The morning after the pool party felt too bright, too clean for the filth still clinging to her thoughts.
Empty cups lined the counters. Damp towels were strewn like discarded secrets across the living room floor. Chlorine still lingered faintly in the air, mixed with the scent of coffee brewing in the kitchen. The house was loud with silence—the kind that carried every tiny sound.
She padded down the stairs in loose shorts and a shirt she'd thrown on without thinking. Her hair was still damp from a rushed shower, clinging to her neck.
Her brother was at the sink, humming off-key while he washed dishes. His broad back was to her. Safe, oblivious.
But Ethan—Ethan wasn't oblivious.
He leaned against the counter with a mug in his hand, the picture of casual, except for the way his eyes sharpened the instant they found her. His gaze dragged from her bare legs to her throat, to the way the fabric of her shirt shifted with each breath. Heat curled in her belly, shame chasing it, and she quickly glanced away.
"Morning," she said, trying for light, normal.
Her brother hummed, wrist deep in suds. Ethan only smiled, slow and private, like he knew every thought she hadn't dared put into words.
The kitchen felt smaller with him in it.
She busied herself with the fridge, yanking the door open to escape his stare. The cool air washed over her as she leaned in, rummaging for juice.
Behind her, the air shifted. She knew he moved before she felt him.
One second she was reaching for a carton. The next, his chest was a wall at her back, his heat a brand pressed along her spine. He reached past her shoulder, fingers brushing hers like an accident, like a crime.
Her breath caught.
And then—smack.
A sharp sting bloomed across her ass. She almost dropped the carton, the fridge door rattling with her jolt.
Her brother clattered a plate into the drying rack, humming louder. Cover noise.
Her pulse thundered. She bit down on a gasp, clutching the juice carton like it might save her.
Ethan's mouth dipped close to her ear, his breath a wicked caress.
"You started this," he murmured.
Her thighs pressed together without her permission. Her face burned as she shoved the fridge closed and slipped away from him, pretending to be unfazed.
But her skin knew. Her skin screamed.
---
Breakfast was unbearable.
The three of them sat around the table like nothing had happened, cereal bowls and toast between them. Her brother scrolled his phone with one hand and shoveled food with the other. Normal. Safe.
Ethan sat across from her, eating lazily, eyes on her too often. Every time she glanced up, he was there, smirking like he could read her pulse in her throat.
She told herself to breathe, to be calm. She was fine. Nothing had happened.
Then his foot brushed hers under the table.
She jumped, spoon clattering against her bowl. Her brother didn't look up. Ethan only shifted, pressing more firmly until his knee brushed her calf.
She tried to focus on her toast, but her throat was dry. Every nerve was tuned to him.
And then his hand moved.
Under the table, his fingers slid along her thigh, casual, invisible. Her breath stuttered. Her brother muttered about a text, utterly distracted.
Ethan's hand climbed higher. She clenched the edge of the table, fighting not to move.
Her fork trembled in her grip. Heat flooded through her, low and treacherous.
When her brother stood to refill his coffee, Ethan struck.
Quick as a thief, he leaned across the table. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth—soft, scorching, stolen. She froze, heart slamming, the taste of him lingering like sin.
Her brother turned back, muttering about the cream, and she plastered on a smile, pulse screaming.
Ethan sat back, perfectly calm, eyes alight with mischief.
Later, as he passed behind her to grab a napkin, his hand landed on her ass again. A swift, sharp spank hidden in the motion.
She bit down on her lip hard enough to hurt.
Her brother grumbled about the Wi-Fi. Didn't notice. Didn't see.
And she couldn't breathe.
---
She barely made it upstairs before her body betrayed her.
The second her bedroom door shut, she pressed her back to it, chest heaving. Her skin was hot, tingling everywhere he'd touched. Her ass still burned from the spanks, a pulse of memory she couldn't shake.
Her hands trembled. She pressed her palms to her thighs, but it didn't stop the shiver racing through her.
She paced the room, dragging fingers through her hair. Her reflection in the mirror was wild-eyed, cheeks flushed.
"Get a grip," she whispered to herself.
But how could she? Ethan's voice was still in her ear, low and dark: You started this.
Her thighs pressed together helplessly. Every stolen touch replayed in her mind: the brush of his lips, the sting of his palm, the way his heat had pressed behind her at the fridge.
She buried her face in her hands and groaned.
This was madness.
It was wrong.
And God help her—she wanted more.
---
Her room wasn't safe for long.
She'd barely steadied her breathing when a soft knock tapped at the door. She froze, panic and want colliding in her chest.
Before she could answer, the door creaked open.
Ethan slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind him. No mug this time. No casual smirk. His eyes were dark, hungry, like the man from last night's shadows had stepped fully into daylight.
"You ran from me," he said softly.
Her back hit the wall as he crossed the room in three strides. She tried to summon a protest, anything—but her body betrayed her first. Heat flushed through her, her lips parting.
"I had to," she whispered. "My brother—"
"He's downstairs. Distracted." Ethan braced one hand above her head, boxing her in. His other hand caught her hip, firm. "And you're up here. With me."
Her pulse pounded.
The scent of chlorine still clung faintly to his skin, mixed with coffee and something darker, male. It wrapped around her like a trap she didn't want to escape.
He kissed her. Harder this time, claiming, no hesitation. His lips bruised hers, tongue teasing past her resistance.
She melted before she meant to. Her hands pushed at his chest, then curled in his shirt instead.
He groaned against her mouth, deep and ragged. "You taste like you've been waiting for me."
Her knees buckled. His hand slid lower, cupping her ass. And then—smack.
Harder than before. Not playful. A crack of palm against skin that made her gasp into his mouth.
Her eyes flew wide, shame and arousal slamming together.
"Ethan—"
He spanked her again, sharper. Her head fell back against the wall, a soft sound breaking from her lips before she could choke it down.
"You like it," he growled, lips grazing her throat. "Don't you dare lie to me."
Her breath hitched. Her thighs pressed together in betrayal.
Another spank. Her body jolted. His mouth sucked at her pulse, his teeth grazing.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, trembling. "We can't—"
"We already are," he murmured, spanking again, his hand kneading the sting after each smack. "And you're shaking for it."
She was. God help her, she was. Every nerve was alive, every inch of her skin begging.
He spun her, pressing her front against the wall. His body caged hers, chest at her back, hips flush. His palm smoothed over her ass, slow, promising.
"You bent over in the kitchen," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Do you know what I thought about?"
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Another smack, harder. She gasped, heat flooding low in her belly.
"I thought about this." Smack. His hand lingered, squeezing. His hips pressed forward, deliberate, his arousal hot and hard against her. "And this."
Her moan slipped free before she could stop it.
He groaned into her hair, hand sliding down her thigh, dragging her shirt up just enough to expose more skin. His fingers grazed high, too high, until she trembled.
Her body betrayed her utterly—pressing back against him, desperate.
"Ethan," she whispered, broken.
"I know," he muttered, lips at her ear. His hand gripped her ass again, spanking in rhythm now—hard, soft, hard, soft—each strike pulling a gasp from her throat. "I know, baby. You're right there, aren't you?"
Her head dropped against the wall. She was on fire, breathless, every spank pushing her closer to the edge she couldn't admit she wanted.
He kissed down her neck, his free hand sliding under her shirt to palm her breast. She arched, whimpering.
"Say it," he demanded, spanking again, harder. "Say you want it."
Her pride cracked under the weight of need. "I—want—" The words broke on a gasp as his hand squeezed, his hips rolling against her.
"Good girl," he rasped. "So damn good."
She was trembling, thighs quaking, her body begging for release. One more spanking, one more grind of his hips, and she knew she'd fall.
And then—
The door creaked open.
They froze.
"Ah," a voice croaked. "Thought I heard voices."
Her blood iced. She twisted, shoving Ethan back a step.
Grandpa stood in the doorway, pajamas sagging, his hair wild, scratching his head. He squinted at them like the light was too much.
"Didn't mean to interrupt," he said cheerfully, though his eyes looked hazy. "Was just looking for the bathroom. Or… the kitchen? Blast it, can't remember."
Her heart was in her throat. Ethan's chest heaved, his hands still half-raised like he'd been caught mid-crime.
Grandpa shuffled in a step, peering closer. "You two are… ah… studying?" He chuckled at his own guess. "Young love, eh? Brings back memories. Or maybe that was last week… can't recall."
He laughed again, wheezy and harmless, then wandered back out, muttering about toast.
The door clicked shut.
Silence roared in its place.
Her face burned hotter than fire. She buried it in her hands. "Oh my God."
Ethan dragged a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. Then he laughed, short and rough, disbelief more than amusement.
They stood there, shaking—her with mortification, him with restraint stretched to breaking.
Finally, she whispered, voice hoarse, "We can't keep doing this."
Ethan stepped closer again, eyes still dark, still hungry. His palm cupped her hip, thumb rubbing slow circles like a promise.
"We can't stop either," he said.
Her breath caught. Her heart screamed yes even as her mind screamed no.
And deep inside, she knew the truth.
It was already too late.
---