The wrong brother

Three nights. That was all it was supposed to be. A reckless vacation and a stranger who knew my body too well. I gave him a fake name and a fake life all to match my story– and I promised myself never to see him again. But how cruel was my fate. Because the man who ruined me with his mouth and hands, his crazy, sinful promises, is now standing in my living room. My husband's brother Now he is under my roof, sharing family dinners, and brushing past me with every possible opportunity he gets with a look that betrays our secrets. I should feel guilty, but instead, I want more. My husband loves me but not enough to see me. And his brother? Well, he is the one thing I cannot have again–yet he's the only one who makes me feel alive. What happens when secrets between the sheets turn to lies that could tear me and my family apart?

Chapters

Chapter 4

Lauren's Pov

I was wet, my juices flowing onto his fingers as he thrust further into me, but the ride didn't last long. My body was already trembling with the aftermath of his touch, and before I could finally catch my breath, the car had stopped in front of a tall glass building which shimmered against the night sky.

He didn't wait to be told, his strong arms swooped me up like I weighed nothing, and I clung to him, my lips trailed along his neck as he carried me past the lobby. I couldn't help but notice the curious eyes of the staff, trailing after us straight into the elevator.

The moment the elevator door closed, he slowly set my feet onto the floor, lowering his head and burying it underneath my legs. I couldn't help but let out a large gasp for air, as I felt his tongue ruin the little part of stability I had left–my fingers digged into his hair, but by the time we reached his penthouse I was already at peak.

My dress slipped from my shoulders, dropping down over my feet the second the door shut behind us. He pressed me against the wall, his mouth devouring mine, and I gave in –completely, shamelessly.

He slowly slipped onto my neck– I let out a moan, as his fingers clutched upon my nipple.

"Fuck.." He whispered over my ears, he lifted me onto the sofa, his gaze never left mine as his tongue traced down to my clit, and his fingers resumed on my breast.

I swear I couldn't feel my legs the moment his head submerged from underneath me. He stood up, lifting me up into the room.

I could feel his cock throb from his trousers, his eyes glittered underneath the lights as I fell onto my knees and unbuckled his belt.

Was I really doing this?

My eyes widened, the moment it was let out of the bag– the veins around it were pulsating, I stroked it as I nudged it over my fingers–watching it dangle in its glory.

He didn't have to say a word, neither did I–it was a night of pleasure and fantasies coming to life.

My tongue tasted the tip of cock, swerving its salty precum over my saliva as I took him in. He was large, different from my husband's–if I could recall from our wedding night which was a sham.

His hands slowly traced down to the back of my head as he slammed his cock over my toungue–I could feel the drop of tears over the corner of my eyes–I loved it.

His moans became louder by the second as he pumped his juices into my mouth, the warm cum jittered down my throat and onto my breast as he slipped out of my mouth.

He carefully raised me off the floor, turned me around as he slid into me–my moan was intense, he was big, my eyes widened as I felt the tip welcomed into me.

"Damn, you are tight..." He muttered.

My mind narrowed, as his hands clutched my breast and he slammed into me fully–

That night, I gave in my all–forgetting who the fuck I really was–neither a wife, nor was I the lady whose husband had turned her down in the last minute.

He owned every part of my body that night-I was finally alive, burning with want as I gasped for air– we did it over and over again till the city outside blurred into nothing.

The morning lights spilled through the curtains–finally waking me up. I woke up with a banging bodyache as I tried recalling my acts of last night, my face turned red from the flashbacks, the sheets were cool against my skin and for a moment there I had no sign of regret.

I had hardly noticed his absence, but was drawn to it by the tray of breakfast by the bed side. It was perfectly arranged with fruits, croissants, coffee and beside it laid a folded note, written in a bold neat handwriting.

"Don't leave. I'll be back soon."

My lips trembled into a smile,I pressed the note against my chest, as my once red face felt like it was burning up already. That was when my phone buzzed.

"Vivian," I muttered, already dreading the call.

I swiped to answer, and her voice burst through the speaker, with so much mischief underneath it.

"Sooo... Mrs. Perfect wife... how was last night? And don't you dare tell me nothing happened."

"Viv–" I stammered , sitting up quickly, tugging the sheet over my chest.

"Oh–my–God, you did it! I can hear it in your" she laughed. "You sound like a girl who just discovered what sex really is."

"Stop it Vivian, I don't want to talk about this." My face burned, just from the thoughts from the elevator.

"Don't act shy now. I know I told you to let loose, and I am so glad you did. You are welcome." She laughed harder.

I thought I could handle her teasing–but a part of me couldn't help but judge my act–guilt slowly crept in behind her words as my husband's face flickered in my mind, the vows I had taken and the years which I had promised to be loyal. My chest ached, and for a second , the weight of what I had done pressed hard against me

I was about to tell Vivian she was wrong, that It had been a mistake–or maybe switching the blame unto the Alcohol I had taken last night, and I wanted to swear I was never going to happen again–

Just then the door clicked open.

I froze, ending the call immediately.

He walked in, seeing him in broad daylight made me realize it wasn't just the alcohol–I had fallen for this stranger in just a glance. He was tall, confident and in his hand was a bouquet of fresh flowers . His eyes locked onto mine and guess what? My heart betrayed me again–it jerked so hard I forgot to breathe.

Before I could say a word, he had already crossed the room in long strides as he pressed his lips against mine. The flowers were beautiful, but I didn't have the second to admire them as his hand cradled the back of my neck.

The guilt slipped away, and just like that– I didn't feel it anymore.

I kissed him back, desperately–like I needed him more than the air I was meant to be breathing.

The tray of my untouched breakfast shifted to the floor as he pushed me down gently into the soft pillows. This time, It wasn't the kind of wild frenzy of last night–it was slower, and deeper like he was memorising every inch of my body. His lips burned a trail down my skin, as his touch made me arch against him, and then I realized with a shiver-I was already addicted.

And I never wanted it to end.

Continue to next part

I was organizing quarterly reports on the shared drive when I saw it—a folder labeled simply "O.C. Daily." My cursor hovered over it, something about the initials making my stomach tighten. I shouldn't have clicked. Some part of me knew what I'd find, but I couldn't stop myself. The document opened, and my blood turned to ice water in my veins. "Old Crow Daily Chronicles: Observations on Our Feathered Friend" The first entry was dated six months ago. *Today Old Crow spent thirty minutes picking through the recycling bin for 'project materials.' What a shame she couldn't find anything useful—maybe because she's too busy cawing at everyone instead of actually contributing?* I scrolled down, each entry more vicious than the last. Detailed accounts of my daily activities, my clothing choices, even my lunch habits. *Old Crow brought the same sandwich three days in a row. Wonder if she's saving money for a new nest?* *She actually asked Mr.

Modern Mystery Romance

7.0

Bought as a bride by a man I hated

7.0

She was desperate. He was merciless. Liana Moore's sister's life is on the line, and the only person who can save her is Dominic Vale-the man who destroyed her family years ago. One year. One marriage. One chance to survive. Dominic is cold, controlling, and unforgiving. Liana is fierce, stubborn, and trapped in a union built on hatred and power. But when secrets are revealed and the line between punishment and protection blurs, the fire between them becomes impossible to ignore. In a marriage never meant to exist, love is the most dangerous risk of all.

Modern Mystery Romance

7.9

He Risked My Life to Make His Mistress Famous

7.9

The chemical stench clung to my skin like a second layer of sweat. Three days and nights inside the New Jersey plant had left me hollow-eyed and raw-throated, but I'd done it. I'd penetrated their security, documented their crimes, and survived. My hands trembled slightly as I clutched the small recorder in my pocket. The evidence was damning—audio recordings of managers discussing how to bypass environmental regulations, footage of toxic waste being dumped into waterways that fed local communities. I'd risked my life for this story, but it would be worth it. This exposé would finally put our network on the map. The elevator doors slid open to reveal the bustling New York newsroom. Conversations halted as I walked through, my appearance earning raised eyebrows. My hair hung limp with grease, my clothes reeked of industrial solvents, and exhaustion etched every line of my face.

Action Modern Mystery

9.8

His Illness Was A Weapon

9.8

For six years, my marriage was a clinical trial. I was the doctor for my husband Jackson' s severe contamination OCD, enduring endless cleaning rituals just for a touch. Then I found a used condom wrapper in his car. I soon learned he was breaking every single one of his pathological rules for his mistress-kissing her feet, sharing greasy pizza. His "illness" was a lie, a weapon used only against me. When I confronted him, he chose her. To protect his reputation, he threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving cancer treatment. The price for her life? I had to publicly announce I was barren and welcome his mistress and their child into our home. My six years of sacrifice, my entire life, had been a lie designed to control and humiliate me. I was nothing more than a disposable tool. The next day, in front of a room full of reporters, he handed me the script for my public humiliation. I tore it to pieces. Then I stepped up to the microphone and said, "I am here today to announce that my marriage to Jackson York is over."

Action Modern Romance

9.2

Memories have dried up my true feelings

9.2

When Albert—Betty’s assistant—used some absurd wager as an excuse for the seventh time to make her cancel our wedding, I told myself it was just her peculiar way of holding on to top talent. Three years. Seven times. Then came the eighth. The emcee was launching his third enthusiastic warm-up from the stage, and the guests’ murmurs had already swelled into open chatter. My phone glowed. A message from Albert. A photo. Below it, a voice note—also from him, his tone soaked in undisguised amusement and spite: “Roger, sorry. Betty and I made another bet. She says if you can find us within the hour, she’ll marry you. Pity… you won’t.” I didn’t reply. I didn’t go looking. Instead, I slowly scrolled through my contacts, found the number I’d kept pinned at the top for three years but never called. “Kimberly. What you said to me three years ago… does it still stand?” ...... A pause on the other end, then a soft laugh, edged with something like pity. “Roger, when I give my word, it’s for life. Where are you? I’ll come get you.” “Starlight Hotel. The wedding venue.” I hung up. I looked out at the sea of guests, their eyes a mix of sympathy and mockery. For the first time, I didn’t cover for Betty. “Roger! Have you lost your mind? Do you want to make our family the city’s laughingstock?” Rebecca, my future mother-in-law, stood backstage jabbing a finger at me, her face flushed with fury. There wasn’t a trace of concern for her missing daughter—only panic over a crumbling alliance of fortunes. “Mom,” I said, meeting her gaze calmly. “Do I need to remind you? Right now, standing here alone, facing all this—the one being humiliated is me.” “You!” My uncharacteristic coldness choked her. Her voice sharpened. “Betty’s just being childish! Can’t you be more mature? She’s doing this for the company! To keep a genius like Albert! You’re a grown man—can’t you understand? It’s only the eighth time! What’s one more after seven?” *What’s one more after seven?* The words twisted like a poisoned blade. Right. Seven times already. The first time, she said Albert threatened to quit—betting she wouldn’t dare sign a contract in another city on our wedding day. She went. The wedding was postponed. I told myself it was for the company’s future. The third time, she said Albert was in a foul mood—betting she wouldn’t cut off her long hair because his dog was “depressed” and needed cheering up. She cut it. She came back with uneven short hair and cried in my arms. I held her, heart aching, and told myself she cared about her people. The sixth time, she said Albert’s first love was getting married and he was heartbroken—betting she wouldn’t dare go with him as his pretend girlfriend. She went. Wearing the dress I gave her, on another man’s arm, smiling brightly in a photo on someone else’s social media. I told myself she was just too kind to say no. ... Every time, there was a “bet” and the “company.” Every time, I chose to believe. To yield. Because I loved Betty. After my mother died—after my father and the whole family cast me out, left me scrabbling in the dirt in some dark corner—she was the light that pierced my gray world. She said, “Roger, don’t be afraid. From now on, I’ll protect you.” For that light, I would have given anything. Even when she had that “accident” three years ago, urgently needing a kidney, I didn’t hesitate to give her one of mine. And what did I get? The slow, draining weakness that follows, and wedding after wedding turned into someone else’s wager. “Understanding?” I repeated the word softly, then laughed—a bleak, hollow sound. “The understanding I bought with half my life… is it really worth so little to you?” “You—” Rebecca’s face paled. Her eyes darted away, as if remembering. “Why bring that up now? It was just a kidney! We’ll compensate you later! Right now, we have to fix this mess! Go out there and tell everyone the wedding is postponed—say you’re not feeling well!” She’d even prepared my excuse. Right. Me, the “sickly one.” Not feeling well. How perfectly convenient. Just then, the lounge door opened. Betty was back. On Albert’s arm. The hem of her white wedding gown was smudged with dirt and grass stains. Her hair was disheveled, cheeks flushed an unnatural pink, as if she’d just been running. Seeing her mother and me, she paused, slipped from Albert’s hold, and hurried over. That familiar, apologetic look settled onto her face. “Roger, I’m sorry. I lost again. We… let’s postpone the wedding again, okay?” Behind her, Albert stood with a faint, lingering smile, watching me. His eyes held a victor’s smugness. He even reached up and tucked a loose strand behind Betty’s ear—a gesture so intimate, so natural, it was as if we weren’t even there. Rebecca jumped in to smooth things over. “She’s back, she’s back! See, Roger? Betty came back! She cares about you!” I looked at the three of them as if watching some clumsily staged farce. Betty, seeing my silence, reached

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.0

Playboy Tycoon's Purchased BRIDE

9.0

To obey his grandfather’s order, the playboy tycoon Seth Cohen had to marry the socialite and sole heiress Evonne Largent. They tied the knot and lived together under a loveless matrimony. She was obliged to marry the hottest CEO Seth Cohen to save their fallen business empire after her father fell into compulsive gambling, driving them to the verge of bankruptcy. Seth had no plan of getting entangled with his stunning and sexy wife, but every time he glanced at her, his body throbs, and he was drawn away. Evonne will do everything to stay away from him and pretend she’s not affected by the oozing sex appeal of her hot billionaire husband; however, her heart beats faster every time he is around. **** She saw the muscles move in his jaw, and she knew he was pissed. “Care to explain? Make sure it’s believable.” Seth’s voice carried a hot temper. There was a picture of her dancing on the tabletop, and Toby beside her was shirtless while Sally poured beer bottoms up straight to their mouths. “What’s there to explain?” “You’re married now,” He growled at her, throwing sharp glances. “Miss me with that bullshit.” She stood up and barely contained her anger. “There is a certain public image that needs to be maintained. You need to understand that.” He muttered sternly. “Oh, please, I’m not going to stand here drinking the dirty water you give me as you indulge yourself in the purest of wines.”

Billionaire Modern Romance

The wrong brother

Chapter 4

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