Her expression…. fuck… it was confusion, shock, lust, hunger, need, all rolled into one. Her lips were swollen from my kisses. Her breast, only one of them exposed, the red nipple already hardened and wet from my mouth. Her dress was twisted around her waist, pulled up in the most erotic way, giving me the perfect view of those thick, soft thighs. The strap of her dress had fallen off her shoulder, and fuck, I still remembered how it felt undermy fingers when I slipped it down.
The way she looked as she adjusted herself afterward, dragging that strap up slowly, her fingers brushing her own skin, her nipple falling back into the nightdress and poking right through the lace, still visible, still hard, still fucking tempting, god, it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
I groaned, deep and broken, as I reached for another canvas.
Two.
Three.
In less than an hour, I had painted three images of her, all from tonight alone. First, her walking into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes like an angel just waking from sleep, wearing that sinful fucking nightdress. Second, her against the wall, legs around me, her breast in my mouth, her lips parting in that soft moon that wrecked me. Third, her standing there afterword, adjusting herself, completely unaware that just watching her do that was enough to make me fall apart.
And now I couldn’t take it anymore.
I dropped the brush, growled, and ran both hands through my hair, smearing black paint into it, not giving a single fuck anymore. I was falling. I was crashing. I had been trying for months, years, to fight this sick obsession, to not go there, to not touch myself while thinking about her, to not give in.
But I couldn’t fight it anymore.
I unzipped my pants roughly, pulled out my cock that was now painfully swollen and leaking with precum, and spit into my hand. I grabbed it tight, groaning the second my palm made contact with the sensitive head.
“Fuck…” I hissed, my eyes burning as I stared at the second painting.
The one with her breast exposed, nipple glistening, thighs parted. I groaned again, louder this time, as I started stroking. Slow at first, dragging my hand up and down, letting my thumb swirl around the wet tip.
This was what I promised myself I would stop.
This was the one rule I kept trying to follow: Don’t jerk off to Anna.
But that rule was fucking dead now.
Because this time was different. This time I had almost tosted her, felt her body wrapped around mine, felt her soaking cunt grind against my dick, felt her moan against my mouth, heard her beg me to fuck her.
Nothing was the same anymore.
My pace picked up. I gripped myself harder, spit again into my palm and kept stroking, faster, harder, my chest heaving while my eyes stayed locked on the image in front of me. Her breast, that nipple, the way the strap hung off her shoulder, the curve of her thighs, the hint of her wetness I had felt against me-fuck.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck… Anna,” I groaned, louder, my voice echoing through the room like a prayer and a curse all at once. I leaned back, legs wide, one hand gripping the base of my cock, the other reaching down to squeeze my balls as the pressure built in my spine, in my hips, in my entire fucking soul.
I rubbed the precum around my shaft, moaning, biting down on my lip, trying to hold off but I couldn’t anymore. I was too far gone. I stroked faster, my hips bucking into my hand now, chasing that edge, chasing the only fucking relief I had.
“Shit, Anna… fuck, baby… I want you… I fucking wont you so bad…”
And then my orgasm slammed into me like a wave, hard and brutal, and I cried out as cum spilled out in thick ropes all over my hand, my stomach, even the edge of the canvas. I didn’t stop until every last drop was out of me, until my body collapsed against the wall, exhausted, trembling, broken.
And then the guilt came crashing in.
I stared at my hand, my mess, my paintings.
I had fucking done it again.
I had failed again.
And I hated myself for it.
ANNA’S POV
I was still in a daze even long after Ryan stormed out of the kitchen. My mind just wouldn’t shut up. Everything inside me was spinning, burning, spiraling into this mess of guilt, confusion, and desire. I mean, did that just happen? Did I seriously almost have sex with Ryan? My big brother??
Shit.
It was too damn close. Way too close. And if he hadn’t stopped, if Ryan hadn’t had that last thread of control to pull back, then we would’ve really done it. Right there. In the kitchen, Against the wall. And the most messed up part? I wanted it. God, I wanted it so bad. Just thinking about how he pinned me, how his lips crashed into mine, how his hard cock rubbed against my bare pussy through that thin loce nightdress… it was making me wet all over again.
I should be ashamed, right? But I wasn’t. All I could think about was how good it felt. How right it felt. Like it was something my body had been waiting for all along, and now that I’d tasted it, I couldn’t untoste it. Couldn’t unfeel it. Couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.
And that was the first time any guy had touched me like that. Touched me in a way that made me forget my name. Touched me in a way that made me ache.
But he stopped it. He pulled away and left without a word. He didn’t even look back.
I waited for hours, hoping he’d come out, say something, explain anything. But he didn’t. His room was still shut like nothing had happened. Like he could just walk away from it while I sat here going crazy. And the water I’d originally gone to get? I didn’t even remember that anymore. Who cared about water when your entire body was on fire?
I groaned out loud and stood up, pacing around my room before I finally walked toward his door. I raised my hand to knock, but stopped. What was I even going to say? That I wanted more? That I hadn’t slept either? That I kept thinking about the way he touched me?
No. I couldn’t say any of that. So I turned around and went back to my room, collapsing on my bed with a frustrated sigh, knowing damn well sleep wasn’t coming. Not after that.
It was exactly 4:23 a.m. when I heard the front door creak open. My eyes snapped open instantly, and before I could even think, I jumped out of bed. I knew what that sound was. It was the same sound I’d heard almost every morning. Ryan leaving.
That was why I barely saw him. He always left before the sun came up, probably to avoid me, but today… today I wasn’t going to let him leave.
I tied the block silk robe that matched the nightdress I wore last night and rushed out of my room. The hallway was dimly lit, but I didn’t care. And when I opened the door, he was right there. Standing in front of it like he’d been waiting for me to open it. his
His eyes were on me already, and damn, he looked… perfect. Like he hadn’t slept either. His jaw was tense, eyes were darker than usual, and those deep bags under them made him look even sexier. He was in a block tuxedo , and it fit him so well it should’ve been illegal. Every button, every stitch, every piece of that suit was making him look like the kind of man who didn’t play by the rules.
He opened his mouth first.
“Hey,” he said.
That was the first time he actually spoke to me first, and it caught me completely off guard.
“Hi,” I said, voice low, trying to ignore the way my thighs squeezed together as the memory of last night flooded my brain again. His hands. His breath. That deep groan in my ear as he grinded against me.
He looked me over again, and I could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed hard. He looked like he was fighting himself.
“About last night…” he said, pausing like the words were hard to get out. “I’m really sorry. I’m really fucking sorry I touched you like that. I shouldn’t have. I was drunk, I lost control, and it was wrong.”
“Ryan-” I called out, but he cut me off.
-That’s why I called someone. They’re looking for an apartment for you, something close to school. You deserve to be safe.”
My heart cracked right there. “But I like it here.”
Anna, he growled, and I swear I felt that sound between my legs. “I made a mistake. I was drunk, and it can’t happen again. I won’t let it. Staying here isn’t safe, not for you.’
“Why?” I asked.
I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why he was trying so hard to fight what was obviously there. The chemistry between us. The tension between us.
Four days ago, I thought he hated me. I thought that’s why he avoided me. But now I knew better. He was trying to protect himself from me, from what we both felt. What happened last night wasn’t just some drunken mistake. It was real. And he knew it too.
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