Chapter 11 Steam fills the bathroom, clouding the mirror and fogging the glass shower door. The hot water pounds against tile, creating a steady percussion that almost-almost-drowns out the sound of my own thundering heartbeat. Lilian stands before me, her skin pale and perfect in the harsh bathroom light. The shirt lies discarded on the floor between us, a crumpled flag of surrender in a war I didn't realize we were fighting until I'd already lost. Arson is already in the bathroom, leaning against the wall with calculated nonchalance, arms crossed over his chest as he watches us with those eyes-my eyes, our eyes-that reveal the darkness that sets us apart. His presence should be intrusive, should kill any desire I feel, but instead, it adds a dangerous edge to every sensation, a forbidden thrill I refuse to examine too closely. I shouldn't want her like this. She's my stepsister, for God's sake. We grew up together, sharing family dinners and holiday celebrations, and inhabiting the same spaces for years. That's the thing, though-desire doesn't adhere to social conventions. It's simply raw and undeniable and impossible to ignore any longer. "You're staring," she says, a hint of uncertainty in her voice despite her bold stance. "I'm appreciating," I correct, allowing my gaze to travel slowly over her exposed form. "There's a difference." Arson shifts against the wall, his presence a constant reminder of the bizarre arrangement we've agreed to. I ignore him, focusing instead on Lilian, on the way her pulse flutters visibly at the base of her throat and the slight tremor in her hands as she reaches for the button of my jeans. "Let me," I say, capturing her wrists gently. "You're shaking." "Not from fear," she assures me, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. The admission sends heat coursing through my veins, a possessive satisfaction that I try, and fail, to suppress. I want her to want me-only me, not him. Not the monster wearing my face who stole my life and now seeks to steal her, as well. But those aren't the terms she set, and I'm in no position to renegotiate. Not when I've spent years pushing her away, denying what was between us for the sake of propriety, for her protection, for a dozen reasons that seem meaningless now. I step back, stripping my shirt, letting it fall to join hers on the floor. Her gaze tracks the movement, lingering on the places where captivity has left its mark-the protruding ribs, the less defined muscles, the pallor that comes from months without sunlight. "You're thinner," she observes, her eyes filled with a compassion I don't want or deserve. "Still strong enough," I reply, the edge in my voice sharper than intended. I don't want her pity. I don't want her to see me as damaged, weakened by what my brother did to me. I want her to see me as I was before-confident, capable, and in control. Even if I'm not that man anymore. That man was a construct, a carefully crafted Hayes heir built to his father's specifications. This new version of me-more raw, more angry, more honest-is still taking shape, formed in the crucible of captivity and betrayal. She steps closer, her hand reaching up to trace the line of my jaw, the touch so gentle it makes something in my chest ache. "I know you are." The simple affirmation, the acceptance in her gaze-it unravels me in ways that hours of isolation and psychological warfare couldn't. I lean into her touch, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability before the walls come back up. The shower continues to run, filling the small space with warmth and humidity. Without breaking eye contact, I reach down to strip off my jeans she already unbuttoned, pushing them down along with my underwear in one fluid motion. Her gaze drops briefly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Now who's staring?" I ask, the tension breaking slightly as her smile widens. "Appreciating," she counters, using my own words against me. I step into the shower, extending a hand to help her in after me. The hot water is a shock against my skin, washing away days of tension and anxiety. Lilian steps in behind me, closing the glass door, sealing us in our own private world of steam and heat. Except it's not private, not really. Arson remains at his post by the door, his gaze a tangible weight on my skin. I turn to face Lilian, watching as water cascades down her body, plastering her hair to her scalp and trailing in rivulets between her breasts. The sight steals my breath, makes my hands clench at my sides with the effort it takes not to reach for her immediately. The scar along her sternum is a reminder of what we're fighting for. "You're beautiful," I say, the words inadequate but sincere. Her eyes meet mine, vulnerability and desire warring in their depths. "So are you." I close the distance between us, pressing her gently against the cool tile wall. My hands find her waist, her skin slick and warm beneath my palms. Her arms wrap around my neck, drawing me closer until there's no space left between us, just heat and want and the pounding of the shower masking the sound of our accelerated breathing. When I finally kiss her, it's not gentle. It's not careful or controlled or any of the things I've been trained to be. It's desperate and demanding, years of denied desire breaking free all at once. Her response is equally fierce, her fingers tangling in my hair, nails scraping against my scalp in a way that sends shivers down my spine. I press her harder against the wall, one hand sliding down to lift her thigh, opening her to me. She gasps into my mouth, the sound more intoxicating than any alcohol I've ever consumed. "Aries," she breathes, my name a plea on her lips. I trail kisses down her neck, tasting water and the salt of her skin. My hand moves higher on her thigh, fingers tracing patterns that make her shiver despite the heat of the shower. The bathroom door opens wider, Arson's footsteps echoing on the tile as he approaches the shower. I tense, anger flaring at the interruption, but Lilian's hand on my cheek draws my attention back to her. "It's okay," she murmurs, though I'm not sure which of us she's reassuring. The shower door slides open, cooler air rushing in as Arson steps into the space, fully clothed. He's holding something in his hand, a syringe, I realize, as he kneels beside us. "What the hell are you doing?" I demand, instinctively pulling Lilian closer, shielding her with my body. "Ensuring the future," Arson replies cryptically, his gaze meeting Lilian's over my shoulder. "Turn around." To my surprise, she complies, though she keeps one hand firmly on my arm, maintaining contact. I watch, confusion turning to shock as Arson lifts the syringe to the curve of her ass. "I'll die before I let you have his baby," he says, voice flat as he administers the injection with practiced efficiency. The statement lands like a physical blow, implications spinning through my mind too quickly to process. Contraception? Preventive measure? Whatever it is, the casual way he's done it, the presumption behind the action, ignites a primal and violent need within me. "What the fuck did you just give her?" I demand, turning her back to face me, checking her expression for signs of distress. "Relax," Arson says, standing and stepping back from the shower. "It's just a contraceptive. The good kind. The one that lasts." "Okay, but you didn't think to ask her first? To let her decide?" The rage builds, threatening to overwhelm the desire that was consuming me moments ago. "She agreed when she decided to fuck both of us," he says with a casual shrug that makes my hands itch to close around his throat. "No Hayes bastards. No complications. No divided loyalties." Lilian places a hand on my chest, directly over my racing heart. "It's fine," she says, though her expression suggests it's anything but. "I would have agreed if he'd asked. He's right about one thing-a pregnancy would complicate an already impossible situation." The reasonable part of me knows she's right. The primal part, the part that's been caged and cornered and pushed beyond rational thought, wants to tear my brother apart for touching her, for making decisions about her body without consultation, for inserting himself into a moment that should have been just between us. "Don't touch her again without her explicit consent," I warn him, voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Save the commentary. You're here to watch, not participate." Arson's expression shifts, something cold and calculating replacing the casual arrogance. "You think I trust you alone with her? After everything?" "I'm not the one who kidnaps people and locks them in cages," I remind him, my voice sharp as blades. "I'm not the crazy one here." "Aren't you?" he counters, head tilting slightly as he studies me. "Months in captivity, your identity stolen, your life dismantled piece by piece. And you expect me to believe that hasn't changed you? Hasn't pushed you to the edge of sanity?" The accusation hits too close to home, touching on fears I've been trying to ignore since my release. The rage that simmers constantly beneath my skin now, the violent impulses, the cold calculation that was never part of my personality before-it's all evidence that something fundamental has shifted within me. "Stop," Lilian says firmly, drawing both our attention back to her. "I want both of you, not one or the other-both of you-so stop fighting each other. The only person you're hurting is me." She's right, of course. This standoff-this endless circling of old wounds and new grievances-solves nothing. Accomplishes nothing except to push her further away from both of us. I take a deep breath, forcing the anger down, locking it away for later examination. For now, I have more pressing concerns. More immediate desires. "Leave," I tell Arson, not bothering to look at him. "Wait outside. You've fulfilled your obligation to be present." There's a tense moment of silence, and I think he might refuse, might push the confrontation further, but he surprises me when he steps back. The bathroom door closes behind him with a decisive click, leaving us alone in the steam-filled shower, water still cascading over our intertwined bodies. "I'm sorry," I murmur, pressing my forehead against hers. "For all of it. For him. For the situation we're in." "Don't be," she replies, hands sliding up my chest to rest on my shoulders. "I made my choice. Eyes wide open." The trust in her gaze, the certainty in her touch-it undoes me in ways I can't articulate. After everything she's seen, everything she knows about the darkness in my family, in me, she's still here. Still choosing this, choosing us, despite our complicated and broken nature. I capture her mouth with mine again, pouring everything I can't say into the kiss. All the emotion I can't name, the need I can't fully understand, the gratitude for her presence in this hellscape my life has become. Her response is immediate and enthusiastic, her body arching into mine with a desperation that matches my own. My hands slide down her sides, mapping the curves of her body with reverent attention. Memorizing every dip and swell, every spot that makes her breath catch, every touch that draws a moan from her lips. The water continues to fall around us, washing away everything but this moment, this connection. For the first time since my captivity began, I feel fully present in my own skin. Fully alive. I lift her against the shower wall, and she wraps her shapely legs around my waist. At this moment, I know with bone-deep certainty that whatever happens next, whatever revenge my brother has planned, whatever mysteries surround the men who took Lilian-none of it matters as much as this. As her. Her silken pussy glides against my length, and a groan escapes me before I can stop it. She knows exactly what she's doing to me. The coy smile, the teasing movements, the way her eyes darken with lust when she feels how hard I am for her. It's a power play, a reminder that she holds just as much control in this twisted game as I do. Maybe more. I lean in, nipping at her lower lip in gentle reprimand. "Careful, little sister," I murmur against her mouth. "Keep testing me, and I might forget to play nice." Her grin only widens at the warning, a flash of white teeth and wicked intent. "Promise?" A surprised laugh escapes me, genuine amusement mixing with the ever-present desire. This side of her, the bold seductress so at odds with the sweet girl I thought I knew-it's as thrilling as it is unexpected. I slide a hand between our bodies, fingers delving into slick heat, teasing her entrance with maddeningly light touches. She bucks against me, seeking more pressure, more friction, but I maintain the barely there caress until she's panting with need. "Aries, please..." The breathless words emerge desperate, and it's music to my ears. "Please what?" I prompt, circling her clit with the pad of my thumb, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. "Tell me what you want, Lil. I need to hear you say it." Her eyes lock with mine, pupils blown wide with desire, cheeks flushed from more than just the heat of the shower. "I want you inside me. Now." The raw need in her voice, the unvarnished honesty of it, shatters the last of my restraint. I lift her higher, positioning her at my tip, holding her gaze as I slowly lower her onto my length. Her tight, wet heat engulfs me, stealing my breath and short-circuiting rational thought. For a moment, I can only feel-the slick slide of our bodies joining, the clench of her muscles around me, the dig of her nails into my shoulders as she adjusts to the stretch. "Fuck," I groan, burying my face in the crook of her neck, fighting for control. "You feel so goddamn good." She clenches around me in response, a silent urge for more that I'm helpless to deny. I begin to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has her head falling back against the tile, a low moan escaping her parted lips. I watch her face as I thrust into her, cataloging every flicker of delight, every hitch in her breath, and committing it all to memory. This moment, this joining, feels somehow inevitable, like every choice and circumstance in our lives has been leading us here, to this point of no return. There will be no going back from this, no pretending it didn't happen or that it didn't mean everything. I increase my pace, driven by the sounds she's making, the needy little whimpers and breathy sighs urging me on. Her hands roam my back, blunt nails scoring my skin, marking me as hers. As if there could be any doubt of my devotion, my obsession, after this. "Harder," she demands, voice rough with pleasure. "I won't break." A growl rumbles up from my chest as I comply, slamming into her with near-bruising force. The primal part of me, the part that wants to claim and conquer and possess, roars in satisfaction at her surrender. Her back arches off the wall as I drive into her relentlessly, the slap of wet skin on skin echoing obscenely in the small space. My mouth finds her breast, teeth grazing a pebbled nipple before soothing it with my tongue. She cries out sharply, fingers tangling in my hair to hold me in place. "That's it, baby," I encourage, words muffled against her skin. "Let me hear you. Let him hear what he's missing." The reminder of our audience, of Arson no doubt lingering just outside the door, only seems to heighten her arousal. Her inner muscles flutter around me, a telltale sign of her impending climax. I wedge a hand between us, finding her clit and rubbing in firm circles. "Come for me, Lil," I command, holding her gaze, refusing to let her look away. "I want to feel you." Her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave, her body tensing and shuddering in my arms as she clenches like a vise around my cock. I grit my teeth against the urge to follow her over, determined to draw this out, to make her come again on my tongue before I find my own release. As the aftershocks subside, I ease out of her, lowering her gently to her feet. She sways slightly, hands braced on my chest for balance, a sated smile curving her well-kissed lips. "My turn," I murmur, sinking to my knees before her. Her eyes widen as she realizes my intent, breath hitching in anticipation. I lift one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her to my hungry gaze. She's glistening and swollen, the evidence of her arousal and my possession painting her inner thighs. I lean in, inhaling the heady scent of her, letting it fill my lungs and fuel my desire. Then I put my mouth on her, licking a broad stripe up her slit, savoring the taste of her mixed with the faint saltiness of my own essence. She gasps, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick shower walls as I begin to devour her in earnest. I use my lips and tongue to worship her, alternating long, slow licks with targeted flicks against her sensitive clit. Her hips buck against my face, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of everything I'm giving her. I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just so, stroking that spot that makes her see stars. She keens, a high, desperate sound that echoes off the bathroom tiles and sends a fresh surge of blood to my painfully hard cock. "Aries," she pants, my name a benediction on her lips. "Oh God, don't stop..." I double my efforts, sucking her clit between my lips as my fingers pump relentlessly into her dripping core. Her thighs begin to tremble, muscles quivering with the strain of staying upright. I wrap my free arm around her hips, holding her steady as I push her closer to the edge. "Let go, Lil," I urge, words vibrating against her most sensitive flesh. "I've got you. Just let go for me." With a choked cry, she does, her second orgasm ripping through her with stunning force. I groan against her, the spasms of her release triggering my own without even touching myself like a fucking teenager. I pull back just enough to watch her fall apart, committing the sight to memory, branding it into my brain. As the last tremors fade, I press a final, gentle kiss to her center before rising to my feet. She sags against me, boneless and sated, a dreamy smile on her face. I hold her close, supporting her weight as the water continues to cascade over us, washing away the evidence of our coupling. "That was..." She's apparently at a loss for words. "Yeah," I agree, knowing exactly what she means. "It was." We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other, basking in the afterglow. The rest of the world, with all its complications and ugliness, feels far away, held at bay by the steam and the spray and the bubble of intimacy we've created. But reality can only be ignored for so long. A sharp knock on the door shatters the illusion, Arson's voice calling out with impatient annoyance. "If you two are finished, we have things to discuss." I sigh, pressing a kiss to Lilian's forehead before reaching past her to shut off the water. "To be continued," I murmur against her lips, a promise and a plea all in one. She nods, eyes dark with understanding and unspoken emotion. We disentangle slowly, every slide of skin on skin a renewed temptation to ignore the intrusion and lose ourselves in each other again. But the moment has passed, the real world crashing back in with jarring insistence. I step out of the shower first, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist before handing another to Lilian. She takes it with a grateful smile, drying off quickly and efficiently, all traces of the wanton seductress from moments ago hidden beneath a mask of composed detachment. It's a skill I recognize all too well, the ability to compartmentalize, to tuck away inconvenient feelings and desires behind a facade of control. I've spent my entire life perfecting that mask, wearing it like armor against the expectations and machinations of my family. But with Lilian, the mask feels flimsy and transparent. Like she can see right through to the broken, angry, wanting parts of me that I try so hard to hide. It's unsettling and exhilarating in equal measure, the idea that someone might know me so completely, might accept those dark corners without flinching. I shake off the thought, focusing on the task at hand. Namely, dealing with my brother and whatever new complication he's about to introduce into our already tangled web. I dress quickly, not bothering with underwear or socks, just pulling on my jeans and T-shirt with sharp, efficient movements. Lilian does the same, slipping back into her own clothes, damp hair leaving wet patches on the thin fabric. We exit the bathroom together, a united front against whatever waits on the other side of the door. Arson leans against the far wall, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he takes in our flushed faces and general state of disarray. "Well, don't you two look thoroughly...satisfied," he drawls, the insinuation heavy in his tone. I don't rise to the bait, refusing to let him goad me into another display of temper. "What do you want, Arson?" His expression sobers, the mocking amusement fading into something harder, more calculating. "We need to talk about Lilian's mother. She's been calling nonstop and texting your phone. I think Lilian needs to call her so she simmers the fuck down."