The Zoom call had been a masterclass in deception. On the high-definition screen, Damien was the picture of the responsible, protective older brother leaning back in his leather chair, occasionally nodding at Sera's stories about her "quiet" first few days in the city.
"I'm so glad you two are bonding," his father had beamed from a beachfront resort in the Maldives. "Family is everything, Damien. Take care of her."
"Always, Dad," Damien had said, his voice smooth as silk, even as his eyes flicked to the corner of the screen where Sera sat.
She was wearing a high-necked cashmere sweater that hid every bruise and bite mark he'd left on her. She looked like a saint.
The second the 'End Call' button was clicked, the silence in the penthouse turned deafening.
They didn't look at each other. They didn't speak. They retreated to their separate wings like soldiers returning to their trenches.
But at 2:00 AM, the trenches collapsed.
Damien lay awake in his king-sized bed, the charcoal silk sheets feeling like sandpaper against his skin. His mind was a loop of her voice, her scent, and the way she'd looked under the shower spray. Then, the heavy door to his master suite groaned open.
Sera didn't knock. She didn't ask permission. She drifted through the shadows, a ghost in a tiny ribbed tank top and lace panties that left nothing to the imagination. She climbed onto the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping under her weight.
"What the fuck do you want now, Sera?" Damien's voice was a low, dangerous rumble in the dark. He didn't sit up. He kept staring at the ceiling.
"To talk," she whispered, her voice trembling, not with fear, but with the same frantic energy vibrating through him. She crawled toward him on all fours, her knees dragging over the silk until she was straddling his lap. "This is messed up, Damien. We're supposed to be family. We just promised them we'd be good."
Damien let out a short, bitter laugh that sounded like breaking glass. "A bit late for a moral epiphany, don't you think? I've already had you three different ways in twenty-four hours. The 'good' version of us died the second you walked into my kitchen."
"I know we should stop," she breathed, leaning down until her hair brushed his chest. "I tell myself to stay in my room. But every time I close my eyes, I feel you. I feel how big you are, how much you hate me while you're inside me... and I keep getting wet just thinking about the next time."
The talking ended there.
Damien reached up, his hands tangling in her hair to pull her head back. He didn't slam her down this time. He flipped her onto her back with a slow, deliberate gravity.
He stripped her with agonizing patience, his eyes tracing every inch of skin the moonlight touched.
He started at her throat, his tongue tracing the pulse point that was fluttering like a trapped bird. He moved down, his mouth circling her nipples, blowing hot air on the damp peaks until she was arching her back, begging for the friction of his teeth.
He worked his way down her stomach, his tongue swirling in her navel before he parted her thighs. He ate her with a slow, rhythmic intensity. No rushing, no punishment. Just the steady, wet sound of his tongue ruining her until she was sobbing into the pillows, her fingers fisting the sheets.
When he finally moved over her, he didn't growl or snap. He entered her in the missionary position, his movements slow and deep, his eyes locked onto hers in the dark.
"Tell me," he murmured, his chest heaving as he thrust steadily into her. "Tell me you hate how much you want this. Tell me it's wrong."
"I hate it," she moaned, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, drawing blood. "I hate that I'm addicted to you. Don't stop, Damien... please. I want you to fill me again. I want to feel your weight."
The pace transitioned from a slow burn to a raw, desperate heat. It wasn't the angry sex of the morning; it was the heavy, suffocating need of two people drowning together.
Every time he bottomed out, Sera let out a broken sound; half-sob, half-ecstasy.
"Brother," she whispered against his lips, the word sounding like a dirty prayer in the cathedral of his bedroom. "Fill your sister. Breed me."
Damien's control shattered. He drove into her with everything he had, his pace becoming a blur of friction and sweat. He felt her internal walls clenching, her body reaching that peak of no return. As she shattered beneath him, her legs locking around his waist, Damien let out a hoarse groan and emptied himself completely, filling her with a hot, pulsing load that made her eyes roll back.
Afterward, they didn't move. They lay side by side in the massive bed, the city lights flickering like distant stars outside. They didn't touch. The space between them felt miles wide, even though their skin was still slick with each other's sweat.
"This can't keep happening," Damien said, his voice quiet, hollowed out by the gravity of what they'd just done. "It'll destroy the family. It'll destroy my company. It'll destroy us."
Sera turned her head on the pillow, her dark eyes searching his in the shadows. "Then why does it feel like the only thing that's real, Damien? Why does it feel so good when you're inside me?"
Neither of them had an answer. In the silence of the 2:00 AM darkness, the truth was the only thing left: they were already destroyed.
And they were both craving more....