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CHAPTER 020: Another Delilah
Last Updated:
2025-04-08 11:43:08
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Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 021: I Don't Want To Play This Game Anymore
“Another Delilah?” I ask. “You know,” she says, shifting uncomfortably. “The infamous Knox, Finn, and Delilah situation.” “The what now?” I ask, brows lifting. Victoria’s eyes are fixed on me. I watch her also, not wanting to miss any telltale sign on her face. She’s surprised. She tries to hide it, of course, quickly repairing her expression. But I catch it. She expected me to know what she's on about. And now I’m stuck trying to decide if I should let her off the hook or press for the story she clearly doesn’t want to tell. The thing is—I think I already know. Or at least I have a sinking, nauseating feeling clawing at my thoughts. But my mind refuses to wrap itself around what she might actually be implying. Knox. Finn. Delilah. There was a history between them, one messy enough to warrant a personal, cautionary visit from Finn’s mother. I’d like to know what the hell happened. Did Knox date her too? My chest tightens at the idea. I don’t want to believe that. Not just
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I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Victoria’s words are still echoing in my ears, heavy and unsettling. ‘You keep Finn for yourself.’ If you’d asked me two weeks ago, hell, even two days ago, if this was what I wanted, I’d jump at the idea. Finn’s own mother is hand-delivering the fantasy I’ve kept buried for years, telling me that Finn feels the same way I feel about him. But I’m not feeling thrilled. Not even close. I’m mad. It’s the kind of anger that burns beneath the skin, smoldering through every layer. I don’t even know why. Maybe because the offer feels transactional. Maybe because I’m tired of being everyone’s tool—Finn’s and now Victoria’s. Victoria is still watching me. Expectant. Calm. "I believe I’ve rendered you speechless," she says. "If this means you’re considering my offer, then by all means, be speechless." "You want me to make sure the wedding happens?" "The wedding’s already happening. I just need you to distract Finn from doing anything stupid." Th
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*** ~~KNOX~~ *** It’s approximately twenty minutes before Hunter and Delilah’s rehearsal dinner. I’m in their hotel suite watching Delilah complain about her outfit to Hunter. “I look like a balloon in this dress,” she says, blinking so many times that you’d think actual tears would be falling by now. “Honey, you look as glamorous as ever. Absolutely breathtaking.” “You’re only saying that to make me happy. You know it’s not the truth.” This is me wondering why I ever agreed to drive them to the venue. Hunter and I had both shipped our cars here from New York last week—air-freighted. But Hunter, in all his matrimonial perfectionism, insists his car has to remain untouched until tomorrow. "Ceremonial reasons," he said. Whatever that means. So I’m the designated chauffeur. Which means I have to sit here, on this goddamn couch, watching Delilah glide out from behind the sliding bedroom door, then listen to her complain about her dress like I wouldn’t rather be driving my skull in
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I don’t smile. I can’t even bring myself to. Nothing would have pleased me more than to have Delilah this cornered. But when I think about the implications of Hunter’s statement, my lunch suddenly doesn’t sit right in my stomach. I never told him. How’s it possible that I never did? I walk across the hotel lobby without a word. Hunter says something behind me, but I keep going. I don’t want to see him or Delilah right now, though I can feel her gaze burning through my shoulder blades. She’s probably wondering when I plan to attack. This is not about you, Delilah. Chill. Once we’re outside, I cross to where my car is parked at the curb, open the driver’s door, slip into the seat, and turn just enough to toss a sharp look over my shoulder. “Let’s go, lovebirds,” I say, voice flat. They shuffle in, the two of them sliding into the backseat. As Hunter fusses with his coat, Delilah’s eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror. There’s a pleading expression there. I look away. Engine
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*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** I’m trying so hard not to steal glances at Knox from across the room. At first, everything was a blur—Myopia doing what she does best. I eventually caved and put my glasses back on. Squinting wasn’t doing me any favors, and I need a clear view of my target. Knox is the only person not dressed like he’s about to attend a Gatsby-themed funeral. No tux. No tie. Just his signature black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, paired with black pants that somehow make him the sexiest man in the room. He’s lounging in his chair, and his fingers are idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard. The movement makes me remember how the strands felt on a very sensitive place, one that’s currently tingling in anticipation of him turning on the device between my legs. "She doesn’t look happy," Finn says beside me. I blink, forcing my eyes away from Knox. "What?" "Delilah. She doesn’t look happy. Which can only mean she doesn’t want to get married, and
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My mind is numb. Everything around me is still spinning from what just happened. From the kiss. From the nerve. From the audacity. I don’t know how long Finn’s lips stayed on mine, or if they were even moving against mine, but the moment he let go of my coat, I knew it was over. Whatever moment he thought we were having—it had expired. He’s smiling. "You have very soft lips," he says. "What's that flavor? Strawberry?" My heart races with fury. I’m about to rain hellfire on him when someone clears their throat into the mic. The emcee. Standing with a grin that’s far too amused. All eyes are on us. Victoria Hartley, smiling like she’s just seen her fantasy come to life. Knox—expression unreadable. Hunter’s eyes are wide. And Delilah… frowning. “Looks like we’ve got a wedding rehearsal and a love story unfolding at the same time,” the emcee says, beaming. Laughter ripples through the crowd. Finn chuckles too. “I think that’s a sign of great things to come tomorrow,” the e
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I force myself to walk in a straight line. Back tall. Shoulders squared. Like I’m not being held hostage by a vibrator currently pulsing in-between my legs. It's only after reaching the foot of the stairs that I realize how stupid I’m being. There's literally an elevator leading to the top floor. I stare at it for a second, then turn, walk to it, and press the button. The doors slide open, and I can't say how grateful I am that no one’s inside. Once I’m in the elevator, I suck in air through my nose and hold it while the numbers climb. Each ding vibrates against my spine. I adjust the collar of my coat and try not to squirm, but the heat crawling between my thighs makes that a losing battle. The doors open. I don’t wait—I dart out, make a sharp right, and head toward the rooftop access. I come face-to-face with a bouncer standing by the heavy glass door, arms crossed, face set as stone. Now I feel self-conscious. Could he hear it? He squints at me. “This area is private, ma
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My body obeys before my mind can catch up. I part my lips, tongue darting out to taste the tip of his dick. Salty. Warm. Metallic from the piercing. My fingers curl around his shaft, and when I close my lips around him, his hips jolt forward. "Fuck," he hisses, hand gripping my hair tighter. I take him deeper, inch by inch, until I gag slightly—and he groans again, a low sound that makes my thighs clench. I pull back, saliva trailing down my chin, and do it again. This time slower. My hand works what I can't take, twisting slightly. "Just like that, Kitten. Just like that." He pulses in my mouth, and when I look up at him through my lashes, his eyes have gone dark. His fingers are tangled so deeply in my hair that I can feel the sting on my scalp—and then he starts to move. His hips thrust forward, driving himself deeper. My throat stretches, gags, spasms. “Take it,” he says, the words punched out through clenched teeth. “Take what you came for.” I moan around him, the sound
Last Updated : 2025-04-14
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These feelings Finn has are obviously not the casual kind. Not the she’s-my-best-friend kind. No. It’s deeper. It’s in the way his voice cracks when he says her name. The way his hands won’t stay still. The way his panic takes on an edge that looks a hell of a lot like heartbreak. And maybe he hasn’t figured it out yet. Maybe he’s too fixated on Delilah to see what’s been right next to him all along. But I see it. I see it, and it’s pissing me the fuck off. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and taste copper. It’s a habit I picked up in combat—quiet pain over loud reaction. Keeps the thoughts steady. Sharp. Contained. But nothing about this scene in front of me feels contained. Finn’s pacing. Mom’s posturing. I step closer before I can talk myself out of it, and they both look up. Mom smooths her expression into a smile. Finn wipes his eyes. “Knox,” Mom says. “I thought you left.” “I didn’t. It’s my friend’s wedding rehearsal.” “Right. I keep forgetting you're the best man.
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*** ~~KNOX~~ *** I have spent years building a habit of not getting involved in people’s business. Especially Finn’s. Especially anything remotely connected to the circus that is Finn and Delilah. It's not that I don’t care—I just learned the hard way that sticking your nose into other people’s messes has a way of turning you into the villain, even when you were trying to mop up their blood. So I stopped trying. Stopped caring. Let people make their own choices and eat the consequences. It’s cleaner that way. Simpler. But the truth is, Hunter’s going to find out eventually—about Delilah, about me, about all of it. And it’s better if the truth comes from me than from someone with an agenda or an axe to grind. I’m not exactly known for being friendly. I’m not the kind of guy Hunter usually surrounds himself with—he’s the suit, the smile, the shining damn example of a man people want to follow. But somehow, despite all our differences, we’ve managed to build something that goes bey
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My orgasm rips through me like a storm. I shatter around him, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream. My body trembles. Clenches. Milks him as I ride every last pulse of pleasure out of myself. But he’s not done. He wraps one strong arm around my waist and flips me with almost no effort, laying me back on the chair and spreading my legs. My panties are shoved to the side, the toy still buzzing against me, the mess between my thighs shameless and dripping. Then he’s inside me again. All of him. Deep and brutal. The stretch is dizzying. He pins my legs up, bending me in half, and drives into me like he’s trying to ruin my soul. “Fuck, Sloane,” he grits out. “You feel like heaven. So tight. So goddamn wet.” His hips piston into me, again and again, each thrust dragging a raw moan from my throat. I’m still sensitive from the orgasm, the vibrator still humming against my clit, and it’s all too much. Too good. Too deep. His hand moves to my throat, gripping. I gasp, eyes
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 028: All Of You
My body obeys before my mind can catch up. I part my lips, tongue darting out to taste the tip of his dick. Salty. Warm. Metallic from the piercing. My fingers curl around his shaft, and when I close my lips around him, his hips jolt forward. "Fuck," he hisses, hand gripping my hair tighter. I take him deeper, inch by inch, until I gag slightly—and he groans again, a low sound that makes my thighs clench. I pull back, saliva trailing down my chin, and do it again. This time slower. My hand works what I can't take, twisting slightly. "Just like that, Kitten. Just like that." He pulses in my mouth, and when I look up at him through my lashes, his eyes have gone dark. His fingers are tangled so deeply in my hair that I can feel the sting on my scalp—and then he starts to move. His hips thrust forward, driving himself deeper. My throat stretches, gags, spasms. “Take it,” he says, the words punched out through clenched teeth. “Take what you came for.” I moan around him, the sound
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 027: This Was A Mistake
I force myself to walk in a straight line. Back tall. Shoulders squared. Like I’m not being held hostage by a vibrator currently pulsing in-between my legs. It's only after reaching the foot of the stairs that I realize how stupid I’m being. There's literally an elevator leading to the top floor. I stare at it for a second, then turn, walk to it, and press the button. The doors slide open, and I can't say how grateful I am that no one’s inside. Once I’m in the elevator, I suck in air through my nose and hold it while the numbers climb. Each ding vibrates against my spine. I adjust the collar of my coat and try not to squirm, but the heat crawling between my thighs makes that a losing battle. The doors open. I don’t wait—I dart out, make a sharp right, and head toward the rooftop access. I come face-to-face with a bouncer standing by the heavy glass door, arms crossed, face set as stone. Now I feel self-conscious. Could he hear it? He squints at me. “This area is private, ma
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 026: Come Get Me
My mind is numb. Everything around me is still spinning from what just happened. From the kiss. From the nerve. From the audacity. I don’t know how long Finn’s lips stayed on mine, or if they were even moving against mine, but the moment he let go of my coat, I knew it was over. Whatever moment he thought we were having—it had expired. He’s smiling. "You have very soft lips," he says. "What's that flavor? Strawberry?" My heart races with fury. I’m about to rain hellfire on him when someone clears their throat into the mic. The emcee. Standing with a grin that’s far too amused. All eyes are on us. Victoria Hartley, smiling like she’s just seen her fantasy come to life. Knox—expression unreadable. Hunter’s eyes are wide. And Delilah… frowning. “Looks like we’ve got a wedding rehearsal and a love story unfolding at the same time,” the emcee says, beaming. Laughter ripples through the crowd. Finn chuckles too. “I think that’s a sign of great things to come tomorrow,” the e
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 025: Just Breathe, Sloane
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** I’m trying so hard not to steal glances at Knox from across the room. At first, everything was a blur—Myopia doing what she does best. I eventually caved and put my glasses back on. Squinting wasn’t doing me any favors, and I need a clear view of my target. Knox is the only person not dressed like he’s about to attend a Gatsby-themed funeral. No tux. No tie. Just his signature black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, paired with black pants that somehow make him the sexiest man in the room. He’s lounging in his chair, and his fingers are idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard. The movement makes me remember how the strands felt on a very sensitive place, one that’s currently tingling in anticipation of him turning on the device between my legs. "She doesn’t look happy," Finn says beside me. I blink, forcing my eyes away from Knox. "What?" "Delilah. She doesn’t look happy. Which can only mean she doesn’t want to get married, and
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I don’t smile. I can’t even bring myself to. Nothing would have pleased me more than to have Delilah this cornered. But when I think about the implications of Hunter’s statement, my lunch suddenly doesn’t sit right in my stomach. I never told him. How’s it possible that I never did? I walk across the hotel lobby without a word. Hunter says something behind me, but I keep going. I don’t want to see him or Delilah right now, though I can feel her gaze burning through my shoulder blades. She’s probably wondering when I plan to attack. This is not about you, Delilah. Chill. Once we’re outside, I cross to where my car is parked at the curb, open the driver’s door, slip into the seat, and turn just enough to toss a sharp look over my shoulder. “Let’s go, lovebirds,” I say, voice flat. They shuffle in, the two of them sliding into the backseat. As Hunter fusses with his coat, Delilah’s eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror. There’s a pleading expression there. I look away. Engine
Craving The Wrong Brother CHAPTER 023: I Believe In Rules
*** ~~KNOX~~ *** It’s approximately twenty minutes before Hunter and Delilah’s rehearsal dinner. I’m in their hotel suite watching Delilah complain about her outfit to Hunter. “I look like a balloon in this dress,” she says, blinking so many times that you’d think actual tears would be falling by now. “Honey, you look as glamorous as ever. Absolutely breathtaking.” “You’re only saying that to make me happy. You know it’s not the truth.” This is me wondering why I ever agreed to drive them to the venue. Hunter and I had both shipped our cars here from New York last week—air-freighted. But Hunter, in all his matrimonial perfectionism, insists his car has to remain untouched until tomorrow. "Ceremonial reasons," he said. Whatever that means. So I’m the designated chauffeur. Which means I have to sit here, on this goddamn couch, watching Delilah glide out from behind the sliding bedroom door, then listen to her complain about her dress like I wouldn’t rather be driving my skull in
