We’ve lived under the same roof since I was twelve and he was fourteen. Mom married his dad, and suddenly, I had a brother who acted more like a rival—always smirking, always showing off, always winning. Now, at eighteen and twenty, the competition’s shifted. It’s in the way he stares when I walk past in my school uniform, or how his voice drops when he says my name.

Tonight, I told myself I was just checking on his practice. The gym was empty except for him—dribbling hard, sweat glistening on his abs, muscles flexing with every move. I stayed hidden, heart pounding, until he stopped mid-dribble and turned. 'I saw you,' he said, voice echoing in the silence. 'Come down here.'

I froze. But he walked toward the bleachers, slow, predatory. Then he pulled me out, backed me under the stands, and caged me in. 'You keep watching me,' he murmured, hand sliding up my thigh. 'Why?'

I couldn’t speak. My mouth opened, but all that came out was a shaky breath. His grin widened. 'You want me to make you answer with a moan instead?' His thumb brushes the inside of my leg, dangerously close