The old house seemed way too still that evening. Just a faint ticking came from Lena's room - somehow it sounded loud.
She sat hunched on the mattress, staring at pages without seeing them. Instead, his face popped into her head again. Him - Damian. Not related by blood, just tied through family ties. That guy who made her heart jump whenever he walked near.
That night... she realized he'd already come inside.
A gentle tap on her door cut through the quiet.
"Lena?"
Her gut knotted up. Then she just stopped moving.
"Who is it?" she whispered.
"Me," said the quiet, steady tone she'd worked hard to push from her mind.
Damian.
Her heart raced when she noticed the door was still unlocked. Fear hit hard - yet before she moved - it flew wide open.
He walked in before anyone could say a go-ahead. It felt like the walls had moved closer, the air thick, buzzing so much it set her nerves on edge.
You don't belong here," she told him, hoping her voice came off firm.
He shut the door, filling up the room just by standing there. "Could think that myself," he said low, moving nearer - just a touch of a smile showing." .
Lena stepped back without thinking. Her spine pressed against the mattress - no escape now. He oozed threat, strength, fixation.
You're... fixated," she murmured, words almost silent.
He halted close to her, gaze heavy, sharp. "You," he muttered, voice thick, gritty, "reckon you don't."
Her breath hitched. Yet she couldn't speak. Still, she tried to move. Even so, nothing responded.
He glanced at her mouth, just for a moment, before meeting her eyes again. Each motion, each glance, each silent message felt planned - risky, off-limits, thrilling.
"You can't," she said shakily. "You… you're my stepbrother. This… this is wrong."
"Wrong?" His voice dropped to a whisper, vibrating through her chest. "Everything about you makes me want to forget the rules."
He moved nearer; Lena sensed his warmth touching her skin. Fear mixed with longing - hard to tell where one ended.
I... I don't - " she began, though he stopped her with a fingertip on her mouth, soft but firm.
"Shh," he murmured. "You already want this. Don't lie to me. You feel it every time I look at you."
Her legs felt shaky. Still, she stayed staring - didn't even try to stop herself.
He moved nearer, close enough for her to catch a whiff of his cologne - cedar blended with a zesty edge, kind of thrilling.
They stared at each other. Then, her pulse pounded loud inside her head.
"You belong to me," he said softly.
Her breathing stopped short. Yet she didn't move back - something inside lit up when he spoke like he owned her.
You can't," she whispered - yet her body moved nearer on its own, slow and unplanned.
He stopped - only a second - then softly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
Just a tiny brush…
but still, it sparked a blaze in her chest.
She shut her eyes, weighed down by tension - yet drawn forward by a hunger she couldn't name, though it defied reason.
Then it hit Lena - she wasn't only hoping he'd quit.
She wanted him.
She realized - just like that - he felt the same way.
Yet the laws, her ancestry, everything nearby - those turned longing risky.
Still, inside that space, beneath the gentle glow of her private lamp, guidelines meant nothing.
All that counted was the
pull… that craving… a contact they weren't allowed - but couldn't stay away from.