The Incest

Chapter Twenty

The villa was quiet when Cora slipped out through the side gate. She only meant to grab a drink from the little shop down the street, maybe clear her head from all the heat Xavier had stirred up during the day. The night air was warm, humming with music from a nearby bar, and that’s where she bumped into him.

A tall guy, tan from the sun, smile sharp and easy.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said smoothly, stepping into her path. “What’s your name?”

Cora laughed nervously, brushing her hair back. “Uh—I’m just passing by.”

“That’s fine. You can still pass me your number.” He grinned, holding out his phone.

She hesitated, glancing back toward the villa, then quickly typed in the digits. Maybe it was harmless. Maybe it wasn’t. But when she got back, her phone lit up with his first text.

By the next day, Xavier had noticed. She laughed too easily at her screen, smiled down like she was hiding something. He didn’t say a word, but the tension in his jaw spoke volumes. He’d watch her from across the pool, from the kitchen counter, from the couch. Silent. Brewing.

That night, she slipped out again. Dressed casual, one of his shirts knotted at her waist, hair loose. The guy was waiting, leaning against his car. He whisked her off to the beachside bar, ordered her a drink, brushed his hand against hers like he had every right. Cora let the night spin her around, ignoring the voice in her chest screaming that she was playing with fire.

It was past midnight when she returned to the villa. Hair messy from the sea breeze, lips stained faintly from her drink, laughter still clinging to her throat. She didn’t expect Xavier waiting in the living room, pacing like a storm contained in one body.

“Where the hell were you?” His voice cut through the silence, rough, raw.

Cora froze, clutching her bag tighter. “Out. Don’t start.”

“Out?” His laugh was sharp, bitter. “Out with him? The guy you’ve been smiling at your phone for like a lovesick teenager?”

Her stomach dropped. “You were spying—”

“I was watching you,” he snapped. “Because you didn’t answer a single damn call. Do you have any idea what went through my head? You walking in here looking like—like this—” His eyes raked over her, furious and hungry and hurt all at once. “You look like a f*****g—” He choked on the word, then spat it out. “b***h. A hoe. That’s what you look like.”

The word hit harder than a slap. For a moment, the villa was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. Then her hand flew before she could think, cracking against his cheek.

Xavier’s head snapped to the side.

Her voice trembled, but it carried through the air like glass breaking.

“You don’t get to call me that. Not you.”

Her palm stung, her chest heaved, and for the first time since the vacation started, the playful bubble between them shattered into something raw, dangerous, and real.

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Xavier’s cheek burned, but not nearly as much as his pride. He stood frozen, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes locked on Cora like she was both the wound and the cure.

Cora’s hand still trembled at her side, the sting lingering in her palm. Her eyes glistened—not with guilt, but with fire. She spun on her heel, heading for the hallway.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” Xavier growled, voice low and lethal.

She didn’t stop. “Watch me.”

He caught her wrist in two long strides, yanking her back. She crashed against his chest, breath colliding with his, both of them trembling, too close, too furious.

“You think you can just—sneak out, let some random asshole touch you, then come back here smiling like nothing happened?” His grip tightened, though careful not to hurt. “You’re mine, Cora. I don’t care what you say, you’re mine.”

Her laugh was broken, bitter. “Yours? You can’t even say it out loud without choking. Stepbrother, remember? We’re not supposed to be anything!”

The words cracked something in him. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, holding her like if he let go, she’d vanish. His forehead pressed against hers, breath ragged.

“I don’t give a damn what we’re supposed to be.” His voice dropped to a whisper, dark, raw. “All I know is the thought of you with him made me want to kill something.”

Her lips parted, trembling, caught between protest and surrender. “Then why—why call me that?”

His jaw clenched. Regret flickered across his face, sharp and fleeting. “Because I was losing it. Because I was scared. And because I’m a f*****g i***t when it comes to you.”

Silence crashed down, heavy and suffocating. Cora’s chest heaved as she tried to steady herself, tried to ignore how close his hand was to the hem of her shirt.

Her voice broke through, softer now. “You don’t get to break me down just because you’re hurting.”

Xavier’s hand slid up, resting against the side of her face, thumb brushing her damp lashes. His touch was gentle this time, almost reverent. “Then don’t let me. Slap me again if you have to. Just… don’t walk away.”

Her breath hitched. For a second, it looked like she might. But instead, her body sagged against him, unwilling, exhausted, caught in the gravity of him.

The villa around them was silent, the only sound their uneven breaths, their hearts colliding in a rhythm too dangerous to name.

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Xavier’s cheek was still red from her slap, his breath ragged, eyes blazing.

Cora’s hand shook, but she didn’t look away. She stepped in close, chest brushing his, tilting her chin up until their faces were inches apart.

“You don’t get to call me that,” she whispered, softer now, but her words cut sharper than any scream. “Not you. Never you.”

His jaw flexed, guilt and fire clashing in his eyes, but before he could speak, she pressed her forehead to his, holding him there, refusing to let him pull away.

“I didn’t do anything with him,” she murmured, voice breaking but steadying at the same time. “Not a kiss, not a touch. Nothing. Because he’s not you. Because I don’t want him.”

Xavier’s hands hovered near her waist, trembling like he was afraid to touch her, afraid she’d vanish.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips brushing against his breath as she whispered, “Don’t ever call me that again… because I’m yours, Xavier. I’ve always been yours.”

The silence after those words was thick, electric. His breath shuddered against her lips, his forehead pressing harder to hers, almost desperate, like he was grounding himself.

And then his voice, low, broken:

“Mine.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a vow.

Her hands slid up his chest, clutching his shirt, pulling him closer. “Yours,” she breathed back, sealing it.

That’s when he finally kissed her—no hesitation, no restraint, just heat and need crashing between them.

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