I Slept With My Fiancé’s Elder Brother

The whiskey burned my throat, but I swallowed another mouthful straight from the crystal decanter.

The grand hallway of the Hawthorne estate spun in a dizzying blur of marble and shadows. It was past two in the morning. I had drained half a bottle to numb the reality of my two-million-dollar price tag.

A heavy tread sounded on the stairs.

I squinted through the dim light. A tall silhouette paused at the landing. Broad shoulders, tailored suit, the arrogant tilt of a Hawthorne chin.

Jasper.

Anger flared, hot and sharp, overriding the alcohol. I stumbled forward and slammed my hands against his chest. Solid muscle met my palms.

"Two million dollars," I slurred, gripping his lapels. "You think you own me? You think I'm just a prop for your press events?"

The man stood completely still. His hands hovered over my hips.

"Loren," a deep, raspy voice rumbled.

It sounded rougher than Jasper's usual polished tone. But my brain, drowned in liquor, ignored the difference.

"Don't talk down to me," I snapped, leaning my weight against him. "I hate you. I hate this fake marriage. I hate that I have to live in the east wing like a prisoner."

His fingers dug into my waist. Hard.

"You hate me?" he asked. The question carried a strange, heavy edge.

"I despise you."

"Good." He yanked me flush against his body. "Keep hating me."

Before I could process the shift in his demeanor, he shoved me backward. My spine hit a heavy oak door. He twisted the brass knob, pushed me inside the dark guest room, and kicked the door shut.

He pinned my wrists above my head against the wall.

"Jasper—" I started.

His mouth crashed down on mine, silencing his brother's name. It wasn't a polite kiss. It was violent, hungry, tasting of rain and mint. He shoved his knee between my thighs, parting my legs with brute force.

"Say you hate me again," he growled against my lips.

"I hate you," I gasped.

"Fuck, yes," he muttered. His large hands ripped the silk fabric of my slip dress down the middle. The material tore with a loud screech.

Cold air hit my bare skin. He didn't hesitate. He cupped my bare breasts, his thumbs rolling roughly over my hardening nipples.

"I've wanted to fuck you since the first day," he said, his voice thick with lust. He ducked his head and sucked my left nipple into his mouth, biting down hard enough to make me cry out.

My drunken mind spun. Jasper was supposed to be cold. Clinical. But the man devouring me felt like a starving animal.

He dropped his hand between my legs, tearing my lace panties aside. His long fingers found my slick pussy immediately.

"You're soaking wet for a man you claim to despise," he taunted, sliding two fingers deep inside my cunt.

I arched my back, crying out as he pumped his fingers in and out. "Fuck."

"Tell me what you want, Loren." He scraped his thumb over my swollen clit.

"Fuck me," I begged, shamelessly grinding my hips against his hand. "Put your cock inside me."

He withdrew his fingers. The sound of a zipper echoed in the dark room. He freed his thick, hard cock and pressed the blunt tip against my entrance.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he whispered harshly.

He thrust his hips forward, burying his cock deep inside my pussy in one brutal stroke.

I screamed, my fingernails digging into his broad shoulders. He filled me completely, stretching my walls.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "You feel incredibly good. Mine. You are fucking mine."

He pulled back and slammed into me again. The heavy thud of our bodies colliding filled the quiet room. He didn't pace himself. He fucked me with relentless, punishing speed.

"Take my cock, Loren," he demanded, slapping his hips against my thighs. "Take all of it."

"Yes," I sobbed, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Harder. Fuck me harder."

He dragged me away from the wall and tossed me onto the guest bed. I bounced on the mattress. Before I could crawl away, he grabbed my ankles, yanked me to the edge of the bed, and drove into my cunt again.

"I'm breeding your pussy," he snarled, his sweat dripping onto my chest. "Look at me while I fuck you."

I opened my heavy eyelids, but the room was too dark to make out his features. I only felt the massive size of his cock sliding in and out, hitting my sweet spot with every thrust.

"I'm close," I whimpered. "Please."

"Come for me," he ordered, his pace turning frantic. "Come on my cock."

Pleasure exploded through my body. My muscles clamped down hard around his shaft. I screamed his brother's name into the darkness as the orgasm ripped through me.

He let out a guttural roar, driving balls-deep into my pulsing pussy, and pumped his hot load deep inside me.

He collapsed heavily on top of me, his chest heaving against mine. My alcohol-soaked brain finally shut down, pulling me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

Harsh sunlight pierced my eyelids.

My head throbbed with a vicious hangover. I groaned, rolling over on the unfamiliar mattress. The sheets tangled around my bare legs. The space beside me was warm.

I blinked my eyes open, expecting to see Jasper's perfectly styled blonde hair.

Instead, I saw pitch-black hair.

My stomach dropped.

I shoved myself up on my elbows, pulling the white sheet over my naked breasts. The man sleeping next to me shifted. His face turned toward the morning light.

A sharp jawline. A small, jagged scar on his chin. Thick, dark eyelashes.

Kael Hawthorne.

Jasper's older brother. The ruthless head of the Hawthorne empire.

Bile rose in my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream.

It wasn't Jasper last night. It was Kael. I had poured out my hatred for the contract, and Kael had taken me into this room. I had slept with my fake fiancé's brother.

Shame crashed over me in suffocating waves. I had broken the number one rule of the two-million-dollar agreement on the very first night.

Kael's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The sheet dipped low on his waist, revealing the dark bruises I had left on his ribs.

I couldn't stay here. I couldn't face him when he woke up.

I slid off the bed, my legs trembling so violently I almost collapsed. I scrambled across the carpet, grabbing the torn shreds of my slip dress. It was ruined. I clutched the fabric against my chest and tiptoed toward the door.

I paused, throwing one last glance at the bed. Kael looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the brutal way he had taken me last night. I completely missed the slight furrow in his brow, the way his hand reached out blindly across the empty sheets, searching for me.

I slipped out the door and sprinted down the long hallway toward the east wing.

Guilt gnawed at my insides. Jasper had bought my loyalty, and I had betrayed him with his own flesh and blood.

I reached my bedroom, slipped inside, and locked the heavy door behind me. I slid down the wood paneling, burying my face in my hands.

A sharp knock hammered against the wood, making me jump.

"Loren," Jasper's cold voice filtered through the door. "Get dressed and come downstairs immediately. My brother just returned from Europe, and he demands to meet my new fiancée."