Luring My Alpha Stepbrother

Helping With Her Hands

Ethan's POV (Contained Adult Theme)

Fated Mate. Two simple words that changed my life forever.

Before I turned eighteen, I was filled with anticipation—no, desperation—to meet my fated mate. I'd heard the stories, the joy, the connection, the completeness. I imagined how perfect life would become when I found her.

Never, not even in a million wild dreams, did I think my fated mate would turn out to be my stepsister.

And since she had a problem shifting, Alissa still didn't know I was hers.

Normally, only after both parties had shifted could they meet their fated mates. I suppose I was lucky, in a way, that my fated mate didn't shift; I still noticed her existence.

It was just after my birthday, Alissa came home late, as usual, strolling through the hallway without a care in the world.

The moment I saw Alissa, I smelled it, her. Like really, really smelled her. Alissa smelled like popcorn, which was my favorite, dipped into a caramel sauce. It felt sweet, hot, and utterly intoxicating. My mouth drooled that instant.

I'd never smelled anything like it, not even on her before. It hit me like a punch to the gut.

"Mate!" My wolf, Vax, roared in my mind, nearly making me stumble. "She's right there! Claim her. Make her ours!"

My hands trembled as I fought to stay in control.

Alissa, my aloof, distant stepsister who barely tolerated my existence, was my mate?

I couldn't claim her, even mate with her—not with our parents happily married. We weren't biologically related, but still, the thought felt... wrong. Twisted.

If anyone found out, they'd laugh me off as a lunatic with a sick sense of humor. Everyone knew how much Alissa despised me. Hell, I didn't like her much either. From the moment I entered her life, she'd treated me like an intruder, like I'd stolen something precious from her.

Her cold stares, the distance she kept—it all stung, though I never understood why.

After my birthday, I did everything I could to stay composed. I was the only one who knew we were fated, and I resolved to act like nothing had changed. Sure, I protected her more than usual, but never enough to raise suspicion.

But I underestimated how hard it would be to keep my distance.

I caught myself stealing glances at her when no one was looking. I craved her scent, her presence, her warmth. I even found excuses to shower in the bathroom closest to hers, where her scent lingered.

It was pathetic. I was pathetic. A pervert, chasing scraps of her existence just to feel close to her, finding any chance to smell her, see her, even taste her.

Then came the night she shattered the fragile distance I'd tried to maintain.

She offered to help me relieve myself—her words, not mine. As soon as she held my d**k in her hands, I knew I was doomed.

I want to f**k her. So badly. And make her my mine. Like, really, really make her mine.

Somewhere in the haze of my spiraling needs, I considered running away with her. We could find a place far from here where no one could judge or stop us.

But as Alissa's hand moved over me, her touch slowed, and her focus faltered. I asked quickly, "You are not focused. What are you thinking right now?"

"Nothing..." She murmured, lowering her head. Her hands stilled, and she looked... deflated like the weight of something unseen had crushed her.

Her bright eyes darted away, but not before I caught it—a flash of disgust and regret. That fleeting look sliced through me like a knife, sharp and merciless.

It wasn't the first time. That same disgust stared back at me whenever I tried to get close, but tonight, it was unbearable. I can't ignore the truth anymore. My fated mate, always a distant stepsister, she hated me like I was nothing to her.

For so long, I'd been the one suffering. From the moment I realized she was my mate, the pain had been mine alone. I couldn't touch her, couldn't claim her—and now I had to tolerate her being the one who despised me the most on this planet.

No, I won't allow it.

"Already regretting it?" My voice came out cold, laced with sarcasm and anger I could no longer contain.

Her hands, which had been holding my d**k just seconds ago, retreated as if burned. A hot rush of frustration surged through me, igniting a fire I couldn't control.

Without thinking, I grabbed her and pulled her into my arms, crushing her against me. My lips found hers—not gently, not sweetly. This wasn't a kiss; it was a storm.

She resisted, her lips sealed tight against mine, but I didn't care. I forced my way in, tasting her for the first time. And she tasted like heaven, a heaven that had been out of reach for far too long.

My free hand slid up, lifting her dress as I gripped her ass with possessive strength. She struggled, twisting against me, but I wouldn't let her go. Not now.

She was the one who had crossed the line. She was the one that ignited this fire. And now, there was no escape for either of us.

Her resistance grew stronger, her hands pushing at my chest, and the sharpness of her struggle jolted me back to reality.

I released her finally, stumbling back a step. My breaths came in ragged bursts, my mind spinning with a chaotic mix of guilt, anger, and longing. "I thought you said you were going to help me, "I began, my voice hoarse and unsteady. "You have no time to feel regret now. You were the one who crossed the line."

"Who said I'd regret it?" she challenged, her tone laced with defiance as her eyes met mine, almost teasing.

Before I could process her words, she wrapped her arms around my neck, drawing closer. Her lips parted slightly, an unspoken invitation that sent my resolve crumbling like ash in the wind.

I couldn't hold back anymore. My arms encircled her again, pulling her flush against me as if letting go would destroy me. Our lips met again, this time with a fervor that neither of us tried to suppress.

My tongue sought hers, the kiss deepening into something raw and primal. It was as if every unspoken word, every repressed feeling, had found its voice at that moment, spilling over in waves of uncontrollable need.

At the same time, I lead her hand back on my d**k, calming it. Her hands wrapped tightly around it like a runaway train that had left its original track and ran rampant. She let my sensitive arousal brush against her soft hand.

I broke the kiss, my breath heavy as I pulled back just enough to see her face.

I wanted to watch her—to truly see her—as she helped me.

Her eyes shimmered with an almost pleading redness, a vulnerability I'd never seen before. A stray lock of hair clung to her damp forehead, and her lips were swollen and glistening from our kiss, parted slightly as she caught her breath.

Alissa was breathtaking, even more so than in the vivid dreams that had haunted me for so long. The only difference was the setting—this wasn't my bed, where I'd imagined her countless times. Instead, we were here, standing in the dimly lit bathroom, the risk of being caught looming over us like a shadow.

"Help me, Alissa," I murmured, my hands cupping her flushed face gently.

She increased her pace. Waves of refreshing shudders hit my whole body. I raised my head and let out a low groan. The sweat on my forehead trickled down, possibly following the lines of my muscles and flowing into Alissa's hand.

I gasped and accelerated the speed of thrusting myself violently. As Alissa complained that she was tired, I pushed into an unprecedented convulsion with a trembling twitch, and a stream of hot semen shot into her hand.

An overwhelming sense of satisfaction filled my heart.

I wanted to merge everything I had into her, but I knew the time wasn't right yet.

I wasn't sure if I could keep my distance from my stepsister—my fated mate—anymore. I want to make her my own now more than ever.