HIS SWEETEST ADDICTION

Gianna's POV "Don’t. Make. A. Sound." The command was a hot, desperate rasp against my ear, a vibration that went straight through my skull and down my spine, locking every muscle in my body with a thrill of pure terror. My fingernails carved half-moons into the solid rock of Rhys’s shoulders as my back arched off the childhood mattress, giving him easy access. He drove into me again. A deep, punishing, perfect stroke that stole the air from my lungs and replaced it with fire. I bit down on my lower lip, the overwhelming pleasure coiling tight in my core. The bed creaked again. Rhys stopped momentarily as we both glanced towards my bedroom door, which was firmly closed. My brother, Kace, was passed out in the room next door after a night of drinking. Down the hall, my grandpa slept the deep, untroubled sleep of a man who thought his twenty-year-old granddaughter was safely tucked in, dreaming innocent dreams. It was a miracle grandma was visiting her sister. She’d have heard the sin a mile away. "Rhys…" The name was a choked gasp, torn from me as he slammed home again, his pace losing its rhythm, becoming frantic, possessive. "I’m… I’m gonna…" His hand slammed over my mouth, muffling the broken whimper that tried to escape. My eyes rolled back, my focus narrowing to the feeling of him—the sweat-slicked skin of his chest against mine, the punishing grip of his fingers on my hip, the relentless, rhythmic push and pull inside me. God, I had missed this. Missed the way he filled me so completely. The way his control was so absolute, it felt like surrender. It all started two months ago, the night before I left for my spring semester. It was a drunken fumble after one of Kace's parties. We’d always had this charged tension, this unspoken thing that crackled in the air whenever he was over. That night, it snapped. He’d followed me into the library and I'd kissed him and somehow we ended up in my bed. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A mistake. ​But then I texted. And he answered. And every time he came over to see Kace, he’d find a way to see me. A brush of fingers in the hallway. A loaded glance across the dinner table. And then, later, the soft click of my bedroom door opening in the dark. ​He shifted above me, his rhythm faltering. I knew what it meant. He was close. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of dread and desire. This was the part I hated. This was where it ended. His thrusts became a ragged, driving rhythm, a silent shout against the quiet of the night. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his groan a deep vibration I felt in my soul. "f**k, Gianna…" It was the only time he ever said my name. His body went rigid, and then he was pulsing inside me, a hot, liquid release that had him shuddering from head to toe. For one breathtaking second, his entire weight sank onto me, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him there, pretending this meant something. Pretending the frantic beating of his heart was for me, and not just the adrenaline of almost getting caught. ​The moment shattered too quickly. ​He was moving instantly, rolling off me, the loss of his heat a physical ache. The mattress groaned in protest. I lay perfectly still, listening to the sounds of him—the soft rustle of his jeans being pulled up, the quiet click of his belt buckle. I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. If I saw the blank, detached look on his face, the one he wore every time every time we f****d, it would break the fragile illusion the darkness provided. ​The floorboard by the window creaked. He was leaving. No goodbye kiss. No whispered ‘that was amazing’. Not even a ‘see you around’. Just the silent, efficient retreat of a soldier completing a mission. I heard the faint, almost imperceptible rasp of the window screen being slid up. His preferred method of entry and exit. Always. I held my breath, willing the silence to swallow him whole, to erase the evidence of what we’d done. My throat tightened. He doesn’t love you. You agreed to this. No strings. The mantra did little to soothe the fresh crack in my heart. I pulled the sheet up to my chin, the cotton cool against my overheated skin, still humming with the aftershocks of him. ​I was still lying there, staring at the faint crack in my ceiling, when I heard it. Not the soft thud of his boots hitting the grass outside. ​But a sound in the hallway. A floorboard. Right outside my door. ​My blood ran cold. Oh God. My eyes darted to the digital clock on my nightstand. 3:17 AM. It couldn't be Kace; he slept like a boulder after a night of drinking. Grandpa. It had to be Grandpa. Did he hear? Did the bed groan too loud? Did one of us finally slip up? Did he hear Rhys sneaking out? ​The knob on my door began to turn with an agonizing, slow creak. ​My heart jackhammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of pure terror. The door was opening. I squeezed my eyes shut, playing dead, but every muscle in my body was rigid with the effort of staying perfectly still. The scent of s*x, of him, hung thick in the air, a damning perfume. Please don’t let him smell it. Please. ​"Gianna?" My grandpa’s voice was a low, sleep-roughened rumble from the doorway. "You awake?" "I am now," I mumbled, my voice deliberately slurred with fake sleep. I kept my body angled away from him, my face half-buried in the pillow. I made a show of stirring, rolling over with a groggy mumble I hoped sounded convincing. "Gramps? Wha’s wrong?" I slurred, praying the tremor in my voice sounded like sleep and not sheer, unadulterated panic. "I heard a noise. Sounded like it came from in here." He took a half-step into the room, and my heart hammered against my ribs so violently I was sure he could hear it. Don't come closer. Don't. I held my breath. "Just… rolling over," I managed to say, the lie tasting bitter in my mouth. "This bed squeaks like crazy. You know that." He was silent for a moment. I could feel his gaze sweeping the room, and I was intensely, painfully aware of the tangled state of my sheets, the pillows askew, the general disarray of a bed that had hosted anything but sleep. Could he see the marks? Could he smell the sweat and the desperate, secretive act that had just taken place? The musky, intimate aroma seemed to scream into the quiet room. "Yeah," he finally said, his tone shifting from suspicion to concern. "Okay. Just checking. Your brother's out cold. Snoring like a chainsaw. Couldn't have been him." A soft chuckle. "Sorry I woke you, sweetheart." "S'okay, Gramps," I whispered, the endearment feeling like a betrayal. "Alright," he said finally, and the tension in my shoulders eased by a microscopic degree. "Get some sleep, kiddo. Big day for your brother tomorrow." ​Right. Kace will be celebrating his 28th birthday tomorrow and that’s why he was home. That’s why Rhys was here from DC. He usually came around for big occasions. ​"I will. Night, Gramps." The door clicked shut. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe until I heard his footsteps retreat down the hall and the soft snick of his own bedroom door closing. ​A choked gasp escaped me, a release of the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, my whole body trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline. That was too close. Way too close. ​I lay there, frozen in the quiet, listening. Half of me was sure my Gramps was still outside the door, waiting to catch me breathing wrong. He had that sixth sense—always seemed to know when I’d done something I shouldn’t. I could almost picture him there, hand on the doorknob, eyes narrowed, wondering why I was still awake at this hour. Wondering what I’d done this time. But this… this wasn’t some teenage rebellion. This was a line, once crossed, that could never be uncrossed. Because Rhys wasn’t just some guy. He was Kace’s best friend. His brother in all but blood. The man he trusted most in the world. If Kace ever found out… it wouldn’t just be a fight. It would be a nuclear bomb. It would obliterate everything. And yet, as I lay there in the dark, the phantom sensation of Rhys moving inside me, I couldn’t find an ounce of true regret. It was an addiction, this desperate, electric need for the one thing I could never truly have. It made the rest of my life feel like it was in grayscale. The thought of tomorrow made my stomach clench. The whole family, plus Rhys, would be here. We’d all be forced into a sickeningly normal charade; Rhys as the beloved big brother figure, and me as the quiet, younger sister. We’d laugh at the same jokes, pass the butter, and all the while, I’d be intensely aware of the way his thigh was two inches from mine under the table, or the way his eyes flicked to me when no one was looking. And later, when everyone was distracted by cake and laughter, he’d find a way to pull me into the pantry, or the garage, or right back here in this bed and f**k the hell out of me.