Page 3

Cade: I’m home. Sweet dreams, Hannah. Good night.

I may have raced my ass over here to get the night started before my nerves could stop me, before those whispers of doubt could crawl back in and convince me to wait another day, another week, another lifetime. But he’s actually asleep already, which I find surprising.

Standing in the darkness of his doorway, I feel the weight of the moment. The culmination of two months of wanting, waiting, wondering. Lennox and I went lingerie shopping the other week, and I've been holding onto a very sexy set, saved for this perfect moment like a secret weapon.

I want to tell Cade how I would lick the matcha off his jeans if he asked me to. I want to tell him how every girl, including myself, was gushing over him being shirtless the first week we made it official, and how I’ve had to had the best self-control known to mankind these past two months even though it seemed like I didn’t want to have sex with him.

I want to tell him about my fantasies, how I've imagined our first time being perfect—candles, music, the whole ridiculous cliché that I pretend to mock but secretly crave. But I don't say a single fucking word when I enter his bedroom. The darkness wraps around me like a second skin, and the only sound is his steady breathing, the rhythm of sleep.

I hesitate, doubt seeping in like cold water through cracks. Maybe this is the worst idea I've ever had. Maybe we should have gone the traditional route—dinner, a movie, a natural progression to his bedroom rather than sneaking around and my random plan of seducing him in his sleep.

I shake my hands out at my sides, trying to dispel the nervous energy. I'm already here, already committed. The soft click of the door closing behind me feels final, like crossing a threshold I can't return from. I strip down to my lingerie, the expensive lace and silk cool against my heated skin.

God, please give me brownie points for my bravery. This is the kind of karma I need in my life—someone who's willing to put themselves out there for me the way I'm doing now. I hope Cade will remember this moment, this gift of vulnerability, and return the favor.

I lean over the bed, trying to make out his features in the darkness. But the moon isn’t out tonight. In fact, it’s extremely dark and I can’t even tell which side he’s facing. I consider using my phone as a light, but the thought of that harsh glare illuminating my uncertainty makes me cringe. Instead, I follow my instincts, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on what I hope is his cheek.

The response is immediate—he turns toward me, his lips finding mine with surprising accuracy in the darkness. We kiss a few times, deeply. When he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, a shock of electricity races through me. My entire body goes on high alert, nerves singing with the realization that Cade is a far more intuitive, assertive kisser in bed than he's ever been outside of it.

My hands move on their own, traveling down his body until they find him already hard beneath the thin fabric of his sleep pants. A quiet pride blooms in my chest at his immediate response to me.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

I smile against his mouth, my confidence surging as I feel him pulse beneath my touch. "Hey yourself," I whisper, the words barely more than breath.

I slide beneath the covers, the sheets still warm from his body heat. My entire being feels like a live wire, every cell vibrating with anticipation. We kiss deeply, hungrily, and I make the first real move, sliding my hand beneath the waistband of his pants. My fingers brush against coarse hair, and a shiver runs through me like a current. Once I cross this line, there's no return to who we were before. I push further, wrapping my fingers around his dick—thick, long, and rock-hard—and a tremor runs through my legs at the reality of him.

Monster , as Lennox said of his older brother.

Well, he is monstrous too.

I begin to stroke him, and he responds by pushing his pants down, freeing himself. His hands find the back of my head, passionate in a way I've never experienced from him before. He guides me, positions me above him, and I can feel him pulsing beneath me. His hands explore my body, fingers tracing the delicate lace covering me. He sits up suddenly, his mouth finding my breast through the fabric, tongue circling each nipple until I'm grinding against him involuntarily, seeking friction and release.

When his fingers find their way between my legs, I can't contain the moan that escapes me. He captures it with his mouth, urging me on, asking for more without words. I oblige, the sound tearing from somewhere deep inside me as he pushes the lingerie aside and positions himself. I pass him the condom and he puts it on.

Everything is happening so fast, yet it feels like we've been building to this moment for weeks. I'm trembling with eagerness, with the thrill of finally, finally crossing this threshold.

But he's bigger than I anticipated, the angle is awkward. What seemed so simple in my fantasies becomes a delicate negotiation of bodies in reality. He takes control, flipping me onto my back and pushing my lingerie aside once more. There's an urgency to his movements that's surprising but thrilling.

He pushes against me, entering slowly, and begins to moan as soon as he's an inch inside. I grip his muscular arms, anchoring myself as he continues carefully. He's larger than I expected, filling me completely, stretching me to the edge of pleasure and pain.

I cry out when he's fully seated within me, the sensation unlike anything I've experienced before. The pleasure is transcendent, beyond what my imagination could ever conjure.

When he begins to move, my body responds instinctively, clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

"You're so tight," he groans, the words rumbling through his chest.

His praise washes over me like warm honey. My head falls back as I match his rhythm, our bodies finding a perfect synchronicity. I swear it makes me wetter, and suddenly he’s thrusting inside me easily. In the shadow, I catch glimpses of his abdomen, the defined muscles shifting with each thrust. I pull his face down to mine, needing to feel connected, to make this about more than just bodies.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his concern unexpected and touching.

I nod, keeping him close. This is what I wanted—not just the physical release but this intimacy, this profound connection between us. Is this what love feels like? This ache that feels complete now that we’re actually in the act.

The combination of his hips, lips, fingers working me up—sends me spiraling toward the edge. My body surrenders to pure sensation, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

"Please," I moan, clutching his shoulders, desperate for something I can't name.

He leans down and kisses me.

My body responds with a rush of heat. I moan as his thrusts become more forceful, more deliberate.

I cry out, holding him tighter, wanting to witness the moment of his release. It feels so fucking good.

"Cade," I murmur. "Oh, fuck."

"Cade?" he questions, his voice suddenly unfamiliar, and ice water floods my veins at the repeat of my boyfriend’s name.

He reaches for his phone without withdrawing from me, turning on the flashlight. He's still moving inside me, still sending waves of pleasure through my body even as dread begins to pool in my stomach.

"Who are you?" he asks, continuing to thrust against me.

The shockwaves send pleasure ripping through me, but if this isn’t Cade…

I push up onto my elbows, caught in the surreal space between ecstasy and horror. He’s still meeting my hips with his and it feels too damn good.

If this isn't Cade, then who am I having sex with right now in my boyfriend's bed?

I try to grab his phone, but he holds it away from me, the bright light disorienting in the darkness.

"Who are you?" I demand, my voice betraying me with involuntary moans. My body is still singing with pleasure, begging for completion even as my mind spirals into panic. "I'm Cade's girlfriend."

I hear a sharp exhale and then feel him begin to pulse inside me. "Shit," he says. "Oh, fuck," he groans as he withdraws. He pulls the condom off and then his release shoots onto my stomach. "Fuck! I'm sorry."

I watch in bizarre fascination as the come spits out of his beautiful dick, his body shuddering above me. My own body throbs with unfulfilled need, even as terror rises in my throat. I make another grab for the phone, but he pulls it away, redirecting the light toward the ceiling.

And finally, I see his face.

A stranger. A complete stranger with Cade's eyes but sharper features, harder edges. I might be imagining that though. My entire body goes cold despite the warmth of semen on my skin.

"Where's Cade?" I ask, my voice small and shaking. I feel the threat of tears building behind my eyes, a pressure that's about to break.

"Don't cry," he says, more command than comfort. "This was an honest mistake."

"Honest mistake!" The words explode from me, panic giving way to anger. "Who the fuck are you! This is bad. This is so fucking bad!"

"I'm Sanderson," he says, as if that explains everything, as if that makes any sense at all.

"Well, Sanderson, you have some explaining to do because––"

"I thought I was dreaming," he interrupts, "and then I woke up to my dick shoved inside you and you moaning."

I stare at him, speechless at his audacity. "You. Thought. It. Was. A. Dream!" Each word feels like a separate sentence, punctuated by my disbelief. My breath is shaking.

"I'm going to get us cleaned up. Wait here."

The practical reality crashes over me—his semen cooling on my stomach, dripping down my thigh, inside me. He turns on the bathroom light, and despite everything, my traitorous eyes follow him, taking in the muscled curve of his backside. When he turns, I see he's still hard, his dick swinging between his legs. I force my gaze forward, mortification burning through me.

He returns quickly with wet paper towels, his movements careful as he cleans my stomach. His eyes never leave mine, searching for something.

"You're Cade's girlfriend?" he asks, wiping my skin with surprising gentleness.

I nod, unable to form words.

"For how long?" he presses.

"Almost two months," I manage, my voice raw. I can't bring myself to tell him the devastating truth—that I've never slept with Cade, that my first time with my boyfriend was actually with him, that the most intense pleasure I've ever felt came from the wrong man.

"Two months? Where has he been hiding you?" he asks, something like surprise in his voice.

"Hiding me?" Indignation pushes through my shock. "He hasn't been hiding me."

He just nods, unconvinced. "Trust me, he has. He hasn't mentioned you."

The casual revelation lands like a slap. "I'm sorry but who are you?"

He retrieves my clothes from the floor by the door and hands them to me, his eyes lingering on my lingerie for a moment—the special set I bought specifically for Cade. I don’t feel embarrassed under his gaze, rather like he could go for another round. But he quickly picks up his own pants and throws it on before sitting on the bed beside me.

"I'm his brother."

The words don't make sense at first, letters arranged in an order that my brain refuses to process.

"No fucking way," I stutter, mint toothpaste suddenly bitter on my tongue. I point at him, as if accusing him of a lie. "No!" I’m shaking. "No!"

He licks his lips as I scramble back into my clothes, desperate to armor myself against this nightmare.

"You can't tell him about this," he says.

"What! Are you out of your mind? I don't even think I can see him like ever again." The thought of facing Cade, of looking into eyes that are echoes of the ones watching me now, makes my stomach turn.

Sanderson shakes his head. "You're not going to break up with him because of this. If he's been hiding you, he likes you. A lot."

I feel dizzy, untethered. "Then where the fuck is he right now? He told me he was going to be home?"

"Good question. Let me go get us water and I'll see if he's on the couch."

A marching band erupts in my stomach, a nauseating rhythm of horror.

No, please no.

The possibility that my boyfriend might be just outside this room, separated from this betrayal by nothing more than a thin wall, is too much.

I grab Sanderson's hand as he stands, my breathing suddenly shallow and rapid. My stomach convulses.

"I... can't... breathe..."

He takes both my hands in his as my entire body begins to shake. I'm drowning in air, unable to draw enough oxygen no matter how desperately I gasp.

He cups my face between his palms. "You're having a panic attack. It's okay. It's okay. Tell me your name."

"Hhhh—" I look up at him, and his hands move to my neck. The contact anchors me for a moment before revulsion takes over. I shove him away, and he catches my fingers instead. "Han—"

"Hannah?" he says, his voice gentle. And the way he says my name is so fucking unfair because I just had the most intense sexual experience of my life with my boyfriend's brother and he should not be this calm, this collected. Why isn't he falling apart beside me? If I had accidentally slept with my sister's boyfriend, the world would end. This is just as catastrophic. I will never forgive myself. I can never face Cade again.

I stand up, shaking my hands as if I could physically cast off the feeling of him, the memory of our connection. I need to erase him from my skin, from my memory.

"Is he really on the couch?" I ask, trying to steady myself. I'm still struggling for air, but words are possible now.

"I don't give a shit, Hannah. Stay right here, I'm going to get you water. Don't pass out while I'm gone."

I move in front of him before he can leave, drawing a painful breath as I meet his eyes. What I see there surprises me—genuine concern, worry. Something in me fractures, and I step forward, pulling him into a hug. He hesitates briefly before his arms wrap around me, solid and secure.

"What the fuck did I just do?" I sob, tears finally breaking free. They stream down my face, hot against my chilled skin. "Why?" I cry into his chest, the question meant for the universe more than for him.

He tightens his hold, and I feel every plane and contour of his body against mine. If he's anything like Cade in character, he'll listen, he'll understand, he'll help me find a way through this impossible situation.

I cling to him, needing this connection, this human anchor in the storm of my emotions. I pull him closer, squeezing him as my tears soak his shirt. I have no idea how to process what's happened. The thought of what I’ve just done sends a fresh wave of guilt through me, and my tears fall harder. The thought of breaking up with Cade before we even got started is fucking devastating.

My tears won’t stop falling.

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