IRRESITIBLY SINFUL (A compilation of short erotic stories)

Aurora's POV "Finally, you decided to come home." That was the first thing my mother said when she opened the door. "Welcome home, darling." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Three years in LA, and she still knew exactly how to make "welcome home" sound like an accusation. "Hi, Mom." I kissed her cheek and dragged my suitcase into the living room. The house looked the same. It smelled like lavender, her favorite air freshener, and everything felt frozen in time. Same beige couches. Same family photos on the mantel, though now a few unfamiliar faces had been added. People I was still learning to call family. "How's LA?" she asked, closing the door behind me. "Good." I exhaled, already tired. My gaze drifted past her and landed on my stepfather, leaning against the kitchen doorway with a mug of coffee in hand. "Hey, Aurora." He lifted his cup. "Good to have you around." "Thanks." I nodded, smiling politely, my attention already sliding past him, toward the kitchen, the hallway, the stairs. Toward the real reason I'd agreed to come home for Thanksgiving instead of staying in my cramped studio with Thai takeout and Netflix. Albert. We hadn't seen each other since our parents got married. He'd been in college then. I'd been a brace-faced, awkward teenager. We'd never been close. Just stiff family dinners and polite holiday small talk. This was the first time we'd be under the same roof for days. The first time I wouldn't be that gangly teenager he barely noticed. "Where's Albert?" I asked, trying to sound casual as my mom headed toward the kitchen. "I'm over here." My stomach dropped. I turned and suddenly the air felt thinner. Albert stepped inside, closing the front door behind him, and whatever version of him I'd kept in my memory didn't come close to this. He'd always been good-looking in that effortless way some men are, but now, now it was something else entirely. His dark hair was longer, brushing his forehead. His shoulders were broader, his frame solid beneath a simple grey henley that fit him far too well. When his eyes met mine, those silver-grey eyes I'd thought I'd exaggerated over the years my throat went dry. I hadn't exaggerated anything. "Albert." I managed to keep my voice steady as I hugged him, telling myself this was normal. Casual. Definitely not an excuse to feel the warmth of him, the strength in his arms. "Aurora." He smiled, and something dangerous fluttered in my chest. "It's good to see you." His arms wrapped around me, and Jesus, he was so solid. I could feel the definition of his chest through his shirt, smell whatever cologne he was wearing, something woodsy and clean that made me want to bury my face in his neck. I lingered maybe half a second too long before catching myself. Pull it together, Aurora. "How's work?" he asked, his hands sliding to my shoulders as he stepped back. His thumbs brushed my collarbones before he let go, and my pulse skipped. "Hectic," I said, forcing myself not to stare. "But good. You?" "Good." His gaze flicked to my suitcase. "Let me take this up for you." "Yes, please," my mom cut in. "You should've seen her wrestling with it at the door." "Mom!" Heat rushed to my face. "What?" She smiled innocently, too innocently. "Cut her some slack," my stepfather said. "She's exhausted." I flashed him a grateful thumbs-up and headed for the stairs. By the time I reached my room, Albert had already set the suitcase down and was headed out. We met in the doorway, that narrow space where two people really shouldn't try to pass at the same time but always do anyway. I wasn't paying attention. Or maybe I was paying too much attention to the way his forearm flexed as he gripped the doorframe. Either way, I walked straight into his chest. The impact wasn't hard, but it was enough to send me stumbling backward. My foot caught on absolutely nothing, and suddenly I was falling, my butt hitting the floor with an ungraceful thud. "Aurora!" He was on his knees beside me in an instant, his hands reaching for mine. "Are you okay?" I should have just said yes or laughed it off. Instead, I pressed my hand to my forehead with what I hoped looked like genuine pain rather than theatrical deflection from my complete lack of coordination. "Yes," I said, not moving. "Are you sure?" His voice dropped, softer, and that somehow made it worse. I looked up, and he was closer than I expected. Close enough to see the darker ring around his irises. The small scar above his brow I'd never noticed before. Our hands were still touching, his warm and steady, mine clammy. The moment stretched. Then his fingers brushed my temple, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I stopped breathing. "I'm glad to see you again," he said quietly. "It's been a long time." "Me too," I whispered. His gaze dropped to my lips. My heart stopped. Then started again at triple speed. Albert was looking at my mouth in a way that stepbrothers definitely should not look at stepsister's mouths. In a way that made heat pool low in my belly and made me wonder what would happen if I just leaned forward six inches and- He looked away. Just like that, the moment shattered. He cleared his throat and stood, offering me his hand to help me up. When I took it, he pulled me to my feet with easy strength that really wasn't helping my situation. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything," he said, his tone light and Normal again. Had I imagined it? "Okay," I replied. He reached out and ruffled my hair like I was twelve years old. "I'm not a kid," I protested, swatting his hand away. "I'm twenty-four." "I know." He flashed me a grin that was pure trouble, then had the audacity to wink before disappearing toward the staircase. I stood there long after he'd gone, my pulse still racing and my hand instinctively moving to smooth down my hair where he'd messed it up. Stop overthinking, I told myself. He's your stepbrother. He probably looks at everyone's lips when they talk. It doesn't mean anything. My body disagreed. I walked into my room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment. The room was exactly as I'd left it, same pink walls, same white furniture, same framed photos from high school. Mom had kept it pristine, like a shrine to the daughter who'd fled to LA the moment she could. Finally, I dragged myself up and headed toward the bathroom, peeling off my travel clothes as I went, jeans on the floor by the bed, shirt draped over my desk chair, socks kicked somewhere into the corner. The trail of discarded clothing marked my path like breadcrumbs. I turned the shower on hot and let the water soak the tension from my muscles. I stayed until the mirror fogged and my fingers wrinkled. When I stepped out, I wrapped my hair in a towel and tied my robe around my body. The fabric clung to my damp skin as I opened the door- And froze. Albert leaned against my doorframe, arms crossed, one ankle hooked casually over the other. How long had he been standing there? His eyes swept over me, my flushed cheeks, bare legs, the robe that suddenly felt far too thin. "Albert," I squeaked. "What are you doing here?" My hand instinctively clutched the collar of my robe tightier. He didn't answer right away. He just looked at me. And in that moment, I knew, whatever was happening between us, whatever spark had ignited downstairs, it was real. And it was about to make everything very complicated.