The Country Girl My Stepbrother Couldn't Resist

Vespera

“Oh, Lucien—harder. I’m almost there…”

Through the crack in the door I saw my mother, Cleo, on all fours on the bed like a bitch in heat, stepfather Lucien slamming into her from behind.

Her face was flushed crimson. Lucien had a fist in her hair, yanking her head back, and a raw, hungry red seemed to cover every inch of her.

The rapid slap of flesh mixed with wet, obscene sounds, and their heavy breathing filled every corner of the room.

I stood there stupidly. The hand that had been pushing the door pulled back.

I hadn’t known they were doing this.

Lucien was away on business most of the year. I hadn’t even known he’d come home.

A crash of thunder rolled outside. I flinched hard, going rigid as if my blood had frozen.

After my parents divorced, Mother married Lucien—her first love, a man who had just buried his wife.

Life with Father in the countryside had been poor but happy. Then, three months ago, he died, and I had no choice but to come to the city and throw myself on Mother and my stepfather.

It had been storm season for days. I was used to seeking Mother’s arms when the thunder started.

I had not expected this.

The moment my mind caught up, I turned to run.

Lucien had never been kind to me. He kept a cold face and a sharp temper.

If I ruined what they were doing, I was afraid he’d throw me out.

Grandmother was still in the countryside, waiting on money for her medicine.

I had barely turned when I walked straight into a wall of heat and muscle.

My forehead throbbed. I stumbled back two steps, the color gone from my face, and finally made out the figure in front of me.

Sebastian. My stepbrother, two years older.

“Brother…”

My throat felt as if someone had closed a hand around it. The word came out wrong. I dropped my eyes, too frightened to look at him.

I was afraid of Lucien. I was more afraid of Sebastian.

My stepfather was merely cold. What Sebastian showed me was open hostility.

Cleo had married into Vance Manor while his mother was barely in the ground. He hated her for it.

As Cleo’s daughter, I was an enemy by default.

I had barely whispered the word when a scornful laugh answered me.

“You think you’re fit to call me that?”

His voice was low, like a cello—magnetic, almost tempting—and it still made me want to shrink away.

I froze, then looked up at him in the moonlight.

Those dark green eyes were like gems burning in a night sky, beautiful enough to stop the heart, and frightening for the same reason.

His face was the kind people called perfect. Short, clean-cut hair. Through the strands, a gaze that was both dangerous and striking fell on me with open disgust.

“I’m sorry…”

I was shaking harder now.

I had always known he hated me, that he refused to acknowledge me as his stepsister, that he would marry me off the first chance he got.

I had only called him brother because I was terrified.

Sebastian glanced at the crack in the door. He could hear the frantic sex on the other side as clearly as I could. When he looked back at me, his eyes were mocking.

“Sneaking out in the dead of night to listen to them go at it. Looks like you’re a whore too.”

That beautiful voice made the words cut deeper.

“I wasn’t. I only—”

I started to explain without thinking.

I was only afraid of the thunder.

He didn’t let me finish. He reached for the door.

“If Father finds out you were peeping, you can disappear for good.”

A mean little smile sat on his mouth.

My heart lurched. I grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t. Please.”

I shook my head hard, begging with my whole face.

I could not let Lucien put me out.

I had come here thinking that if I behaved, I could at least scrape together enough pocket money for Grandmother’s hospital bills.

Three months in, I had almost nothing.

If I was thrown out now, she would simply wait to die.

“Don’t tell Father. I’ll do anything.”

He drew his hand back. That was the sentence he had been waiting for.

“Come with me.”

I followed him down the dark, silent corridor, my heart hammering.

We walked a long time before he stopped at his door.

“Inside.”

The lights were on. After so long in the dark, I ached for brightness.

But—his room?

In three months at the manor I had never set foot in it. He wouldn’t even let me near him.

Under that icy stare I still went in, shaking.

He tossed a book at me without looking.

“Copy the whole thing. Then I’ll consider not telling Father about tonight.”

He stretched out on the bed, careless. In the bright light, that handsome face hit even harder.

I flipped through the book. It was as thick as an Oxford dictionary.

Sebastian had always liked setting me impossible tasks.

Once, with plumbers already in the house, he made me fix a broken pipe myself until I was a wreck.

Another time he put my schoolbag on his Rottweiler, so I had no choice but to go near that vicious dog.

But he had something on me now. What choice did I have?

To keep a roof over my head, I sat down at the desk and started copying.

It was already late. My eyelids kept dropping. My wrist ached. I didn’t dare stop. I only wanted to finish and get back to my own bed.

My forehead hit the desk. I jerked my eyes open and realized I had fallen asleep without knowing it.

I glanced at the bed in a panic.

Sebastian’s eyes were closed. His breathing was even.

I let out a breath.

Good. He was asleep. He hadn’t seen me slacking.

I bit my lip, trying to decide whether to keep copying or slip out while he slept.

A knock.

“Seb, have you seen your sister? She isn’t in her room.”

Cleo’s voice, on the other side of the door.

My eyes lit. It felt like a savior had come for a life already gone to ruin.

Mother must have been worried I was frightened of the thunder. That was why she had noticed I wasn’t in my room.

If she took me away herself, Sebastian would never make me finish the book.

I swallowed the rush of hope and tiptoed toward the door, ready to leave with her.

“I’m—”

I never got the door open. A hand clamped over my mouth from behind.

I didn’t know when Sebastian had gotten there. The rest of the word died in my throat.

He was like some dangerous devil, a cold laugh against my ear.

“You walked into my room. You think you leave before the book is done?”

He yanked my wrist, threw me onto the soft bed, and dragged the heavy quilt over me.

I struggled. His grip tightened—then his hand closed hard over the full, soft curve of my breast.