The four-hour drive into the mountains felt like a slow crawl toward a firing squad.
Damien's hands were fused to the steering wheel at ten and two, his knuckles bleached white against the black leather. He stared straight ahead, his jaw set in a rigid line that made the muscles in his neck corded and tense.
Beside him, Sera was a living, breathing distraction. She'd dressed for the "casual family outing" in a dangerously short denim skirt and a cropped white tank top that left a teasing, sun-kissed strip of her toned midriff exposed.
Every time the SUV hit a dip in the mountain road, her skirt hiked higher, revealing the creamy expanse of her thighs and the faint, lingering shadow of where his fingers had bruised her the night before.
In the rearview mirror, he could see their parents' car trailing faithfully behind. They were likely laughing, oblivious, celebrating how well their "newly blended family" was bonding.
Sera caught him glancing at her legs and didn't look away. Instead, she slowly crossed her legs, letting the denim hem slide up until it was barely a suggestion of a garment.
"Eyes on the road, brother," she whispered, her voice dropping into that low, sultry register as they rounded a curve that temporarily hid them from the car behind.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Sera," Damien hissed, his voice like grinding stones. "One weekend. That was the deal. We stay civil. We keep our hands to ourselves. No risks, no slips. Do you understand?"
Sera leaned across the center console, the scent of her vanilla perfume filling the small cabin of the car. Her breath was a warm, moist ghost against his ear.
"But what if I can't help it, Damien? What if I'm already wet just thinking about you fucking me while Mom and Dad are sleeping in the very next room? What if the thought of them hearing me moan your name is the only thing I can think about?"
Damien's cock surged, hitting the denim of his jeans with a painful, pulsing throb. He wanted to yank the steering wheel to the right, pull onto the dirt shoulder, and bend her over the hood until she screamed. But the sharp blare of his father's horn behind them: a cheerful "we're almost there" signal snapped the tether of his control back into place.
* * * * * * *
The cabin was a sprawling, two-story structure of cedar and glass, isolated deep within a forest of ancient pines. The air was sharp and cold, smelling of sap and damp earth. Inside, the floorboards groaned under every step, a constant reminder of how little privacy they actually had.
Damien took charge of the luggage, his mind working like a strategist. He assigned the rooms with calculated intent: their parents took the sprawling master suite downstairs, while he and Sera were relegated to the upstairs loft.
Their bedrooms were separated by a single, flimsy wooden wall that looked like it couldn't stop a whisper, let alone the sounds of what they did to each other.
As night fell, the "family bonding" began in earnest. They gathered around the heavy oak dining table for a home-cooked meal.
The atmosphere was domestic and suffocating. His father talked about business; her mother talked about the wedding album.
Under the table, the war continued.
Sera kicked off her sandals. Her bare foot found Damien's calf, her toes tracing the muscle before sliding upward. She didn't stop until she reached his groin, her foot pressing firmly against the heavy, undeniable bulge in his slacks.
She began to knead him, her big toe stroking the length of him through the fabric while she maintained a perfectly innocent conversation with her mother about organic recipes.
Damien's fork clattered against his plate. He shot her a look of pure, unadulterated warning, his eyes promising a dark retribution. Sera didn't flinch. She simply bit her lower lip, her eyes sparking with a challenge, and pressed her heel harder into his ache.
* * * * * *
By the time the dinner plates were cleared and the "goodnights" were exchanged, Damien was vibrating with a lethal mix of rage and lust. He waited in the shadows of the narrow upstairs hallway. The second Sera emerged from the bathroom, he struck.
He grabbed her wrist, his fingers like iron manacles, and hauled her into his room. He shut the door with a soft, muffled click just as the floorboards downstairs groaned under his father's weight.
He didn't say a word. He shoved her back against the rough-hewn timber wall and hiked her denim skirt up to her waist in one violent motion. He didn't even bother with her panties; he just slid his hand beneath the lace.
He let out a low, guttural growl. "Fuck, Sera. You're dripping."
She was soaked. Her panties were a sodden mess of silk and heat. Damien slid two thick fingers deep inside her, his thumb finding her swollen clit and grinding with a rhythmic, punishing intensity.
"Quick... Damien, please," she begged, her voice a breathless, broken thing. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, biting his shoulder to stifle the whimpers that were trying to escape her throat. "I need it... I'm going to lose it..."
He didn't slow down. He worked his fingers into her, his thumb circling her peak until she was bucking against his hand, her body trembling with the force of an internal riot.
She came hard, her juices coating his knuckles and slicking his palm, her muffled cries vibrating against his chest.
The sound of footsteps started on the stairs: slow, heavy, and approaching.
Damien pulled his hand back just as the wood outside the door creaked. He looked down at his glistening fingers, then slowly brought them to his mouth, licking the salty sweetness of her ruin clean while his eyes locked onto hers; dark, possessive, and utterly unhinged.
"That's all you get tonight," he whispered, his voice a ghost of a threat. "Behave yourself, sister."
He stepped back, leaving her shaking against the wall. They both knew it was a lie.
The weekend had only just begun.