Chapter 3: Like I had any right to claim her

Julian's POV

All evening, I watched Serena.

I wanted to see her bow her head, to see her fall apart.

I wanted to see her finally admit that without the Kincaid name, she was nothing. But she even managed to save old Winthrop from embarrassment.

That old bastard never gave anyone face, not even my father's.

Yet Serena just bent down, handed him a drink, said a few light words, and diffused the whole awkward situation.

I stood upstairs and watched Holt corner her.

That worthless piece of shit. His eyes dropped to her waist.

I knew that look—the way a man looks at a woman when he's thinking about what's under her clothes, simple and filthy.

I stared at Holt's hand. If he dared touch her, I'd make sure he crawled out of Kincaid Manor tonight.

When that thought crossed my mind, I caught myself.

Serena wasn't my sister anymore.

Not legally, not by blood. But eighteen years weren't fake.

She called me by name for eighteen years. The first time she learned to ride, I held the reins and walked her through it.

"Jules, don't let go."

I said, "I won't. I'll always protect you."

Later she got bolder, tried everything. On her coming-of-age birthday, she insisted on riding that new gray horse. That horse had a temper.

I warned her. She didn't listen. When I got to the hospital, all I saw was her covered in blood from the fall.

The family doctor pulled my father aside. I heard him say the blood type didn't match, she wasn't his biological daughter.

In the hospital room, Serena didn't know what had happened yet.

She sat on the bed, smiled when she saw me come in. "Jules, did I embarrass myself?"

I stood in the doorway, couldn't speak. After that day, everything changed.

Father found Chloe, that girl raised in an orphanage, standing in our living room, looking at us timidly.

Mother cried until she nearly fainted. Father's face was dark.

Everyone stared at Chloe. Only Serena stood at the top of the stairs, holding the railing.

She'd just come back from the hospital, could barely walk steady. But no one went to help her.

In that moment, my first thought wasn't about what would happen to her.

It was whether, if she wasn't my sister, all those thoughts I shouldn't have had over the years finally had an outlet.

Those filthy thoughts that had tormented me for years, that had once convinced me I was nothing but trash, a sick pervert.

That thought disgusted me so much I didn't sleep all night.

The next day, I had the lawyer deliver that bill to her.

Three million dollars. Education, medical care, dresses, equestrian lessons, piano, social resources. Every single expense calculated clearly.

I told myself this was what she owed Chloe, what she owed the Kincaid family.

I told myself I was getting justice for my real sister. But I knew better than anyone that I was just finding a reason to keep Serena where I could see her.

If she couldn't pay it back, she couldn't leave, couldn't disappear completely from my life.

It was despicable, but I never claimed to be a good person.

A knock came at the study door. I pulled myself back. "Come in."

Serena walked in. "Young Master."

The title cut through me like a sharp blade.

I wanted to tell her to stop calling me that, to call me Jules like she used to, but that would be admitting something I couldn't afford to admit——I didn't want to see her as my sister.

What I felt for her had crossed every line a brother should never cross.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the desk, bent down close to her ear.

"You want to pay back the money, don't you? Want to graduate early, climb back up on your own?"

My voice came out rougher than I intended. "Serena. Show me your determination."

She turned her head slightly to avoid me.

I reached up and undid the top button of her uniform.

She didn't stop me.

I paused, staring at her, waiting for her to slap my hand away, to give me a reason to stop.

I said. "Say no."

She didn't.

She just looked up at me, those eyes carrying a hint of mockery, and suddenly I was thinking about Asher again.

Was this how she was with him in the daylight too, this willing and shameless?

The thought made my blood boil.

If Asher could do this to her, so why couldn't I?

I had more right than anyone to do this—I'd known her longer, protected her longer, wanted her longer.

I undid the next button. Her breath fell on my wrist, hot and irritating.

I'd been with women before. But none of those times felt like this, like unbuttoning her clothes was defusing a bomb.

She didn't cry, didn't beg, just went along with me, gave me permission bit by bit, then used her eyes to tell me: See, Julian, you're the one losing control.

I hated her for it. I loved her for it.

The fabric slipped down her shoulder.

I bit into her shoulder, hard enough to leave marks, then roughly pushed up her skirt, exposing her smooth pale thighs.

She wasn't wearing underwear.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. I bit down on her inner thigh, teeth grinding hard, leaving red marks that would last for days.

Serena gasped, her body trembling slightly.

She even parted her legs a little, her knee gently nudging my shoulder.

"Julian, are you punishing me?" Her voice was soft, with a touch of mockery.

"Or have you wanted to do this all along? To your sister—or at least, I used to be."

I looked up, my chest tearing apart.

I hated the way she said my name, like she knew exactly what it did to me.

I lifted her legs onto the desk, positioned her so she was half-lying back, vulnerable. "Open them." My voice was hoarse.

Serena tilted her head at me, that familiar smile at the corner of her mouth—the same smile she'd given me when she was fifteen and I'd caught her sneaking back from a party.

Now, She slowly parted her legs, knees bent against the edge of the desk, exposing the already slightly wet pink flesh inside.

I reached in, my fingertips gently parting the soft folds, curving deep inside.

This was what I'd always wanted to do. What I'd pictured every time I touched myself.

"Ah!"

Serena moaned, her body arching, hands gripping the desk edge.

I watched her face as I thrust my fingers in and out, watched her try to maintain that mocking composure.

Then I pulled them out and smeared them on her lips.

"Taste yourself."

Serena bit my finger, sucking lightly, but her eyes remained calm.

"What are you planning to do next?" Her tongue traced my fingertip. "If you want me to satisfy your desires, you'll have to pay me."

Fucking whore. She'd open her legs for anyone, wouldn't she?

My eyes reddened.

I pulled down my pants, let myself spring out hard and ready.

I just stood there, staring at her, waiting. "Look at me."

Part of me wanted her to refuse. Wanted her to push me away, That would make it easier.

I could hate her for making me into this.

But another part of me—the part that had been watching her for eighteen years, the part that had held her when she cried, that had taught her to ride, that had wanted her in ways I was never supposed to want—that part was praying she wouldn't stop me.

Serena met my gaze, that mocking smile still on her lips.

She shifted her hips forward on the desk, positioned herself at the edge, and slowly sank down onto me, taking me in inch by inch until I was buried completely inside her.

I should have stopped her. I should have pushed her off. Instead, I just stood there, let her take me in, watched her do exactly what I wanted but couldn't admit to wanting.

The feeling of her around me was so intense I could barely breathe.

And then I hated her for it. Hated her for making me complicit, for making me the kind of man who would let his former sister climb onto his cock, for giving me permission when I should have been the one to say no.

She was tight and hot, the soft walls inside squeezing me rhythmically.

Serena bit her lip, her body leaning back slightly, pushing her hips forward to let me go deeper.

I grabbed her waist and started thrusting, each stroke hard to the hilt, making the desk bang loudly against the wall.

"Harder," she panted, her voice unbearably soft, but deliberately using the most vicious tone, "don't be afraid of hurting me. Or are you having second thoughts, still seeing me as your little sister?"

I gritted my teeth, picking up speed. "Serena, you fucking slut," I growled, sweat dripping on her face, "you're not my sister, you're just my toy."

The words tasted like bile. I was calling her a slut for doing exactly what I wanted her to do. For being willing when I couldn't stand my own willingness.

She smiled, hooking her arm around my neck, pulling herself closer.

"What if the people outside heard that Julian is fucking his own sister? What would they think?"

I was losing my mind. I pulled her wrists from behind my neck and pinned them above her head, slamming them down on the desk.

"You're not my sister!"

I pounded harder, lifting her toes off the ground. Her body shook uncontrollably, her legs too weak to stay up.

Not my sister. I kept saying it like it would make this acceptable.

Like it would erase the fact that I'd tucked her into bed when she had nightmares, that I'd taught her to ride, that I'd called her my little sister for eighteen fucking years.

She wasn't my sister by blood, but that didn't make this any less fucked up.

It just gave me an excuse.

It gave me permission to do what I'd wanted to do since the day I realized she wasn't just my little sister anymore.

I pressed her legs against my shoulders, changed the angle, thrust deep to the very end.

"Ah! Julian, I'm going to break."

I watched tears well up in her eyes, but it only excited me more. I wanted to break her. Wanted to see her fall apart the way I was falling apart.

"Serena, you're fucking mine."

I panted, thrusting faster, my grip on her wrists tightening, "from now on, you only give yourself to me, only let me..."

Mine.

Like I had any right to claim her. Like I wasn't the one who'd thrown her out, handed her that bill, turned her into a servant in her own home.

Like I wasn't doing this to keep her close because I was too much of a coward to just let her go.

Too much of a coward to admit that I'd rather see her scrubbing floors in Kincaid Manor than living her own life somewhere I couldn't see her.

I couldn't hold back anymore, groaning as I released inside her. Hot fluid shot in streams, filling her completely.

I collapsed on top of her, panting like a dog, my forehead pressed against her shoulder.

Serena's eyes were wet, looking at me with a smile. "You look more obscene than Holt right now."

I caught my breath, lifted my head to look at her.

Then I lowered myself again, pushed what was still inside her deeper with a slow, deliberate thrust.

"Shut up."