It started with Grandpa.
Again.
Harley had just come down the stairs when she found him in the hallway, blinking at the pictures on the wall like they were strangers. His pajamas were wrinkled, his slippers on the wrong feet.
"Oh," he said when he noticed her, his voice warm but bewildered. "You live here, don't you?"
She bit back a smile, though her stomach twisted with that usual mix of worry and fondness. "Yeah, Grandpa. It's me. Harley."
He tilted his head, peering. "Harley, Harley… like the motorcycle?"
"That's right," she said softly.
His brow furrowed, then smoothed, then furrowed again. "Did I already ask you that?"
"Maybe once or twice," she teased.
"Ah. Well, forgive me. I forget things these days." His expression clouded for a heartbeat, then cleared with a laugh. "But I never forget a pretty face."
She hugged him gently, guiding him back toward the living room where the noise of the pool party filtered in through open doors. Voices, laughter, the splash of water. Music low and pulsing.
Grandpa shuffled into his chair, already distracted by the sound. Within moments, his gaze drifted again, like his mind had set him free from remembering what he'd just seen.
Harley stood for a second, breathing out, steadying herself.
But the moment she turned toward the sliding doors, she felt it. That familiar tug. That invisible line connecting her to the one person she shouldn't think about.
Ethan.
He was out by the pool, drink in hand, lounging against the edge of the deck like he owned it. Which, in a way, he did—these gatherings always orbited around him. Her brother's best friend. The easy laugh, the wide shoulders, the gravity that drew everyone in.
And the look he gave her when she stepped outside wasn't casual. Not even close.
It pinned her where she stood.
Her heart stuttered. She glanced away too fast, pretending to wave at one of her brother's friends instead. But the heat of Ethan's gaze stayed on her skin, crawling down her spine.
She hated that he could do this to her. That a single look could remind her of every moment they shouldn't have had. Every kiss, every stolen touch, every spank that still burned in her memory.
And maybe that's why she did what she did next.
Because if Ethan thought he could play games—if he thought she would always be the one unraveling while he smirked in control—then maybe it was time to turn the tables.
So when Jake, one of the newer guys in their circle, offered her a drink with a crooked grin, she didn't brush him off like usual. She smiled. Let him hand her the cup. Let him sit beside her on the lounge chair.
Let Ethan see.
Jake wasn't her type, not really. He was all shaggy blond hair and easy jokes, the kind of guy who filled silence without ever realizing how much space he took up. But right now, he was perfect. Perfect because his attention was obvious. Perfect because Ethan would notice.
And oh, did he notice.
Harley caught him watching, even while he pretended not to. She caught the flicker in his jaw when Jake leaned a little too close, laughing at something she'd said. She caught the way his grip on his beer tightened when Jake's hand brushed her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It was intoxicating—watching Ethan crack.
For once, she wasn't the one burning. For once, she had the match in her hand.
She leaned into Jake's space, laughing at his story, letting her hair fall forward just enough to brush his arm. She didn't have to fake the smile—Ethan's dark stare was all the fuel she needed.
Her brother, busy at the grill, didn't notice a thing. None of their friends did either, too wrapped up in their own games and gossip. Only Ethan. Only him.
And that was the point.
Every time she glanced up, she met his eyes across the pool. Every time, that storm inside him looked a little closer to breaking.
Jake asked if she wanted another drink. She let him go get it. When he came back, she took it with a soft thank-you, fingers brushing his.
When he offered to show her a playlist on his phone, she leaned in, shoulder against his arm. She knew exactly what it looked like. Exactly what Ethan would think.
And she wanted him to think it.
Because maybe then he'd understand what it felt like to be toyed with. Maybe then he'd learn that jealousy cuts both ways.
By the time the night stretched later, the game had consumed her. She could feel Ethan's stare like a brand every time Jake laughed too loud, every time his hand lingered a second longer than necessary.
The tension wrapped tighter and tighter, until she knew it would snap.
And Harley decided she would be the one to break it.
So when Jake offered to walk her inside for another drink, she agreed. She stood, smoothing her dress, giving Ethan one last look from across the pool—the kind of look that wasn't meant for Jake at all.
Then she let Jake follow her into the house.
The kitchen lights were softer now, shadows stretching long. She could hear the party still roaring outside, muffled through glass. She let Jake chatter, let him lean against the counter beside her, let him think he was part of her night.
But all the while, she felt the storm approaching.
She didn't have to wait long.
Ethan.
She didn't hear him come in. Just felt the weight of his presence as surely as if the air itself shifted.
Her pulse spiked.
Jake was still talking about something, but Harley barely heard him. Ethan stood in the doorway, shoulders tense, eyes locked on her like he could burn through her skin.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Ethan smiled. Slow. Dangerous. "Enjoying yourself, Harley?"
Jake turned, blinking. "Uh—yeah, we were just—"
"Talking," Ethan cut in. His tone was light, but his eyes stayed on Harley, sharp as glass. "Sure you were."
Her breath caught.
Jake glanced between them, confused. But Harley held Ethan's stare, refusing to look away, refusing to back down.
Because this was the game. And she wasn't losing.
"Actually," she said, her voice steady even though her heart pounded, "I was just showing Jake something upstairs."
Jake's brows lifted in surprise, but he went along with it, grinning.
And Ethan—
Ethan's mask slipped, just for a second. A flicker of something raw, something furious and hungry, before he caught it.
But Harley saw.
She turned toward the stairs, every step deliberate, every sway of her hips calculated. Jake followed, clueless.
And behind them, Ethan stayed frozen in the kitchen doorway, his jaw tight, his fists clenched.
Until he moved.
She didn't have to look back to know. She felt him. Felt the heat of his anger, the weight of his footsteps, the inevitability of it all.
She was playing with fire.
And she was ready to burn.
The moment Harley shut her bedroom door behind her, Jake was still laughing, still talking about some stupid story from camp, still blissfully unaware that he was just a pawn in a dangerous game.
But Harley wasn't listening anymore. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She could feel Ethan coming, like the air itself thickened before a storm.
And then—he was there.
The door slammed open so hard the frame rattled. Ethan filled the threshold, eyes blazing, jaw clenched, every line of his body pulled tight like a wire about to snap.
Jake froze. "Whoa, hey—man, we were just—"
"You." Ethan's voice was low, deadly. His hand shot out, grabbing Jake by the collar. In one furious motion, he shoved him into Harley's bathroom, slamming the door shut. The lock clicked with brutal finality.
"Hey!" Jake's muffled protest rang out from the other side. He rattled the handle, but Ethan ignored him.
Instead, his gaze zeroed on Harley.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Her breath caught. But she forced her chin high, heart hammering against her ribs. "What does it look like? You don't get to play games and expect me not to."
His eyes darkened. "You think this is a game?"
"It's always a game with you." She took a step forward, anger and adrenaline sparking through her veins. "You stare at me like you want to ruin me, then act like it doesn't mean anything. Maybe I wanted to see how it feels to turn the tables. Maybe I wanted you to feel it for once."
His laugh was sharp, humorless. "So you bring him up here? You let him put his hands on you?"
"He barely touched me—"
"That's more than enough."
He was across the room before she could blink, his hands gripping her arms, his body pressing hers back until she hit the wall. His breath was hot against her cheek, his voice rough and low.
"You belong to me, Harley. And I'll make sure he knows it."
Her heart lurched at the words. Fury flared—he had no right. And yet… the ache inside her betrayed her, the way her body leaned into his even as her lips formed a protest.
"You don't own me."
"Then why are you shaking?"
His mouth crashed against hers before she could answer. Wild, hungry, punishing. His kiss tasted like jealousy and whiskey and fire, and when she gasped against him, his tongue claimed her like he'd been starving.
Her fists pushed weakly at his chest, but he only pressed harder, his hands sliding down, gripping her hips, dragging her closer.
"Stop—" she breathed, but the word was a lie, tangled in a moan when his lips trailed down her throat.
From the bathroom, Jake's muffled voice rose. "What the hell is going on out there? Harley?!"
Ethan's smirk curved against her skin. "Let him hear."
Her stomach dropped, heat rushing low. "Ethan—no, he'll—"
"That's the point," he growled.
He spun her, bending her over the edge of her desk in one swift motion. His hand came down hard across her backside, the sound cracking through the room, loud enough to carry.
Her cry followed it, sharp and breathless.
"Too loud," she gasped, face flaming.
"Good," he said, spanking her again, harder. The echo of it filled the room, bled through the walls. "I want him to hear who you really belong to."
Her moans spilled out despite herself, aching, helpless. Every smack left her trembling, every stolen kiss after seared hotter than the last. His hand gripped her hair, tilting her head back so his mouth could crush hers again, swallowing her cries.
"You think he can take you from me?" Spank. "Think anyone can?" Spank. "Look at you—falling apart just from my hands."
Her nails clawed at the desk, her body burning, her voice breaking into ragged moans she couldn't bite back.
From the bathroom came silence now—Jake stunned, trapped, forced to hear every sound, every plea.
And from downstairs—voices carried. Her brother laughing with friends, music shifting tracks. The walls weren't thick enough. Anyone could hear.
The danger wound tighter with every sound, every echo.
"Ethan, please—" she gasped. She didn't even know if she meant stop or don't stop.
He leaned down, lips at her ear, voice a rasp of possession. "Say it. Say who you're for."
Her chest heaved. Her mind screamed at her to resist, to hold the last line of defense. But his hand came down again, hard, and the cry that ripped from her throat shattered it.
"You," she moaned, barely audible at first. "It's you."
"Louder." Spank.
Her knees buckled. Her head fell back against him. "You!"
The sound tore through the room. Too loud. Much too loud.
From downstairs, a sudden pause in the chatter. Someone's footsteps started up the stairs.
Harley's eyes flew wide. "Ethan—someone's coming—"
But Ethan only pressed his mouth to her ear, his hand stroking down her side as if daring fate itself. "Then let them hear."
The footsteps drew closer. Her brother's voice, calling her name.
Harley's heart stopped. Ethan's grip tightened.
The doorknob rattled.
And the world held its breath.
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