Page 47 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire

“ G et out!” I pointed toward the door, trying to channel some kind of authority while standing there dripping wet and completely exposed. “This is my bathroom!”

“And this is my house,” he replied, stepping closer. The water streamed down his face, darkening his hair until it looked almost black against his skin. “My rules.”

I backed up until I hit the cold tile wall, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to escape through my rib cage. This couldn’t be happening. This absolutely couldn’t be happening.

But it was.

My smpossibly gorgeous, impossibly forbidden stepbrother was standing in my shower, fully clothed and looking at me like I was a rabbit and he was a very, very hungry beast.

Or, if we had to be accurate...a once-thought-extinct black tiger, which was what his “other” form was.

“You can’t just—”

“Tell me about your meeting with Prince Alexei.”

The words cut through the steam between us, sharp and demanding. His voice was quiet, controlled, but there was something underneath it that made my skin prickle with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the water temperature.

“I can’t,” I whispered, crossing my arms over my chest in a pathetic attempt at modesty that was approximately seven minutes too late. “I signed an NDA.” My voice cracked embarrassingly. “I legally cannot discuss it. Like, actual blood-binding magic was involved.”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could see the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, making his green eyes look even more intense.

“You really think I’m buying that?”

The scathing tone of his voice made my chest ache like someone had reached inside and squeezed my heart with icy fingers.

He thought I was lying. He thought I was hiding some torrid romance with Prince Alexei, and I couldn’t tell him the truth because of a stupid piece of paper I’d been magically coerced into signing.

“Nicolo, please,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady even though my insides felt like they were having their own private earthquake. “It’s not what you think. It’s not romantic. It’s just business.”

“Business.” He repeated the word like it was coated in something bitter. Like it personally offended him. “What kind of business requires that level of secrecy?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t...or won’t?”

“Can’t!”

My voice echoed off the tiles, bouncing around us like it was trying to escape the tension that made the air feel thick enough to cut with a knife.

For a moment we just stared at each other through the steam and spray, neither of us backing down, both of us breathing harder than we should have been.

Then his expression shifted, becoming something darker and more dangerous that made my stomach drop to somewhere around my ankles.

“You have a choice, Maryah,” he said softly, taking another step closer until I was completely trapped between him and the wall. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, even through his soaked clothes. “You can tell me what you talked about with Prince Alexei...”

His voice dropped to a rough whisper that sent shivers racing down my spine.

“Or I’ll make use of your mouth in another way.”

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

My breath caught, my pulse spiking so fast I got dizzy. This should have terrified me. Should have made me angry, should have made me fight back or slap him or demand he leave immediately.

Instead, something deep inside me clenched with a want so intense it was almost painful.

I’d read about moments like this in books. Moments where your body makes decisions your brain hasn’t caught up to yet. Moments where all your common sense gets crushed under the weight of desire so strong it feels like drowning.

Like, seriously.

What was happening to me?

“You w-wouldn’t,” I stammered, but the words felt hollow even as they left my lips.

His eyes never left mine, predatory and intent. “Try me.”

The challenge hung in the air between us, loaded with promise and threat in equal measure. I stared up at him, water streaming down both our faces, and realized with growing horror that I didn’t want to push him away.

My knees wobbled, suddenly unable to support my weight. Before I could even process it, I was sliding down the shower wall, my legs giving out entirely.

I ended up kneeling on the wet tiles, looking up at him through the steam and spray. The position was unmistakably submissive, but I hadn’t exactly planned it. My body had simply surrendered when my brain short-circuited.

His eyes went dark, pupils expanding until the green was just a thin ring around endless black.

“Maryah,” he said roughly, and there was something almost reverent in his voice. Like he was seeing something sacred and forbidden at the same time.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe through the fog of need clouding every rational thought I’d ever had. This was Nicolo. My stepbrother. The man I’d spent seven years pretending not to want.

And I was on my knees in front of him, naked and trembling and silently begging for something I couldn’t even name.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The only sound was the water hitting the tiles and our ragged breathing.

Then his hands went to his belt.

The leather was soaked, making it difficult to unbuckle, but he managed it with swift, sure movements. The sound of his zipper seemed impossibly loud in the confined space of the shower.

My heart was beating so frantically I was pretty sure it was trying to win some kind of Olympic medal for Most Panicked Organ.

When he freed himself, I stopped breathing entirely.

He was...oh wow. Um. That was...that was a lot. Like, a lot a lot.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly.

I dragged my gaze up to his face, feeling like my cheeks were on fire despite the water streaming down them.

“Have you done this before?” The question was gentle but direct.

I shook my head, not trusting my voice to form actual words instead of just embarrassing squeaks.

Something fierce and possessive flashed in his expression, a primal satisfaction that made my insides twist with need. “Good. I’ll teach you.”

His hand threaded through my wet hair, gentle but firm, not pulling, just holding. Guiding. Like he was anchoring me to reality when every part of me felt like I might float away on a cloud of disbelief that this was actually happening.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice low and rough in a way I’d never heard before.

I did, my lips parting without conscious thought, my body surrendering to his authority like it had been waiting for this moment for years. Maybe it had.

“Wider.”

I obeyed, and he guided himself between my lips, slow and devastating to whatever remained of my sanity.

The taste of him flooded my senses—salt and heat and something uniquely Nicolo that made my head spin like I’d just gotten off one of those tea cup rides at Disney after eating nothing but cotton candy all day.

I instinctively tried to take more of him, but he held me still with the hand in my hair.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice strained but controlled. “Let me show you.”

And he did.

He taught me how to use my tongue, how to hollow my cheeks, how to take him deeper without panicking. His voice was low and rough, guiding me through every movement, praising me when I did something right in a way that made my insides melt like ice cream on hot asphalt.

“That’s it,” he groaned when I found a rhythm that made his hips jerk slightly. “Just like that, sweetheart.”

The endearment sent liquid heat pooling between my legs. I’d never been anyone’s sweetheart before. Never been anyone’s anything before, period, and it was why hearing it from Nicolo while I was on my knees for him made something inside me break open.

I lost myself in the rhythm, in the weight of him on my tongue, in the way his breathing became more ragged and his control started to slip.

Water streamed down both of us, the shower creating a private world of steam and heat and desperate need where nothing existed but this moment, this connection, this surrender.

When he came, it was with my name on his lips—not whispered, but groaned like it was being torn from somewhere deep inside him—and his hand gentle in my hair, holding me steady as I swallowed everything he gave me, determined not to disappoint him even though I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

For a moment, we just stayed like that. Me kneeling on the shower floor, him breathing hard above me, both of us trying to process what had just happened. What lines we’d just obliterated. What bridges we’d just burned to ash.

Then he was pulling me to my feet, his hands surprisingly gentle as he steadied me against the wall. My legs felt like they were made of jelly, wobbly and unreliable and completely useless.

“My turn,” he said roughly.

Before I could ask what he meant, his hand was between my legs, and all I could do was cry out.

My head fell back against the tile as his fingers found exactly where I needed them with unerring precision. He knew my body better than I did, somehow knew exactly how to touch me to make me fall apart in record time.

“Nicolo—” My voice didn’t even sound like mine anymore. It was breathless, desperate, pleading for something I couldn’t articulate.

“Let go,” he commanded, his mouth against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “Come for me.”

Two strokes of his fingers against that perfect spot, and I shattered.

The climax hit me like a tidal wave, massive and overwhelming and completely unstoppable.

My knees buckled completely, but he held me up, his strong arm around my waist keeping me from collapsing as wave after wave of sensation crashed over me, each one more intense than the last until I wasn’t sure where I ended and the feeling began.

When it was over, I could barely stand. Could barely remember my own name. Could barely process the fact that I’d just had my first orgasm courtesy of my stepbrother’s fingers in the shower while I was still reeling from what I’d just done to him with my mouth.

Life was full of surprises, wasn’t it?

Nicolo turned off the water and wrapped me in a towel, his movements sure and steady while I was still wobbling like a newborn baby giraffe trying to figure out how legs worked.

I was dimly aware of him carrying me to my bed, and as Nicolo laid me down on the soft sheets, I thought I heard him murmur something that sounded suspiciously like. ..

Mine.

I WOKE UP ALONE IN bed the next day, and for a moment I couldn’t remember why my body felt so languid and satisfied, like I’d just had the world’s best massage combined with eight hours of actual sleep for once.

Then the memories came flooding back.

The shower. Nicolo. What we’d done.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I sat up quickly, looking around my room for any sign of him, but he was gone. Like he’d never been there at all. Like maybe I’d dreamed the whole thing in some kind of fever dream after a day of compatibility tests and shifter princes and family dinner disasters.

Except for the note on my bedside table.

It was written on heavy cream paper in Nicolo’s bold handwriting:

Tomorrow night. Lucent Summit. Masked ball.

Be ready by eight.

I’ll choose what you wear.

N

I stared at the note, my heart starting to race all over again as reality crashed back into me like a wrecking ball wrapped in anxiety.

It was another compatibility test for sure, and something told me I was in for a very long night.

I fell back against my pillows with a groan, covering my face with my hands like I could somehow hide from the memory of kneeling in front of Nicolo, of his fingers between my legs, of the way he’d said my name like it was something precious and forbidden at the same time.

What had I done?