Page 92 of Tangled Desires

“Every inch of you,” he rasps, pounding harder, his hips slapping against mine. “You’re mine, Immy. Always.” I shudder, his praise unraveling me. The pressure builds, white-hot and all-consuming.

“Say it again,” he growls, voice rough as he drives into me, each thrust relentless.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” I gasp.

“And you’re fucking perfect.”

That’s all it takes. The world shatters around me, pleasure crashing through in waves. My body tightens as I ride him through it, clinging to him, barely holding myself together.

“H-Harrison… Oh, God… F-fuck.”

“That’s it, sugar,” his hands grip my hips tighter, guiding my movements as I tremble above him. “Take what you need. This perfect cunt was made for me.”

I move faster, chasing every last pulse of pleasure. With a deep, shuddering groan, he thrusts up one last time, burying himself as deep as he can. His body tenses beneath me, every muscle taut as he lets go, lost in his release. We collapse together, me draped over him, his hands still holding me like I might slip away.

The silence that follows is warm, heavy, and perfect.

32

Next day

I’m trying - Alexander Stewart

My breaths are coming in short, sharp bursts. Gripping the edge of the sink, my head pounds, thoughts racing—last night feels surreal, like it happened to someone else.

Imogen loves me. She fuckinglovesme.

But no matter how good that feels, it can’t quiet the ache gnawing away at my chest. My father’s voice still echoes, his face, his words—waste of space,wreck. It’s like he left a pieceof himself inside me, festering. I splash cold water over my face, trying to clear it out, but my throat’s tight.

A soft knock on the door pulls me out of my head.“Hey, are you okay? Let me in.”

I curse under my breath, fists tight on the counter as a wave of nausea rolls over me. Not now. Not with her seeing me like this.

“Harrison?” Imogen’s voice is firmer now.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just—” My voice cracks. “Get Michael for me. Please, Immy.” A few moments later, Michael steps in, eyebrows furrowed, eyes locked on mine.

“What’s going on?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I shake my head, stuttering, “I-I don’t know. I’m trying, Mikey, I swear I am. I don’t want him in my head anymore, but he—” The words get stuck, and suddenly, Michael steps forward, grabbing me roughly and pulling me into his chest. I bury my face in his shoulder, choking on the sobs that have been building for years.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m fine one minute, and the next… I’m like this. I’m so fucking over it, Mikey.”

His voice is low in my ear. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

I shake my head. “Maybe I am what he says I am. A waste of—”

“Hey. Don’t you dare fucking say that.” He grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look up, but I can’t meet his eyes. “Look at me, Harrison.”

I lift my head. “You. Are. Not. Him. You’re nothing like him. He’s a vile cunt, and…” His voice cracks, and he pulls me back in, his grip almost bruising. “I’m so fucking sorry, Harrison.” We stand there, holding on, the weight of years settling between us. “I don’t say this enough, but I fuckingloveyou, Harrison. You’re my brother. You’re my fucking best friend. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” He pulls back, looking at me with his red-rimmed eyes. “You hear me? I owe you everything.”

My throat’s too tight to respond, so I just nod. “You’re gonna be afather. A good fucking father. And I’m going to be right here with you, every step of the way.”

I close my eyes, breathing him in, trying to ground myself. It’s like everything slows down a little, the chaos shrinking just enough that I can catch my breath. I give a quick nod against his shoulder, letting his words settle.

Dr. Lowe’s voice is stuck in my head, like a song I hate but can’t turn off.You need to confront this. Sit your mum and your brother down.

So here we are.