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CHAPTER 046: My Bunny

last update Last Updated: 2025-04-28 11:41:42

I pull into a discreet driveway tucked between two abandoned buildings and kill the engine.

Inside, I nod once at the receptionist—part security, part front-desk illusion—and head for the private elevator at the back.

Swipe my black access card across the scanner.

The elevator hums to life and carries me down.

The second the doors slide open, the air changes.

Denser. Warmer.

The basement is packed, even in the middle of a weekday.

People lean against dark wood-paneled walls, sipping drinks that cost more than most people’s rent.

Some wear masks. Others don’t bother.

Laughter spills from private rooms—throaty, dark laughter punctuated by the occasional sharp slap of skin against skin.

There’s a constant low thrum of music, more vibration than sound, designed to stir the blood without distracting from the real show.

I move through it without blinking.

A man is on his knees in a glass room to the right, hands cuffed behind his back, while a woman in leather heels circles him
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  • Craving The Wrong Brother   CHAPTER 046: My Bunny

    I pull into a discreet driveway tucked between two abandoned buildings and kill the engine. Inside, I nod once at the receptionist—part security, part front-desk illusion—and head for the private elevator at the back. Swipe my black access card across the scanner. The elevator hums to life and carries me down. The second the doors slide open, the air changes. Denser. Warmer. The basement is packed, even in the middle of a weekday. People lean against dark wood-paneled walls, sipping drinks that cost more than most people’s rent. Some wear masks. Others don’t bother. Laughter spills from private rooms—throaty, dark laughter punctuated by the occasional sharp slap of skin against skin. There’s a constant low thrum of music, more vibration than sound, designed to stir the blood without distracting from the real show. I move through it without blinking. A man is on his knees in a glass room to the right, hands cuffed behind his back, while a woman in leather heels circles him

  • Craving The Wrong Brother   CHAPTER 045: The Real Business

    I stare at Knox, impatiently awaiting an answer. My heart thuds too fast for how casual I’m trying to look. He keeps his gaze ahead, fingers flexing once against the steering wheel before settling again. “Because I’m certified to carry it,” he says. I frown, not satisfied. “Okay. But why do you have it in your car?” “Where else should it be?” “Hidden at home? You know. Somewhere people can’t just… see it?” He finally turns his head to look at me, that unreadable expression back in place. The one that makes me feel like he’s dissecting me, deciding whether I’m someone who deserves answers or just another person he’ll keep at arm’s length. “You stole my keys to get into my glove box,” he says. “You think I let people sit in my car by themselves?” I feel my cheeks heat, guilt pooling low in my gut. Touché, Knox. I turn my head away, facing the window. Fine. I might have crossed a line. But he’s still the one walking around with a weapon like we’re in an action movie. A part

  • Craving The Wrong Brother   CHAPTER 044: Military Bugs

    ***~~SLOANE~~***I run out of the bathroom with a towel clinging to my skin, heart hammering as I check the time on my phone. Shit.I’ve been away from the office way too long.Way, way too long.Sooner or later, Harper—the supervisor who pretends she’s chill but tracks every second of your workday like a bloodhound—will start pinging me about the CypherGuard project.And I don’t have the energy for Harper right now. Or for that endless spreadsheet mapping out endpoint vulnerabilities we’re supposed to isolate before end-of-quarter audits. We’re only halfway through code-flagging, and I’ve already missed two checkpoints. If I’m not careful, they’ll reassign it. And I’ve worked too damn hard to get trusted with something this sensitive.I fumble into my room, drying off as I go, heart still racing from more than just time stress.I know my problem. It's that tattooed man currently inside my house.Everything reminds me of him these past few days, reminds me of the feeling of having h

  • Craving The Wrong Brother   CHAPTER 043: My Good Girl

    She rises. I smile as I reach for the back of her neck and pull her toward me. The second our mouths meet, it’s a fucking detonation. My lips move over hers with slow intent, and then I’m consuming her—biting, tasting, owning. Her mouth parts, and the groan that slips from her throat rattles straight through me. I kiss her deeper, harder, until there’s no air between us, no space for doubt or fear. Just this heat, this ache, this unrelenting pull. She tries to raise her arms—twice. I feel the twitch in her shoulders, the lift of her elbows. But each time, the metal of the cuffs catches her wrists, holding her back. And fuck, the sound she makes—a whimper dipped in frustration and need—makes my cock twitch. She’s so eager. So ready. So mine. When I finally pull away, we’re both breathing like we’ve sprinted into each other at full force. Her lips are red, kiss-bruised, and her eyes—those eyes—look up at me lustfully. “I want to touch you,” she whispers, breathless. And I almost

  • Craving The Wrong Brother   CHAPTER 042: On The Other Side Of The Door

    AUTHOR’S NOTE: A Warning Before We Continue. The last two chapters mark the beginning of a shift. As stated in the synopsis, these characters are morally complex—and we’re about to start peeling back the layers. Things are about to get messy. Unhinged. Darker than before. Every character is stepping into their truest form, from which they can either grow better or worse. Choices will be made. Lines will be crossed. And not everyone will come out clean. If you’re here for the ride, buckle up. You’ve been warned. — E. S. *** ~~KNOX~~ *** Years of patrolling enemy lines in the kind of places where men disappear without a trace taught me how to listen. Really listen. To the crack of a branch that means you’re not alone. I can tell the make of a gun just from the way someone cocks it in the dark. I can count how many people are in a room by the rhythm of their breath. And the faint scuff I just heard inside Sloane’s closet? That was a leather-heeled dress shoe. Office-worn. Mal

  • Craving The Wrong Brother   CHAPTER 041: Hands In The Air

    Her voice scrapes something sharp in me. Of course she’s thrilled. Sloane and Serena couldn’t be more different. Although they're both opinionated, Sloane thinks before she speaks. She's often secretive about her deepest feelings; this I know all too well. But Serena says whatever the hell crosses her mind. No filter. No hesitation. It’s like she’s allergic to silence. Every thought becomes a soundbite. It’s no wonder we’ve never gotten along. Especially back when they lived together. That apartment was a minefield. Sloane would be in the kitchen quietly stirring tea, trying to decompress from a long day, and Serena would burst in like a storm, unloading whatever drama she’d dragged home. I remember those nights all too well. Me sitting on the couch. Serena ranting from across the room. Sloane giving me that silent look—equal parts exhausted and apologetic—like she wished she could disappear. I never told her this, but sometimes I wished we both could. “Look,” I say, lowering my

  • Craving The Wrong Brother   CHAPTER 040: Hidden Cameras

    *** ~~FINN~~ *** Delilah is panting and bouncing on top of me, her manicured hands braced on my chest. She throws her head back like she’s in the middle of some kind of religious experience, but all I feel is the weight of her—skin against skin, motion without meaning. My mind is elsewhere. I’m not even in the room. I’m in Asheville. Still in that damn house. Still stuck in the moment Sloane slammed the car door and refused to look back at me. I try to focus—on Delilah’s hands on my chest, on the way she gasps my name—but every time I close my eyes, I see Sloane. Her expression blank, her silence louder than any goodbye she could’ve given me. She’s not answering my texts. Not my calls. It’s been over forty-eight hours, and all I’ve gotten is radio silence. My father had practically chased me out of his house, red-faced and yelling, threatening to set everything on fire if Delilah didn’t leave immediately. I hadn’t even argued. I packed up in a hurry and caught the first flig

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