Stepbrother’s Return | CH. 4
Flashback: The first taste
⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ CONTENT WARNING:
This story contains explicit gay sexual content, infidelity, taboo family dynamics, and dark themes. Reader discretion is advised.
Previously: CH. 1 | CH. 2 | CH. 3 | CH. 4 …
Chapter Four
Salt Lake City. Ten years ago …
Standing alone in the frigid basement, I stared at the door at the top of the stairs, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Come on, I silently pleaded. Come on.
A minute later, a shadow graced the doorway.
Herald appeared at the top of the stairs. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that flowed loose on his broad frame. Even in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through the small window well, I could see the intensity in his eyes.
He didn’t say a word. He just descended, skipping the third step just like I did. It squeaked extra loudly.
He stood in front of me, his large, well-built presence overwhelming in the small space. He looked different down here. Upstairs, he was the charming, athletic stepbrother who made jokes at the dinner table to diffuse Victor’s tension. Down here, he was something … darker … yet softer? Something dangerous.
“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep and want.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I managed, my voice cracking.
“Me neither.”
The smell of his clean and distinctly manly cologne seared my nostrils in the best way. He reached out, his hand large and warm, and grabbed my chin, tilting my head back. His thumb brushed my lower lip, dragging it down. The touch sent a shockwave straight to my groin, so intense I almost doubled over.
“You know why, don’t you? Why you couldn’t sleep?” he asked, searching my eyes.
I nodded, unable to speak. I knew why. I knew why I couldn’t look at him without blushing. I knew why I spent an hour in the shower this morning thinking about his hands.
“Say it,” he commanded softly.
“Because I want you,” I whispered, the confession tasting like sin and sugar.
Herald groaned, a low, guttural sound, and then he was on me. Hauling me up in his arms and slamming me back against a concrete wall. The cold, rough surface scraped my shoulder blades, but I didn’t care. His mouth crashed onto mine, hot and wet and demanding. It wasn’t a movie kiss. It was a collision. Teeth clashing, tongues tangling, desperate and messy.
I grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to eliminate every millimeter of space between us. He tasted like toothpaste and mint, but underneath that was the taste of him — of pure masculine power.
“Fuck, Charlie,” he breathed against my mouth, his hands sliding down my torso, gripping my waist. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
“Do it,” I begged. “Please, just do it.”
