Beautiful Sin - Chapter 6
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Stepbrother Reverse Harem Romance
Haru
The drive home after dropping off Jess was about as comfortable as a dentist appointment conducted by someone with Parkinson’s. At least with Jess around, her endless chatter about university life had acted like white noise, drowning out this... whatever this tension was. Now? The silence felt heavy enough to crush my soul and wear its remains as fancy jewelry.
I desperately wanted to ask what Aiden had said to Camille after my dramatic exit. She’d vanished by the time I’d returned to clear the dishes—probably fled back to whatever luxury condo she’d emerged from, where she could comfort herself by burning hundred-dollar bills and laughing at pictures of homeless people. But bringing up Her Royal Snootiness would only piss me off more, so I kept my mouth shut and watched the city lights blur past.
“So,” Aiden’s voice cut through the silence like a hot knife through my last shred of composure. “Someone’s in love? And here I thought the most exciting thing happening in our house was Isaac learning to use the dishwasher without flooding the kitchen.”
My heart performed a gymnastics routine that would make Olympic judges weep. I turned away from his sidelong glance, feeling my face heat up enough to probably show in the dark. Great. Now I was literally glowing with embarrassment. Just add it to my list of superhero qualities: super awkwardness, invisibility to romantic prospects, and now, human nightlight.
“What can I say? Some of us have lives beyond real estate and protein shakes,” I muttered, while my brain helpfully supplied: Yeah, because telling your stepbrother you’re madly in love with him would make for great dinner conversation. “Pass the salt, and by the way, I fantasize about licking whipped cream off your abs.”
“Come on, Haru,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice—that specific one that made my insides turn to warm pudding. “You used to tell me everything. Remember when you came running to me because you thought the tooth fairy was stalking you?”
“I was nine!” I protested, feeling my dignity make a hasty retreat. “And someone kept breaking into my room to steal teeth. It was a valid concern! For all I knew, there was a black market for baby teeth, and I was an unwilling supplier.”
Aiden’s laugh filled the car, rich and warm. “You made me check under your bed for three weeks straight.”
“Yeah, well, dental security is no laughing matter,” I grumbled, fighting a smile despite myself.
“Look,” he sighed, and I could hear the big-brother concern creeping into his voice—the tone that made me want to simultaneously hug him and throw myself out of the moving vehicle. “You’re acting strange lately. You don’t confide in me anymore. I worry about you. More than I worry about Isaac’s cooking attempts, and that’s saying something, considering he nearly burned down the kitchen making cereal.”
Great. Just great. How exactly was I supposed to respond to that? Sorry I’ve been weird, Aiden. By the way, I’m gay and hopelessly in love with you. Pass the salt? Oh wait, I already used that line in my internal monologue. See how flustered you make me?
The mere thought of confessing either truth made my stomach do backflips that would impress a circus performer. Sure, Aiden was probably the kindest person I knew, and his “protect the family at all costs” mindset was legendary. He’d probably accept my sexuality because that’s just who he was—the perfect older brother. But confessing my feelings? That would be like voluntarily jumping into a volcano while wearing gasoline-soaked clothes and screaming “I’m flammable!”
“I know you worry about me, Aiden,” I said, trying to sound more adult than the disaster-in-progress I felt like. “But I’m legally allowed to vote now. I can handle my own love life without the Davis Family Dating Committee weighing in.” I paused, then added, “Though if you want to direct that protective energy somewhere useful, maybe talk to Isaac about his ‘experimental’ cooking phase. I’m pretty sure what he made last Tuesday violated the Geneva Convention.”
I turned to him then, deciding offense was the best defense. “Speaking of questionable life choices—are you planning on going out with that woman?”
He raised an eyebrow, glancing at me. “Who?”
“Camille,” I said, trying to keep the venom out of my voice and failing spectacularly. “You know, the one who thinks having a trust fund makes her queen of the universe? The woman whose personality makes a cactus seem cuddly by comparison?”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through the car. “What made you think I’d go out with her?”
I licked my lips, suddenly nervous. “Because she acts like she’s already picked out your wedding china and is just waiting for you to realize your life’s purpose is to worship at the altar of her designer shoes.”
“I’m not interested in her, Haru,” he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I prefer my dates with a soul. And possibly the ability to smile without cracking their face.”
“Good,” I nodded, relief flooding through me like a tidal wave. “The last thing we need is her redoing our house in designer leopard print and installing a shrine to herself in the living room.”
Suddenly, his hand was in my hair, his thumb stroking my cheek, and my brain short-circuited like a toaster in a bathtub. Fuck! Here we go again. I silently groaned, melting into his touch like ice cream on hot pavement. My body went warm and weak, and damn it, was it possible to die from wanting someone this much? But before I could completely embarrass myself by purring like a cat or doing something equally mortifying, he removed his hand and returned it to the steering wheel. I turned to stare out the window, pretending the passing streetlights were fascinating enough to explain my flushed face and rapid breathing.
“So,” Aiden said, his voice deceptively casual while his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, “want to tell me about this mystery person who’s got you acting like a contestant on The Bachelor? You know, minus the hot tub scenes and questionable fashion choices.”
“Sorry, all my deep emotional confessions are scheduled for next Tuesday,” I muttered, studying the passing scenery like it held the secrets to eternal happiness. “Between three and five p.m. Please bring your own tissues and existential dread.”
“Nice try with the deflection,” he said, voice straining for casual and missing by about a mile. “But we both know what you said at the restaurant wasn’t just for show. You’ve never been a good liar, Haru. Your ears turn pink.”
My hands flew to my ears automatically. Traitors. My whole body was conspiring against me.
“Wow, you’re really committed to this interrogation,” I said, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters. “Should I be expecting a spotlight and rubber hose next? Maybe some dramatic music while you pace around me in a circle?”
“Consider it professional curiosity,” he said, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You know, since I’m apparently losing my title as your personal confidant. I’ve been demoted, and I didn’t even get a farewell party or a gold watch.”
Right. Because checking up on my love life was probably item fifty-seven on his ‘Big Brother Responsibilities’ checklist, right between ‘Make sure Haru eats vegetables’ and ‘Pretend not to notice when he steals your shirts.’ Which I absolutely did not do. Often.
“Fine, Detective Davis. What’s the first question in your love life investigation? And just so you know, I’m invoking my right to remain silent if things get too personal. And my right to throw myself out of this moving vehicle if they get really personal.”
The car swerved slightly as his grip tightened on the wheel. “Let’s start with the basics. Age? Occupation? Please tell me it’s not one of your professors. I don’t think I could handle another family scandal after Isaac’s unfortunate incident with the dean’s toupee.”
I barked out a laugh that probably sounded one step away from hysteria. Professor? If only it were that simple. Try ‘successful real estate agent with a hero complex, incredible biceps, and a smile that makes my brain cells commit mass suicide.’
“They’re...” I trailed off, searching for words that wouldn’t give me away. “Special. Important. Completely off-limits.”
“Off-limits?” His voice sharpened with concern. “Are they married?”
“No! Nothing like that,” I assured him quickly. “Just... unavailable. To me, specifically.”
“That’s pretty vague,” he pressed, his eyes briefly leaving the road to study my face. “Why unavailable?”
“Because some things are just impossible,” I sighed, staring out at the passing streetlights. “It would be like trying to catch the moon—beautiful to look at, but you’d burn up if you ever got close.”
“That good looking, huh?” His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a muscle jumping along his cheekbone.
“Put it this way—their face should be classified as a lethal weapon,” I sighed, truth sneaking past my defenses like a ninja with a VIP pass to my insecurities. “I’m basically competing in the Olympics of unrequited love with about half the city’s population. And let me tell you, my chances are about as good as a snowman’s in Hawaii.”
“You haven’t told them?” Was that a crack in his perfectly controlled voice? A hint of something I couldn’t quite identify?
I shook my head, watching raindrops begin to speckle the windshield. “That would be like volunteering for a public execution. Hard pass. I’d rather eat Noah’s protein bars, and those things taste like sweetened cardboard with delusions of grandeur.”
“So they’re significantly older,” he said, the statement hanging in the air like an accusation.
“Oh yes, because that’s the logical conclusion here,” I rolled my eyes, carefully avoiding any mention of just how much older. “Not that I’m terrified of rejection—clearly the age gap is the most pressing issue. Maybe solve a different mystery, Sherlock.”
The silence that followed was about as comfortable as a bed of nails covered in Legos. Finally, he asked, “Why exactly is confessing such mission impossible? I mean, unless they’re married or a wanted criminal, it can’t be that bad.”
Oh, it’s worse, I thought. They’re my stepbrother. They practically raised me. They’re you.
“It’s complicated,” I managed, my voice hitting notes usually reserved for puberty’s greatest hits. “Like, quantum physics complicated. String theory might actually be easier to explain. Less chance of emotional devastation, too.”
Without warning, Aiden yanked the car over to the curb like he’d spotted a ‘Houses For Sale’ sign in the wild. Before I could ask if we were having an emergency real estate intervention, he pulled me into his arms, and suddenly my brain cells decided to take a collective vacation to somewhere tropical, leaving behind a note that just said “Good luck with this one, buddy.”
I melted into his embrace because apparently, my self-preservation instinct had taken one look at this situation and filed for early retirement. God, but he smelled amazing—like expensive cologne and every bad decision I’d ever wanted to make. I buried my face against his chest, soaking in his warmth like a cat who’d found that one perfect sunbeam.
God, I love him. I love this man. I love Aiden. The words pinballed around my skull like a sugar-rushed toddler, somehow managing to hit every corner of my brain except the exit to my mouth. Thank all available deities for small mercies.
“I’m sorry, Haru,” he murmured, his voice soft enough to make cardiologists worry about my heart’s rapid gymnastics routine, “that you’re going through this.” His lips moved closer to my ear, his breath warming my skin and sending shivers down my spine. “Are you really in love with her?”
I shuddered, emotion rippling through me like an earthquake had decided to throw a party in my chest. “I really love... Aiden.” The name slipped out like a ninja in plain sight, camouflaged in my sentence. I held my breath, praying he hadn’t noticed. “I don’t know what to do. This love is like a chronic condition, except instead of getting better, it keeps upgrading to premium features and...” A pathetic whimper escaped me, because apparently I was going for gold in the Embarrassing Moments Olympics. Someone engrave “Most Pathetic Pining” on my medal, please.
Aiden’s arms tightened around me like he was trying to protect me from my own feelings. “I’m here to help you, Haru.” He chuckled, the sound lighter than my current emotional state deserved. “I’m sure it’ll work out. These things usually do, one way or another.”
I clutched his shirt like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic, my heart attempting to break the sound barrier. “I doubt it,” I mumbled into his chest. “That person sees me about as romantically as a pet goldfish. Or maybe a houseplant. ‘Oh look, there’s Haru. I should water him occasionally and make sure he gets enough sunlight.’”
Realizing I was one more minute away from either combusting or kissing him—both equally disastrous options that would probably end with me living in a cardboard box under a bridge somewhere—I practically teleported out of his arms, putting as much distance between us as the confines of the car would allow.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to sound casual and probably hitting somewhere between ‘panic attack’ and ‘nervous breakdown’ instead. “But we should get home. I’m tired.” And if I stay in your arms any longer, I might do something that’ll get me written out of the family will. Or worse, make Thanksgiving dinners really, really awkward.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding oddly strained. “You’ve worked hard today.”
Fifteen minutes later, we made it home without any more impromptu roadside hugging sessions, thank all available deities. I headed for my room like a heat-seeking missile, desperate for escape and possibly a paper bag to breathe into.
“Can I use the bathroom first?” I called over my shoulder to Aiden, who was doing his nightly impression of a responsible adult by actually locking the front door. As if locks could keep out my inappropriate feelings. Ha.
“Mm-hmm,” he responded, probably already planning his late-night coffee ritual.
Noah materialized from his room like some brooding apparition. “Okaeri.” As I shuffled past, he chuckled, his eyes taking in my disheveled appearance. “You look like you just went ten rounds with a food critic and lost spectacularly. That bad at work?”
“It was super busy,” I said, avoiding his too-perceptive gaze. “And I’m about to collapse in a way that would make Mason’s post-workout crashes look energetic. I’ve evolved beyond tired into some new state of existence where consciousness is optional.”
He ruffled my hair in that annoying big-brother way that definitely wasn’t at all like how Aiden did it, nope, not thinking about that. Noah’s touch was rougher, more teasing than tender. Not that I was comparing. Because that would be weird. And I was definitely not weird. Just exhausted. And possibly having a minor emotional breakdown. But not weird.
Before shutting myself in my room, I caught a glimpse of the two brothers heading to the kitchen, no doubt for their nightly ‘let’s solve the world’s problems over coffee’ session. Soon, Reo would join them, and the three would chat until the sun decided to check if they were still awake. Sometimes I wondered if they discussed me during these late-night summits. The thought made me squirm.
After grabbing what I hoped were clothes—my brain was operating on about two functioning neurons at this point, and they were both busy screaming about Aiden—I locked myself in the bathroom. I leaned against the door, sighing like I was auditioning for a teen drama. After a quick teeth-brushing session, I dove into the shower like it might wash away my problems along with the day’s sweat.
The cool water felt amazing in the summer heat, but it did nothing to stop my mind from replaying that car scene. That hug. The way Aiden had held me. The feel of his breath against my ear. How was I supposed to get over someone when they kept doing stuff like that? It was like trying to diet while living in a chocolate factory where the chocolate kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
Focus, Haru. Sleep. Sleep is good. Sleep doesn’t involve inappropriate feelings for your stepbrother.
I jumped out of the shower and reached for my clothes, only to discover that my exhausted brain had betrayed me yet again. Instead of pajamas, I’d grabbed jeans. Just jeans. No shirt. No underwear. Clearly, my fashion sense had decided to take the night off along with my common sense and dignity.
Whatever. I was too tired to care about proper clothing protocol. Wrapping a towel around my waist—because showing up naked would definitely not help my current situation and might actually cause Noah to have an aneurysm about “proper household decorum”—I headed out, still dripping like I’d never heard of towel-drying. Water conservation, right? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Halfway to my room, my throat felt like the Sahara Desert had relocated to my esophagus, and I made the questionable decision to detour to the kitchen. As I approached, I heard the familiar sound of my brothers’ late-night chat session. They were laughing about something, probably one of Noah’s terrible jokes or another story about Isaac’s cooking disasters.
Why couldn’t I be that casual with Aiden? Just hanging out without feeling like my heart was attempting to break the land speed record? Other people got to be normal around their crushes. I got to be a walking disaster with the emotional stability of a Jenga tower in an earthquake.
I shuffled into the kitchen with all the grace of a sleepy penguin. “Hey.”
The reaction was... interesting. Aiden choked on his drink like he’d forgotten how swallowing worked. Noah’s casual lean against the counter suddenly turned rigid, his eyes darkening as they traced the water droplets running down my chest with an intensity that made me acutely aware of my near-nakedness. Reo’s grin turned positively feline—the kind that said he was about to have way too much fun at my expense. Great. Just what I needed to cap off this stellar evening.
“Forget something?” Reo drawled, his eyes dancing between me and Aiden’s frozen form. “Like, oh, I don’t know... clothes? Or perhaps the concept of towel-drying? You’re creating a small lake on our kitchen floor.”
Ignoring their weird behavior—because dealing with my brothers’ oddities required more energy than I currently possessed—I made my way to the fridge. I grabbed the water jug and poured myself a glass, drinking like I’d just crossed that desert I’d been thinking about earlier. I could feel three pairs of eyes tracking my every movement, which was about as comfortable as performing surgery on yourself.
Noah cleared his throat, his voice rougher than usual. “You’ll catch a cold.” But his concerned words didn’t match the intensity of his stare, which felt like it could burn holes through my towel. Why was everyone being so weird tonight?
I was about to make my escape when Aiden materialized in front of me like some sort of incredibly attractive roadblock. Shit!
My sleepiness evaporated faster than spilled coffee on a hot sidewalk. I avoided looking at his face because, seriously universe? Him with his shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and hair doing that effortlessly messy thing? That should be illegal. There should be laws against looking that good at—I glanced at the clock—one in the morning. Criminal. Absolutely criminal.
He stroked my wet hair, his fingers gently pushing it back from my face, and I briefly forgot how to breathe. Or think. Or exist as anything other than a bundle of nerve endings that all led directly to my racing heart.
“Dry your body and hair properly before going to sleep,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it felt like it was just for me, despite our audience. “You’ll get sick otherwise.”
From the corner, I heard Reo’s barely suppressed snicker and Noah’s sharp intake of breath. Great. Just what I needed. An audience for my humiliation.
My eyes betrayed me by dropping to his exposed chest. Bad eyes. Very bad eyes. But damn, those muscles were like a Renaissance sculpture come to life, and I just wanted to—No. Stop. Bad Haru. Do not think about licking your stepbrother’s chest.
I licked my suddenly dry lips, noticing how Aiden’s eyes tracked the movement. “Yeah, I know,” I managed, looking anywhere else. When did the kitchen get so hot? Did someone break the AC? Or was I just spontaneously combusting from the inside out?
I set my glass down and turned to flee—I mean, exit strategically. “Good night,” I called to my brothers, trying not to sound like I was running away—which I totally was, at approximately the speed of light.
“Good night,” Aiden said softly, while Noah’s “Night” came out more like a growl. What was his problem? Did someone replace his protein powder with sand?
But Reo, because he lived to torment me, called out, “Make sure to dress properly when you sleep, Shrine Maiden! Though I’m sure some people wouldn’t mind if you didn’t.” His meaningful glance between Aiden and Noah could have lit up Times Square during a power outage.
“I know!” I shot back, already plotting how to replace his coffee with decaf tomorrow morning. Or maybe laxatives. Extreme times called for extreme measures.
As I finally made it to my room and collapsed on my bed, still damp and now wrapped in an oversized t-shirt I’d stolen from Aiden’s laundry, I stared at the ceiling and contemplated my life choices. Specifically, how I’d ended up hopelessly in love with my stepbrother while living in a house full of increasingly weird other stepbrothers.
Maybe I should just move out. Find a nice cardboard box somewhere. Adopt some pigeons. Start a new life as a hermit with no inappropriate feelings for family members.
Except the thought of leaving—of not seeing Aiden every day—sent a physical pain through my chest that made me gasp. It felt wrong on a level I couldn’t explain, like contemplating cutting off a limb.
I was so screwed. And not in the fun way.