The Incest

Chapter twelve

Cora’s POV

The villa was too quiet. Too big. Too much sunlight pouring through the glass walls, bouncing off the marble floor, making everything feel exposed.

I sat curled on the couch with my hoodie pulled down to my knees, trying to ignore the sharp ache twisting in my stomach. My cramps had shown up right on schedule, because of course they would. First night of “vacation” and my body decided to turn into a warzone.

I didn’t even notice Xavier until he was standing in front of me, arms crossed, brows furrowed like I’d committed some crime.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked bluntly.

“Nothing,” I muttered, tugging the hoodie tighter and sinking deeper into the cushions.

“Bullshit.” He dropped onto the couch beside me, way too close. His knee brushed mine, and I immediately shifted away. He shifted closer. Typical.

“Go away, Xavier.”

“No.” His tone was annoyingly firm. “You look pale. And you’ve been clutching your stomach for, like, the last fifteen minutes. What’s going on?”

I groaned and flopped onto my side, burying my face into the pillow. “You’re so nosy. It’s just cramps, okay? Nothing new. Girls survive them every day. Now leave me alone.”

There was a pause. Then—

“Cramps? Like—” His voice pitched up, panicked. “Like period cramps?”

I rolled my eyes into the pillow. “No, genius. I sprained my uterus playing basketball.”

He didn’t even laugh. That’s how freaked out he was.

The next thing I knew, he was up and pacing the living room like someone had told him I was dying. “Okay, wait. Do you need medicine? Heat pack? Food? Ice? Do I call a doctor? No—wait—doctors can’t do anything for cramps, right? s**t. Okay, what do I do?”

I peeked at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re literally spiraling.”

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes blazing like I’d just stabbed myself in the chest. “Because you’re in pain, Cora. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

My heart gave a stupid thud. I buried it under sarcasm. “You can’t fix it. Just… let me wallow.”

“Not happening.” He disappeared into the kitchen and came back two minutes later with a mug of hot tea in one hand and a blanket in the other. He practically shoved them at me. “Here. Drink. And take this.”

I sat up reluctantly, accepting the mug. The steam warmed my face, and okay—fine—it did help a little. The blanket, though? That was his excuse.

Because the second he draped it over me, he slid onto the couch and pulled me into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Xavier—no.” I squirmed, pushing against him. “Don’t. I don’t need—”

“Shut up,” he said softly, his arm locking tighter around my waist. “You’re shaking. Just… let me.”

I froze. My body screamed at me to shove him away, to keep the wall up, but my stomach was screaming louder, and his chest was warm, steady, grounding.

I muttered into his shirt, “You’re so clingy.”

“And you’re terrible at taking care of yourself.” His chin rested on top of my head. “So I’m taking over.”

For a long moment, neither of us moved. His hand traced lazy circles on my back, slow and careful, like he was afraid I’d break. The pain didn’t disappear, but it dulled, soothed by the rhythm of his touch and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

I hated how much I didn’t hate it.

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I don’t know how long we stayed like that. His chest rising and falling against my cheek, his arms locked around me like some human-sized seatbelt. Every now and then, he’d shift just enough to pull the blanket higher or tuck a strand of hair behind my ear like I was a damn porcelain doll.

I should’ve shoved him off ages ago. I should’ve rolled my eyes, made a sarcastic comment, something. But my body betrayed me. I was too tired, too sore, too warm.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I mumbled without opening my eyes.

He chuckled low in his throat. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to write me a love poem or some crap.”

His chest rumbled with another laugh. “Maybe I am.”

I snapped my head up to glare at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back easily. His hand tightened around my waist, pulling me flush against him before I could retreat. “You won’t even let yourself admit this feels good.”

My face went hot. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” His voice dipped lower, softer, dangerous. “Because your breathing slowed down the second I touched you. And you haven’t pushed me off yet.”

I scowled, trying to look unaffected even though my heart was pounding against his shirt. “That’s because I’m weak from blood loss, idiot.”

His lips quirked. “Then I guess I’ll just have to hold you up.”

I turned away, burying my face in his shoulder before he could see how badly that line hit me. He didn’t need to know that my chest was tightening in a way that had nothing to do with cramps.

“Cora.”

I hated the way my name sounded in his voice. Too gentle. Too… his.

“What,” I muttered.

He tilted his head, his breath brushing my temple. “You drive me crazy, you know that? But you also… you make me want to do this. Take care of you. Even when you fight me every second of it.”

My throat closed. I wanted to fire back with some sarcastic comeback, something sharp enough to cut through the mess inside me. But nothing came. Just silence.

His arm tightened again, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he loosened his grip. “You don’t have to like it,” he murmured. “But I’m not letting you go tonight.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing the way my body melted at his words. Damn him. Damn him for knowing exactly how to slip past my defenses.

And still, I didn’t move.

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