Beautiful Sin - Chapter 10
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Stepbrother Reverse Harem Romance
Haru
“Aiden jerked me off last night.”
The words escaped in a whisper, like saying them any louder might summon him to my room like some inappropriately hot demon. My heart was doing its best impression of a drum solo performed by a caffeinated octopus.
His hands had been so warm, so sure, so... No. Stop that train of thought right now. Back up the mental locomotive and send it in a different direction.
“Shit!” I buried my face in my pillow, which didn’t help because my treacherous brain just kept replaying everything in HD with surround sound and possibly some special effects: Aiden’s breath against my neck, warm and minty; his chest pressed against my back, solid and safe; his hand wrapped around my—
Nope. Not going there. That’s restricted territory. No entry without a hazmat suit and signed permission slip.
I sat up straight, glaring accusingly at my lower half beneath the duvet. Don’t you dare get excited again. But of course, my body had about as much self-control as Isaac at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Or Noah when someone touched his protein powder. Or Mason when—okay, maybe all my brothers had self-control issues. Family trait.
What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to face him at breakfast? ‘Hey, thanks for the handjob, pass the cereal’? ‘Could you butter my toast like you buttered my—’ No. Bad Haru.
I needed a drink. A cold one. Preferably served with a side of amnesia and maybe a one-way ticket to Antarctica where I could live among the penguins who wouldn’t judge my life choices.
Right. New plan: Get out of bed. Get water. Pretend last night never happened. Simple. I could do this. I was practically a master of denial—I’d been hiding my crush on Aiden for years, after all. This was just... advanced denial. Denial: The Pro Edition.
I flung off the duvet like it was contaminated with my shame and headed for the door. The hallway would be empty this early, and I could sneak to the kitchen without any awkward—
Oh god.
There he was. Aiden. Standing in the hallway like some Greek god who’d decided to go jogging instead of, you know, smiting mortals or whatever Greek gods do. Sweat made his shirt cling to places I definitely wasn’t looking at, and his hair was messed up in that infuriatingly perfect way that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. Or a very specific kind of video that I definitely did not watch when everyone was asleep.
Our eyes met, and I suddenly became hyper-aware that I was wearing his old shirt—the one I’d stolen from the laundry months ago because it smelled like him. The collar hung loose, exposing one shoulder, and the hem hit mid-thigh because of our height difference. Of all the mornings to run into him wearing this... I might as well have tattooed “I’M OBSESSED WITH YOU” across my forehead.
I watched in horror as his eyes tracked down from my face to that exposed shoulder, then lower, and… My face cycled through what felt like every shade of red in existence. Tomatoes were filing a copyright infringement lawsuit as we spoke.
My brain short-circuited like someone had poured coffee on the motherboard. I did the only logical thing: slammed the door and dove back under my covers like a five-year-old hiding from monsters. Or in this case, hiding from my incredibly gorgeous stepbrother who had given me the most earth-shattering orgasm of my life less than twelve hours ago.
Smooth, Haru. Real smooth. Very mature. Nobel Prize for Emotional Maturity coming your way any minute now.
I huddled under my duvet fortress of solitude, cursing my complete lack of cool. Great job. Very adult. Because hiding in your room forever is totally a solution. Maybe you could have a pizza delivery guy slip food under the door for the next decade or so.
A knock at the door some half an hour later nearly made me jump out of my skin. I froze, holding my breath like the door might burst open and release a flood of embarrassment that would drown me.
“Haru?”
I exhaled in relief at Reo’s voice. Not Aiden. Thank every deity in existence, from Zeus to whatever god oversaw awkward sexual encounters between stepbrothers. Probably some minor deity with a sick sense of humor.
“Come in,” I managed, trying to look like I wasn’t just having an existential crisis that would make Nietzsche proud.
Reo leaned against the doorframe, wearing that irritating smirk that said he knew exactly what was going on. The one that made me want to throw something at his face, preferably something heavy and painful. “Time to get up, Shrine Maiden. Or are you planning to achieve enlightenment under that duvet? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not how Buddhism works.”
“I’m not a Shrine Maiden! And if I was, I’d curse you first. Turn all your fancy coffee beans into dirt.” I emerged from my blanket cocoon, trying to look dignified. Difficult when your hair probably resembled a bird’s nest after a hurricane and your dignity had left the building sometime around when Aiden’s hand had wrapped around your—No. Stop that.
“But you’re so pure and innocent,” he drawled, his eyes dancing with unholy amusement. “Like fresh snow. Untouched. Pristine—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll show you how ‘pure’ my right hook is,” I threatened, though we both knew I couldn’t take Reo in a fight. The man was built like a brick wall with better fashion sense.
“Hurry up and get ready,” he continued, unfazed by my empty threat. “You’re going shopping with me today.”
My stomach did a nervous flip that would impress Olympic gymnasts. “For the party?”
He nodded, and I just had to ask: “Is anyone else coming?”
Please don’t say Aiden. Please don’t say Aiden. Please don’t—
“Everyone’s busy,” Reo shrugged those annoyingly broad shoulders. “Mason has a study group, Noah’s doing whatever Noah does when he’s not terrorizing spreadsheets, and Isaac is... well, being Isaac. You’re the only one free. You are free, right?”
Well, unless you counted hiding from my stepbrother and questioning all my life choices as plans... “Yeah, I’m free.” Free as a bird with anxiety issues.
“Good boy.” The way he said it made me suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. Reo had this irritating habit of orchestrating situations like some kind of relationship puppet master. If life were a chess game, he’d be fifteen moves ahead while the rest of us were still trying to remember how the horsey piece moved.
After he left, I dragged myself out of bed, gathering clothes like I was preparing for battle. Operation: Avoid Aiden was officially underway. I’d need camouflage, stealth, and possibly an invisibility cloak.
I performed a tactical sweep of the hallway before making my ninja dash to the bathroom. Mission successful. Target avoided. Agent Disaster is proceeding to Phase Two.
The hot shower helped clear my head, even if every brush of my own hands made me think of... No. We’re not going there. That’s off-limits territory. Restricted access. I focused on washing my hair with militant determination. Think about anything else. The weather. School. That time Isaac tried to microwave a spoon and nearly burned down the apartment. The way Noah had lectured him for two hours straight while Mason quietly photographed the melted microwave for posterity.
When I finally emerged into the kitchen, most of my brothers had cleared out, thank God. Only Reo remained, doing dishes with his usual efficiency. He moved around the kitchen like he owned it, which, technically, he partially did. We all did. Family trust and all that. Though sometimes I wondered if Reo secretly considered himself the only adult in a house full of children—not an entirely inaccurate assessment, to be fair.
“Where’s everyone?” I asked casually, trying to sound like I was just making conversation and not conducting reconnaissance. Translation: Where’s Aiden? Is the coast clear? Can I breathe without hyperventilating?
“Out,” Reo replied, and I could hear the amusement in his voice. He always did enjoy watching us all squirm. Sadist.
I attacked the leftover breakfast with more focus than scrambled eggs probably deserved, stabbing them like they’d personally offended me. The food was barely warm, but I’d rather eat cold eggs than face Aiden’s... everything. His smile. His eyes. His hands that knew exactly how to—Nope. Food. Focus on food.
“Done?” Reo asked as I helped put away the last plate, trying to be helpful enough that maybe he’d forget about dragging me shopping. Maybe if I cleaned the entire kitchen, reorganized the pantry, and possibly remodeled the bathroom, he’d let me off the hook.
No such luck.
“Let’s go,” he announced, and I followed him down to the entrance like a man walking to his execution. I briefly considered making a break for it—just sprinting down the street in a dramatic bid for freedom. But knowing Reo, he’d catch me before I made it half a block, throw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and carry me to the car while explaining in excruciating detail why running away from your problems is immature.
And there it was. The universe’s cosmic joke in the form of Aiden’s car, pulling up smooth as silk, with its stupidly handsome driver looking like he’d just stepped out of a commercial for How to Drive Your Stepbrother Crazy: The Cologne. His hair was damp from a shower, his jaw freshly shaved, and he was wearing that blue button-down that made his eyes look even more impossibly green. Because of course he was.
“Get in,” Reo said, giving me a nudge that felt more like a shove toward destiny.
What happened to ‘everyone’s busy’? This is betrayal. This is mutiny. This is a conspiracy that would make the CIA proud.
“Get in, Haru.” Aiden’s voice sent shivers down my spine. He said it so normally, like he hadn’t had his hand down my pants less than twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t whispered in my ear while I came apart in his arms. Like everything was perfectly normal and not at all the most awkward situation in the history of awkward situations.
My body moved on autopilot, sliding into the back seat like a coward. Strategic positioning, I told myself. Can’t make accidental eye contact if you’re behind him. Can’t accidentally touch him if there’s a physical barrier between us. Can’t accidentally confess your undying love if you’re busy hyperventilating in the back seat.
The car ride was torture. Every bump in the road made me bounce in my seat, hyper-aware of Aiden behind the wheel. I tried to focus on anything else—the trees, other cars, the meaning of life, whether penguins have knees—but Reo seemed determined to make this as awkward as possible. He was like a sadistic game show host, except instead of prizes, he was handing out emotional trauma.
“Beautiful day,” Reo commented, glancing at the cloudy sky from the passenger seat like we were in a convertible in Malibu instead of a sedan in New York under what looked like impending rain. “Everyone sleep well last night? I heard some... interesting noises. Almost like someone was having trouble sleeping. Or maybe they were just... handling some tension?”
I choked on air, possibly my own soul trying to escape my body. In the rearview mirror, I saw Aiden’s ears turn pink. Even the tips of his ears were unfairly attractive. It should be illegal to have attractive ear tips. I’d write to my congressman about it.
“The traffic’s bad today,” Aiden cut in quickly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“Oh yes, lots of... coming and going,” Reo smirked, emphasizing the words in a way that made me want to open the door and roll out onto the highway. “Perfect weather for... releasing tension.”
We hit a pothole, and I nearly jumped out of my skin, a small squeak escaping me. “Sorry,” Aiden murmured, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror for a split second. I suddenly became fascinated with the seat belt fabric. Such interesting weave patterns. I could write a dissertation on this seat belt. “Seat Belts: The Unsung Heroes of Awkward Car Rides.”
“The roads are terrible lately,” Reo mused, stroking his chin like some cartoon villain. “So many... hard situations to navigate. Kind of like family dynamics, wouldn’t you say?” He paused thoughtfully. “Speaking of family, remember when Haru used to crawl into Aiden’s bed during thunderstorms?”
“I was nine!” I protested, my voice embarrassingly squeaky, like I’d inhaled helium. “And there was that one time lightning hit the tree outside my window! It was a completely rational fear!”
“Of course, some fears require a more... hands-on approach now,” Reo added with faux innocence, examining his nails like he hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb of innuendo. “Right, Aiden?”
The car swerved slightly, nearly clipping a mailbox. Great. Now we were going to die in a car crash because Reo couldn’t keep his mouth shut. What a fitting end to my humiliation saga.
“Careful with those hands on the wheel, big brother,” Reo smirked, because apparently he hadn’t pushed enough buttons yet. “Though they seem pretty steady when it counts. Some things are better handled in private, wouldn’t you agree, Haru?”
I slid down in my seat, wishing the leather would swallow me whole. Maybe I could just melt into a puddle of embarrassment and evaporate. Become one with the car upholstery. Start a new life as a seat cushion. It had to be better than this.
“Reo,” Aiden warned, his voice dangerously low, a tone I’d only heard him use when Noah had accidentally broken Mom’s favorite vase playing indoor baseball.
“What? Just making conversation,” Reo said, the picture of innocence if innocence had a PhD in psychological torture. “It’s a long drive. Might as well entertain ourselves.”
I watched Aiden’s jaw clench in the mirror, the muscle ticking along his cheekbone. The temperature in the car seemed to rise about ten degrees. Either the heater was broken or my face was generating enough heat to warm a small village.
“Oh look,” Reo said brightly as we hit another bump, sending me bouncing in my seat, “more vibrations.”
“For god’s sake, Reo,” Aiden growled, but there was a hint of panic in his voice that made me wonder if he was as affected by all this as I was.
I sat there stiff as a board, trying not to breathe too loudly or exist too noticeably, silently plotting Reo’s demise. Maybe I could convince Isaac to put anchovies in his protein shake. Or better yet, replace all his hair products with pink hair dye. Or swap his precious coffee beans for decaf. That would teach him.
Just kill me now, I thought. Or better yet, kill Reo. Slowly. With his own fancy coffee grinder.
“Almost there,” Reo announced cheerfully, like we were on a fun family trip and not a mobile torture chamber. “Unless you two need a moment to... work something out?”
I shot him my best death glare, which only made his grin wider. The supermarket loomed ahead like the gates of hell, and I tried to ignore how Aiden’s fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel. Just grocery shopping, I reminded myself. How bad could it be?
The universe, as always, was about to show me exactly how bad.
The supermarket loomed before us like some kind of relationship battlefield, with produce as landmines and other shoppers as unwitting spectators to our drama. Reo, the traitor, immediately sentenced me to cart duty.
“You push,” he said, handing me the cart like he was bestowing a great honor instead of a prison sentence. “I’ll direct. Aiden will fetch.”
Perfect. Now I’m basically chained to this thing while Aiden picks out vegetables and looks unfairly attractive doing it. “Oh, look at me, I’m Aiden Davis and I can make selecting a bell pepper look like a Calvin Klein photoshoot.”
I tried to maintain a safe distance, pushing the cart like it was a protective barrier between us, a metal shield against inappropriate feelings. But Aiden, being Aiden, had other ideas. He caught up to me in the produce section, and suddenly his hand was on mine on the cart handle, his chest practically pressed against my arm, his cologne wrapping around me like an invisible embrace.
Breathing. Breathing is important. Remember how to do that, Haru. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don’t hyperventilate in the middle of the produce section. People will stare.
“We’ll need some ingredients for burgers,” he said, his breath warm against my hair, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the refrigerated section we were standing in.
I licked my lips nervously, then wanted to kick myself for such an obvious tell. I might as well have a neon sign above my head flashing “NERVOUS WRECK.” “Are we having burgers for the party?” Small talk. Normal. Totally normal. Just two stepbrothers discussing meat products. Nothing to see here.
He smiled down at me, and my heart did that stupid flutter thing it always does, like it was trying to escape my chest and throw itself at his feet. “Mm-hmm. Burgers. Meat skewers. All the good stuff.”
“You’re going all out, aren’t you?” Stop noticing how good he smells. Stop noticing how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. Stop noticing everything about him that makes you want to climb him like a tree.
“Since we don’t do a lot of parties. And this one is important for Noah. We missed out on doing one for your birthday, too.”
“I don’t want one, anyway. I’m too old for that.” I’m definitely old enough for other things though— No. Bad brain. Back in your cage.
He ruffled my hair, his fingers lingering just a fraction too long, and I nearly combusted on the spot. If spontaneous human combustion was real, I’d be a pile of ash in aisle three. “You’re never too old for a birthday party.”
Then he was off selecting vegetables, moving through the produce section with the confidence of someone who actually knew what kale was for, and I was left to watch him like some kind of lovesick stalker. Every woman in the produce section seemed to be having the same problem. They all did double-takes as he passed, eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and perfect jawline, and I felt that familiar jealous knot in my stomach, hot and tight.
Great. I’m jealous of random women in a supermarket. I’ve officially hit rock bottom. Next stop: jealousy toward mannequins wearing his brand of cologne.
I tried to escape with the cart, aiming for the cereal aisle where there were fewer opportunities for accidental touching, but of course, he noticed. Eagle-eyed Aiden, always aware of where I was. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” I stammered, caught like a deer in very attractive headlights. “Just... exploring the wonderful world of grocery store layout design. Did you know they put the most expensive items at eye level? Fascinating stuff.”
Next thing I knew, his arm was around me, trapping me between his body and the cart, his chest warm against my back. “Let’s get some chips.”
This is cruel and unusual punishment. This has to violate some Geneva Convention about torturing your stepbrother. Article 5: No unfairly attractive stepbrothers shall trap their younger siblings against shopping carts while smelling like heaven and looking like sin.
Reo finally materialized like some kind of relationship-drama-sensing demon, arms loaded with snacks that probably contained enough sodium to preserve a small whale. One look at my probably tomato-red face, and his lips twitched with poorly hidden amusement.
“I’ll wait outside,” I blurted, ducking under Aiden’s arm like it was on fire. Which, honestly, my skin felt like it was. Third-degree burns from just being near him. I should sue.
The parking lot wasn’t exactly a safe haven, but at least there weren’t any produce-related excuses for Aiden to touch me here. I perched on the hood of his car, probably looking like a sulking teenager. Which I’m not. I’m a mature adult having a completely reasonable crisis. Adults have crises all the time. It’s practically a hobby.
When they finally emerged with enough groceries to feed a small army, I helped load the trunk while performing an Olympic-worthy routine of avoiding eye contact. Not that it helped—I could feel Aiden’s gaze burning into me like a physical touch, raising goosebumps on my skin despite the warm day.
Stop thinking about touching. Stop thinking about hands. Stop thinking about how those hands felt on your—
The drive home was another exercise in tension, with Reo humming cheerfully in the front seat like he wasn’t orchestrating this whole torture session. He kept “accidentally” adjusting his seat, pushing it back until my knees were practically touching the driver’s seat. Every time I shifted to get comfortable, he’d sing-song “Everything okay back there, Haru?” while making meaningful eye contact with Aiden in the mirror.
I bounced around in the back seat like some kind of nervous pinball, hyper-aware that one wrong move would have me bumping into the back of Aiden’s seat. Which was probably exactly what Reo was hoping for, the sadist. He was probably taking mental notes for his future memoir: “How I Tortured My Brothers: A Study in Psychological Warfare.”
Back home, I suffered through ten minutes of putting away groceries, doing my best impression of a ninja—swift, silent, and definitely not brushing hands with Aiden every time we reached for the same bag. Which happened with suspicious frequency. Either the universe was conspiring against me, or Aiden was deliberately reaching for the same items I was. Given my luck lately, probably both.
The moment the last can was shelved, I made my escape to my room. Strategic retreat, I told myself. Totally different from running away. Running away involves actual running. This is more of a brisk walk with purpose.
I was pretending to study Japanese—because apparently, my life wasn’t complicated enough without adding kanji to the mix—when Reo knocked. The sound made me jump, nearly sending my textbook flying.
“Come in,” I called, already dreading the incoming brotherly inquisition. Reo had that look in his eyes earlier, the one that said he was about to go full Sherlock Holmes on my personal life.
He sat on my bed, ruffling my hair like I was still eight instead of a college student with a driver’s license and the ability to vote. “So, you and Aiden are doing your best impression of awkward exes at a wedding. Want to tell me what happened?”
My face burst into flames. I could practically feel my skin sizzling. Oh, you know, just your typical stepbrother handjob drama. Just another Tuesday in the Davis-Ono soap opera. Nothing special. Completely normal family stuff.
“Nothing happened,” I muttered, suddenly finding my textbook fascinating. Who knew kanji could be so interesting? Look at all those strokes and radicals. Absolutely riveting.
“Right,” Reo drawled, his knowing smirk making my stomach drop to somewhere around my ankles. “And I’m secretly a K-pop idol. Come on, Haru. Aiden’s walking around like someone cancelled Christmas, and you’re hiding in here like a manga heroine with relationship troubles.”
“What are you trying to say, Reo?” Please don’t channel your inner Sherlock Holmes right now. Or your inner anyone who might actually figure out what happened.
His expression shifted to something that made me think of a cat playing with its prey before the final pounce. “That whatever’s got Aiden looking like a kicked puppy needs to be fixed. He’s got enough on his plate without...” he waved his hand vaguely, encompassing what I assumed was the whole disaster that was my existence, “whatever happened between you two last night.”
The way he emphasized ‘happened’ made me want to crawl under my bed and never come out. Guilt twisted in my stomach like a knife. Fantastic. I’ve graduated from disaster gay to family burden. Achievement unlocked: Making Life Harder for Everyone.
“Trust me, Reo, the last thing I want is to trouble Aiden.” I just want to forget how his hands felt on my— I just want to forget that I’m hopelessly in love with my stepbrother. I just want to be normal. “I know he’s dealing with a lot and... fuck, I’m sorry. I just... I don’t know how to handle... things.”
“‘Things,’” Reo repeated, his lips twitching as he watched me squirm like a bug under a microscope. “You mean your raging hormones and terrible life choices?”
“I know, okay?” I know exactly how terrible my life choices are. In HD. With surround sound. In IMAX 3D with those special glasses and the seats that vibrate during action scenes.
He stood up, patting my head with exaggerated gentleness like I was a particularly slow puppy who’d finally learned to sit. “Good. Fix it before the party. Because if I have to watch you two dance around each other like awkward penguins all night, I’m spiking the punch.” His grin turned positively demonic. “And who knows what might happen then?”
After he left, I collapsed onto my bed, glaring at the ceiling like it was responsible for my problems. Maybe it was. Maybe there was a leak that had dripped some kind of insanity-inducing mold onto me while I slept. That would explain a lot more than “I’m hopelessly in love with my stepbrother who gave me a handjob last night.”
Sometimes I wondered if Reo’s real hobby was collecting blackmail material on all of us. He probably had a secret folder labeled “Davis-Ono Family Disasters” with subfolders for each of us. Mine was probably the largest.
Talk to Aiden. Right. Simple. Just walk up to the guy who gave you your first orgasm that wasn’t self-induced and... what? Ask about the weather? “Hey, nice day we’re having. By the way, thanks for the hand job last night. Really cleared up the tension. Weather forecast says partly cloudy with a chance of awkward boners.”
I was so screwed. And not even in the fun way anymore.
This party is going to be a disaster of epic proportions.
Just another day in the Davis-Ono household. God help us all.