The Incest

Chapter eighteen

Xavier’s POV

Her trembling didn’t stop as I held her close, the heat radiating from her body searing my own. Every time she tried to pull away, every tiny flinch, every breathless gasp—it drove me insane. I wanted her closer, wanted to feel every curve, every shiver, every inch of her that belonged to me… without taking more than I knew she was ready to give.

I grabbed one of my oversized shirts from the chair, holding it out for her. “Here,” I murmured, voice low, teasing. “You’re not freezing, right? Can’t have my impossible girl shivering.”

Her eyes flickered to mine, half-defiant, half-taken aback, and I couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at my lips. “Fine,” she muttered, slipping into it. The shirt swallowed her frame, fabric brushing against her skin in all the right ways, leaving her legs bare. My hands lingered a little longer than necessary as I smoothed it down over her shoulders, just grazing her arms, memorizing the warmth beneath my fingertips.

I reached for her hair next, tying it into a messy ponytail, letting a few strands fall loose that I couldn’t resist tucking behind her ear. She leaned into my touch despite herself, tiny shivers running down her spine, and I pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

“Perfect,” I whispered. “Now… let’s have a little fun.”

Before she could respond, she bolted, sprinting toward the villa’s balcony like a flash of defiance and laughter. My heart thudded, part frustration, part exhilaration. This was my favorite game—chasing her, teasing her, feeling the heat of her skin as I closed the distance.

I lunged, catching her around the waist mid-step, lifting her effortlessly into my arms. Her startled gasp turned into a laugh, breathless and high, as she tried to wriggle free. “Xavier! Put me down!”

“Not a chance,” I murmured, holding her tight against my chest. Her legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, and I could feel the shiver that ran through her body as my hands slid down to her thighs for balance. Every tremble, every heartbeat pressed against mine—it was driving me wild, and yet I didn’t cross the line. Not yet.

“Your turn!” she gasped, trying to push me playfully, tugging at my shoulders. I responded with a grin, setting her down just enough to let her sprint again. And she did. The villa echoed with our laughter, the thump of bare feet on the polished floors, the crash of fabric and skin brushing.

I cornered her near the living room couch, heart hammering at the sight of her trying to escape me, oversized shirt clinging just enough, hair loose from the ponytail I’d made. I caught her again, spinning her around in my arms until she collapsed against my chest with a laugh that was half frustration, half surrender.

“Stop squirming,” I murmured, voice low, pressing my forehead to hers. The heat between us was unbearable, skin against skin, her warmth radiating through the thin cotton of my shirt. “You can run, you can fight… but you’re mine. Every shiver, every gasp, every impossible little move—you’re already mine.”

She pressed against me, hands tangled in my hair, trying to push me away, but not really. Not fully. And I could feel the way her body responded to every brush of my fingers, every press of my chest against hers. It was maddening, thrilling, and intoxicating all at once.

I set her down lightly on the couch, leaning over her, hands resting on either side of her, just grazing the edges of her shoulders, careful yet daring. “You know,” I murmured, lips brushing near her ear, “we could stay like this forever, and I wouldn’t complain. Every inch of you… every shiver… every little gasp… I could spend a lifetime memorizing it.”

Her laugh came out soft, breathless, a little shaky, and I grinned. “See? You like it. You can’t deny it.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, voice shaky but playful, trying to hide the heat in her cheeks.

“Never,” I whispered back, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed face, letting my hand linger on her jaw, on her neck, teasing, holding her close without breaking the line we hadn’t crossed. “Not when you’re this… impossible.”

And even as she tried to wiggle, to push me away, I held her, letting the tension, the heat, the skin-on-skin closeness hang between us like a storm ready to break. She was mine in every gasp, every shiver, every tiny tremble—and I wasn’t letting go.

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Her laugh echoed through the villa as I lifted her again, catching her mid-step before she could dart past the couch. The oversized shirt slipped slightly with the motion, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from drinking in the curve of her shoulder, the warmth radiating off her bare legs pressed against mine.

“Xavier! Put me down!” she protested, voice high and breathless, though I could feel the tremor in her body that betrayed how much she loved the chase.

“Not a chance,” I murmured, letting my hands slide along her sides as I held her flush against me. Her chest pressed to mine, and I could hear the rapid thrum of her heartbeat. Every soft gasp, every tiny shiver—it was like music I couldn’t resist.

She tried to wriggle free, kicking lightly, but I let her movements guide me, teasing, holding, never forcing. “You’re impossible,” I whispered, lips brushing near her ear. Her hair tickled my cheek, and she gasped softly, a sound that made my chest tighten in ways I didn’t expect.

I lowered her onto the couch, letting her roll slightly onto her back, legs bent, oversized shirt riding up just enough to reveal the smooth plane of her stomach. My hands hovered, teasing, tracing slow lines along her sides, fingertips barely grazing her skin. Every flinch, every tiny arch of her back, every soft moan that escaped her lips drove me wild.

“You’re so warm,” I murmured, pressing closer, letting my chest brush hers in a teasing, lingering touch. Her small gasp against my lips made me grin. “And you know… I could stay like this all day.”

Her laugh came out soft, trembling, almost a moan. “You’re insane,” she breathed, trying to push me away but not really, letting her hands rest lightly on my arms, betraying her want.

I leaned in, pressing my forehead to hers, lips brushing over her temple, her jaw, the soft curve of her neck. Every soft sound she made—the little moans, the laughter, the gasps—was intoxicating. My hands traced her sides again, careful, teasing, memorizing without overstepping.

She arched slightly into me, shivering as I pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, soft, lingering. “Do you feel that?” I whispered, my voice husky. “Every little tremble… every tiny gasp… it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

Her lips parted, breath shaky, soft moan escaping between words. “Maybe,” she whispered, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and fiery, caught between defiance and desire.

I grinned, letting my hands glide to her waist, gently pulling her closer. “Maybe?” I murmured teasingly. “You don’t get to tease me. Not when you’re this… irresistible.”

Her laughter turned into a soft moan as I brushed my lips along the curve of her collarbone, brushing just enough to make her shiver. Every inch of her skin against mine, every trembling sigh, every soft gasp—it was a storm, playful, teasing, and dangerously intimate.

I pressed a final kiss to her jaw, holding her close, letting our bodies melt into the couch, skin-on-skin, hearts racing, breaths mingling, and whispered, “You’re mine, Cora… even when you act like you’re not.”

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