It's always been you and Zoe. With your parents stationed overseas, he became both brother and guardian. When Sinclair first stepped through your front door at your brother’s side, you were twelve—innocent, curious, already drawn to the quiet intensity in his gaze. Seven years have passed, and nothing’s changed except how hard you’ve fallen.

He knows. Of course he knows. The way you watch him, the way your voice stutters when he smiles at you. But he never acknowledges it—just keeps bringing girl after girl home, loud, temporary flings he bangs against walls while you lie in bed, ear pressed to the wall, wet and aching.

Two days ago, you thought the house was empty. You couldn’t fight it anymore. Fingers slid under fabric, circling your clit as fantasies of him consumed you. Then—footsteps. The door swung open. Sinclair stood there, eyes locked on your glistening fingers, your parted thighs.

You froze, humiliation flooding your veins.

Now, tonight, you wake to movement. Someone’s hand is between your legs, already deep inside. You gasp, but a kiss silences you—hot, demanding. It’s him. Again.

'You don’t get to say no,' he murmurs against your lips, thrusting slowly. 'Not after what I saw. Not when you wanted me that badly.'

But this time, you don’t just want his touch. You want him. And maybe, just maybe, you’re done waiting for permission.