet my brother. Kade.” My heart doesn’t drop. It craters. Elliot’s arm is slung proudly around my waist, his thumb rubbing absent circles over the silk of my red dress. He has no idea. None. He’s beaming like this is the best night of his life, family reunited, girlfriend on his arm, champagne flowing. Kade steps forward. Close enough that I catch cedar and bourbon again, the same scent that clung to my skin that night. His mouth curves, just a fraction, polite for everyone else, lethal for me. “Nice to see you again,” he says. The words slide under my skin like a blade. Smooth. Deliberate. His eyes never leave mine. Not once. I force my hand out. His fingers close around it, warm, firm, lingering one heartbeat too long. His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist the exact way it did when he pinned my hands above my head and made me beg. I yank my hand back like I’ve been burned. Elliot laughs, oblivious. “She’s usually more talkative. Must be the nerves, first time meeting the infamous big brother.” Kade’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “She’s doing fine.” I want to scream. I want to run. I want to drag him into a dark hallway and demand how the hell this is happening. Instead I smile, small, tight, perfect girlfriend smile and say, “It’s… nice to meet you too.” Elliot pulls me closer, kissing my temple. “See? Told you she’d love you.” Kade’s gaze flicks to Elliot’s arm around me, then back to my face. Something dark flashes there. Possession. Promise. Threat. I feel it between my thighs like a memory. I know you’re wondering how the hell I ended up here, standing in a room full of crystal and money, pretending I’m not still sore from the man who’s now supposed to be family. It started three weeks ago. Elliot and I had fought, again. The same fight dressed up in new words. He’d leaned against the kitchen island, whiskey in hand, sleeves rolled, and said, casual as breathing, “Maybe we should just get married.” Maybe. Not “I want to spend my life with you.” Not “Marry me because I can’t imagine otherwise.” Maybe. Like I was a spreadsheet line item. Like forever was convenient. I’d laughed, because what else do you do when the man you’ve built two years around proposes like he’s suggesting takeout?, but the laugh came out hollow. I waited for the warmth, the flutter, the yes that should have been automatic. Nothing came. So I left. Stormed out in the red dress I’m wearing tonight, heels clicking like gunshots. Called Jenna on the way. She was already at The Lounge downtown, lights low, bass heavy, bodies pressed close. “Get here,” she said. “You need to forget him for one night.” I did. Or I tried. I spotted him almost immediately. Tall, dark hair curling at the nape, black shirt open at the collar. He was standing near the bar with a blonde, tall, beautiful, laughing at something he said, her hand on his forearm. I should have looked away. I didn’t. Our eyes met over her shoulder. He didn’t smile. He just… looked. Like he already knew why I was there. Like he could see the fight written on my skin. The blonde leaned in, whispered something. He murmured back, polite, detached, then his gaze slid to me again. She noticed. Pouted. Said something sharp. He shrugged one shoulder. She huffed, walked off. He didn’t follow. He walked straight to me. Knees brushed under the high-top table when he sat. Neither of us moved away. “You’re not happy,” he said, voice low over the music. I raised an eyebrow. “You figured that out in five minutes?” “Four.” I laughed, real this time. Sharp. Surprised. He leaned closer. “Fight with the boyfriend?” My stomach flipped. “How did you……” “You keep checking your phone like it betrayed you, then shoving it away. Classic.” I studied him. Sharp jaw. Dark eyes that saw too much. The faint shadow of stubble I already wanted under my fingertips. “I should go home,” I said. “You should,” he agreed. A beat. Then, quieter: “Or you could come upstairs.” My pulse slammed. I knew exactly what he meant. I should have said no. Instead I whispered, “Just one drink.” He smiled like he knew I was lying. We didn’t even make it through the drink. The elevator doors closed and the world narrowed to him, his mouth on mine, hard and hungry, tongue claiming like he’d been waiting all night. My back hit the mirrored wall. His hand slid up my spine, fingers splaying over the small of my back, thumb pressing the dip above my ass. My waist fit perfectly in his palm, slim, delicate, and he groaned against my lips when he realized it. My n*****s tightened instantly, straining against the silk. No bra. Just the thin fabric and suddenly they were obvious, aching. He looked down. Saw. A low sound rumbled in his throat. His c**k pressed thick and hard against my stomach through his jeans. I gripped his chest, solid muscle under my palms, and pulled him closer. The doors dinged…..