Beautiful Sin - Chapter 8 (18+)
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Stepbrother Reverse Harem Romance
Haru
I stumbled into my glorified closet—aka my bedroom—and face-planted onto the mattress like a drunk penguin attempting synchronized swimming. The towel around my waist was hanging on for dear life, but I couldn’t be bothered to fix it. Living in what was essentially a walk-in closet had its perks—at least I didn’t have far to fall when my legs decided to give out.
Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling, watching the light cast shadows that were probably judging my life choices harder than Noah judged Isaac’s cooking attempts. I should get up, dry off properly, put on actual clothes like a functioning adult. But the bed felt like a cloud, and in this heat, being naked was practically a survival strategy. Darwin would approve.
Then, because my brain hated me with the passion of a thousand burning suns, Aiden’s face materialized in my mind. Perfect, gorgeous, totally-off-limits Aiden. The way he’d hugged me in the car, his fingers gentle against my cheek, his body warm and solid against mine. His scent—that uniquely Aiden mixture of expensive cologne, coffee, and something else I couldn’t name that made my knees weak and my common sense take an extended vacation to parts unknown.
The memory of his arms around me in the car sent heat spiraling through my body. How he’d pulled me against his chest, how his breath had tickled my ear when he whispered to me. How for just a moment, I’d felt like I belonged there, like we were something more than what we were supposed to be.
“Aiden,” I groaned, immediately wanting to smack myself. Great job, Haru. Moaning your stepbrother’s name in the dark like the protagonist of some questionable romance novel. Totally normal behavior. Nothing to see here.
That’s when I noticed my body had its own ideas about normal behavior. The towel was tenting in a way that would make a circus proud. Cirque du Soleil could set up shop under there.
“Seriously?” I glared down at my betraying anatomy. “You had one job—don’t get excited about Aiden. One. Job. And here you are, standing at attention like he just walked into the room.”
I was about to deal with my “situation” the old-fashioned way when three sharp knocks hit my door.
“Haru?”
Aiden’s voice. Because of course it was. The universe had a sick sense of humor and apparently a personal vendetta against me. What’s next? Maybe Noah could walk in with a camera? Or Reo could install a loudspeaker to narrate my humiliation to the entire apartment building?
“Haru? Are you asleep? I’m coming in.”
No, no, abort mission! My brain screamed, but my voice had apparently gone on strike at the worst possible moment. The door handle turned with what felt like dramatic slow-motion horror, each click of the mechanism like a countdown to my doom.
I flopped onto my side faster than a panicked fish, presenting my back to the door. Maybe if I played dead, he’d go away. Works for possums, right? Though they probably don’t have to worry about hiding erections from their stepbrothers.
“Haru?” His voice was soft, a gentle caress in the darkness. “You left your clothes in the bathroom.”
I forced my breathing into the rhythm of sleep, though my heart was doing the cha-cha in my chest at approximately the speed of light. I could feel his presence, his gaze on my back, and it took everything I had not to shiver.
“He’s asleep,” he murmured, and I almost relaxed. Almost.
Then his footsteps approached the bed, each soft thud against the floor making my pulse spike higher. Shit, shit, triple shit with a cherry on top.
His fingers threaded through my damp hair, gentle as a summer breeze, then traced the side of my face with a touch so light it might have been my imagination if it hadn’t left fire in its wake. Great. Now I was both aroused AND writing bad poetry in my head. Next, I’d be composing sonnets about his cheekbones.
“Haru, you’re going to catch your death like this,” he said, channeling his inner mother hen. His fingers continued their exploration, brushing back strands of hair from my forehead with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “What happened to ‘I promise I’ll dry off properly’ from five minutes ago?”
I kept my eyes shut, committed to my Oscar-worthy performance of ‘Sleeping Beauty minus the beauty part.’ Maybe if I just stayed still enough, he’d leave, and I could go back to my regularly scheduled crisis without an audience.
Then I felt his breath on my face, warm and minty fresh. He was close. So close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the subtle notes of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. So close that my body betrayed me with a slight shiver that rippled through me like a stone dropped in still water.
My eyes fluttered open before I could stop them, meeting his hazel-green gaze. The concern there, the warmth, the unguarded affection—it was too much. “Aiden?” My voice cracked on his name, and to my horror, tears started brewing in my eyes like an unwanted emotional storm.
Really, body? Really? First the boner, now the waterworks? Pick a crisis and stick with it.
“Hey, what’s going on in that head of yours?” His thumb caught a tear as it escaped, brushing it away with a gentleness that only made everything worse. His touch lingered on my cheek, warm and steady and everything I wanted but couldn’t have.
I shook my head, biting my lower lip to keep it from trembling. I probably looked like a kicked puppy begging for treats. Smooth, Haru. Real smooth. Nothing says ‘desirable adult’ quite like crying while naked.
“Talk to me,” he murmured, his voice warm honey poured over my frayed nerves. His weight settled on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under him, bringing us closer in the small space. “Whatever storm you’re weathering, let me help shelter you from it.”
Yeah, that’s the problem, I thought bitterly. You’re always here, being perfect and kind and stupidly gorgeous, and I’m the idiot who fell in love with his stepbrother like some bad romance novel protagonist. The storm is you, Aiden. It’s always been you.
A pathetic whimper escaped me, the sound small and broken in the quiet room. “It’s like a constant ache,” I confessed, fingers clutching at my chest where my heart seemed determined to either break free or collapse entirely. “Right here. And I can’t... I can’t make it stop.” God, could I sound more like a teenage drama queen? Maybe I should start writing poetry about the darkness of my soul while I’m at it.
“I want it to go away,” I continued, voice trembling, barely stopping myself from adding ‘these feelings for you.’ “I want to stop loving...”
His expression softened, those eyes I could drown in filled with understanding—but not the kind I needed. He thought this was about someone else. Anyone else. “Sometimes the heart needs time to catch up with what the head already knows,” he soothed, probably thinking I was having some standard teenage heartbreak. If only he knew. “I know it hurts.”
“Then tell me how to fix it,” I whispered, hating how desperate I sounded but unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Please.”
His smile was gentle, which made my heart do gymnastics that would impress Olympic judges. “Time helps. And maybe... have you considered telling them how you feel? Sometimes the ‘what ifs’ hurt more than rejection ever could.”
I let out a watery laugh that sounded more like a strangled hiccup. “Not possible. Trust me, this particular confession would break more than just hearts.” It would break our family. It would break us. It would break me.
“Time has a way of sorting these things out,” he said, ever the wise older brother. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, tracing patterns on my skin that felt like they might leave permanent marks. “You’re young, Haru. Life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it. The right person might be closer than you think.”
I shook my head so hard I probably looked like a malfunctioning bobblehead. “I don’t think I could ever feel this way about anyone else.” The admission cost me, the truth of it burning in my throat.
His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Was it surprise? Concern? Something else entirely? “That sure about matters of the heart, are you?”
“Because that person is the only one I’ve ever loved since...” I caught myself just before driving off the cliff of no return, the words ‘since I met you’ dying on my tongue.
“Since when?” His voice was carefully neutral, but there was an edge to it, a tension that hadn’t been there before.
“Since—” Since you became my whole world. Since you smiled at me at the airport and I felt like I’d found something I didn’t know I was missing. Since forever. My face felt hot enough to fry an egg. “Just forget it, Aiden. I’m tired, and this conversation is venturing into territory better left unexplored.”
He sighed that big-brother sigh that usually meant he was letting something slide. But instead of leaving, he said, “At least let me help you dry off properly. You look about ready to collapse.”
I nearly choked on air. “What? No!” Smooth, real smooth. “I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather not add ‘death by awkward brotherly care’ to my evening.” Because having you touch me right now would be like throwing gasoline on a fire. I’d combust, and then you’d have to explain to the others why there’s nothing left of me but a pile of ash and regrettable life choices.
“You can barely keep your eyes open,” he pointed out, his voice gentler than I deserved. His hand was still on my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone in a way that made my skin tingle.
“I can handle basic hygiene!” The words came out more plaintive than planned. “Contrary to current evidence, I did master the art of self-care. I’ve been successfully drying myself for years. It’s one of my few life skills.”
To prove my point, I jumped up like I’d been spring-loaded, determined to show him just how capable I was. And because the universe hates me with the burning passion of a thousand suns, my towel chose that exact moment to make its grand escape, pooling around my feet like abandoned dignity.
“Shit!”
I snatched the towel up faster than a squirrel with a prized nut, trying to cover my very obvious problem. My face felt hot enough to power a small city. Maybe the entire Eastern seaboard.
Perfect. Just perfect. Add this to the list of ‘Top 10 Most Mortifying Moments of My Life.’ Actually, make it top three. Right after the time I called my third-grade teacher ‘mom’ and that incident with the chocolate fountain at Mason’s graduation party.
Aiden stepped closer, and I suddenly found his feet fascinating. Nice slippers. Very... slipper-like. Excellent fabric. Quality stitching. I could write a dissertation on those house slippers if it meant not having to look up and face him. Maybe focus on the subtle wear pattern on the left one, or the way they perfectly complemented our apartment’s flooring.
His hand landed on my head, and I froze like a deer in headlights. “So you can get a hard-on.”
Did he just...? Was that...? My brain short-circuited, unable to process the fact that Aiden—perfect, responsible, big-brother Aiden—had just commented on my erection like he was remarking on the weather.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I swatted his hand away, embarrassment making me defensive. “Anyone would get one thinking about someone they love.”
Oh god, shut up, shut up, shut up. Just stop talking forever. Maybe become a mime. Mimes don’t say incriminating things about their feelings.
He chuckled, fingers threading through my hair again, the sound low and warm in a way that made my insides twist. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Then he did something that short-circuited my brain. Those hazel-green eyes looked at me, intense and amused, and he asked, “Want some help?”
Error 404: Haru.exe has stopped working. Please reboot universe.
I stared at him, certain I’d misheard. Or hallucinated. Or maybe I’d actually drowned in the shower and this was some bizarre afterlife scenario designed to torture me for my sins. “W-what?”
Suddenly, he yanked the towel away with a confidence that left me gasping, and my brain finally rebooted enough to register what was happening.
There I was, standing in my birthday suit, a defector towel at my feet, and Aiden—my god of a stepbrother—giving me a look that was equal parts concern and something darker, something that made my blood rush south even faster. My brain was firing warning signals like a malfunctioning Christmas tree, but my body had apparently decided to go rogue and stay exactly where it was.
I should stop this. I should definitely stop this. Any second now, I’m going to stop this. Just as soon as I remember how words work. And how legs work. And basically how to function as a human being.
But then his arm wrapped around my neck, pulling me close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, to feel the warmth of his breath against my face. My willpower waved a white flag, surrendering without a fight.
“Haru,” he said, and the sound of my name on his lips made my pulse skip like a scratched record. There was something in his voice—a roughness, a hunger—that I’d never heard before. “Is this your first time?”
I nodded mutely, my cheeks flaming. I was nineteen, and my romantic experience was about as vast as the Sahara. But I wasn’t about to admit that aloud. Though I suppose standing here, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, was admission enough.
“I can take care of it myself,” I managed to stammer out, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity amidst the chaos of my raging hormones. But the words lacked conviction, even to my own ears.
“It’s okay to let someone else take care of you, too,” he said softly, and then, with an ease that left me breathless, he pulled me into his arms and onto the bed.
What the actual—
My heart was tap-dancing on my ribs, and my brain was firing off every alarm it had. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Yet there I was, sitting on Aiden’s lap, naked as the day I was born, and he was holding me like it was the most natural thing in the world. My brain was a ticker tape parade of panic and ecstasy.
How did this happen? How did I end up here, with Aiden, like this? Is this real? Am I dreaming? If I am, please don’t let me wake up.
His gaze drifted over me darkly, taking in every inch of exposed skin with an intensity that made me shiver. I felt my body respond with an eagerness that was both terrifying and exhilarating. I was a house on fire, and Aiden was the one holding the match. The air between us crackled with something forbidden and tantalizing, and my body betrayed me by responding to that gaze with an eager pulse of heat.
Then his hand was on me, wrapping around my cock with a confidence that had me gasping for air. My higher brain functions decided to take an impromptu vacation to Tahiti, leaving behind nothing but pure sensation and need.
“Relax, Haru,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my bones, that vibrated through me like a physical touch. “You’re as stiff as a board.”
Really? That’s what you’re going with right now? I wanted to sass back, but his hand was doing things that turned my witty comebacks into incoherent noises. Besides, pointing out the irony of calling any part of me ‘stiff’ at this moment seemed redundant when the evidence was literally in his hand.
His fingers moved with a gentle precision that was both maddening and exquisite, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure racing up my spine. In a million years—or even in the wildest corners of my imagination—I never envisioned this scenario playing out in reality. Each touch, each caress, each deliberate movement of his hand sent waves of pleasure crashing over me, and I found myself burying my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent—a mix of pine, coffee, and something uniquely Aiden that made my head spin.
I couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was this just another way he took care of me? Another item on his endless list of brotherly duties? The thought should have doused my arousal, but somehow it only made everything more intense, more forbidden. More everything.
His thumb swept over the sensitive head of my cock, gathering the moisture there and using it to ease his strokes. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, the sensation almost too much to bear. The slick evidence of my desire made his movements smoother, the glide of his hand creating a rhythm that had my toes curling against the sheets. I wanted to ask him why—why was he doing this, why now—but I was afraid any words would break whatever spell had fallen over us.
It felt like a dream—a beautifully torturous dream where Aiden’s hand was creating symphonies of pleasure that coursed through my veins. Each stroke was loving, expertly applied as if he knew exactly what he was doing—as if he too cherished this moment. But that was just wishful thinking on my part, wasn’t it? This was probably just pity, or curiosity, or some twisted form of brotherly comfort. It couldn’t be what I wanted it to be. What I needed it to be.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice strained in a way I’d never heard before. “So responsive. So perfect.”
The words sent a fresh wave of heat through me, making me whimper against his neck. Beautiful? Perfect? Those weren’t words you used for your little brother. Those were words for... something else. Something more.
I clung to him, panting, as he worked his magic. My world narrowed to the point where his hand met my cock, each stroke a promise of something I never thought I’d experience with him. His cologne, his warmth, the solid strength of him against me—it was sensory overload in the best possible way. I could feel his heart racing, matching the frantic pace of my own. Could feel the tension in his body, the controlled power in each movement.
“A-Aiden,” I gasped, my nails probably leaving crescents in his shoulders as I held on for dear life. Sorry not sorry about your shirt. “I can’t—I’m going to—”
He made a sound—something between a growl and a groan—that shot straight to my groin, making me harder than I thought possible. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, and God, his voice shouldn’t be allowed to sound like that. Like sin wrapped in velvet. “Let go for me, Haru. I want to see you come apart.”
His words, the raw need in them, sent a shudder through me. This wasn’t brotherly. This wasn’t innocent. This was something else entirely, something that made my blood sing and my heart race. Something that felt both terrifying and absolutely right.
What was he thinking? Did he regret this already? Was he disgusted by how eagerly I was responding to his touch? Or worse, was this just another way he took care of his little brother? The questions swirled in my mind, but his hand never faltered, never gave me a moment to catch my breath or clear my thoughts.
Aiden prolonged each movement, drawing out the sensation until time lost all meaning. My head fell back, then forward again, bringing our faces mere inches apart. His breath mingled with mine, warm and coffee-scented, caressing my lips like a phantom kiss.
My gaze dropped to his mouth, tracing the perfect curve of his bottom lip, the slight fullness that had haunted my dreams for years. What would he taste like? Coffee and mint, probably. Maybe something uniquely Aiden that I’d become addicted to with just one taste.
I swayed forward unconsciously, drawn by some magnetic force I couldn’t resist. Our noses brushed, the lightest contact sending electricity racing down my spine. His breath hitched, the rhythm of his hand faltering for just a heartbeat before resuming its exquisite torture.
His eyes—darkened to forest green with just a ring of gold around the pupils—flicked down to my mouth, then back up to meet my gaze. Something hungry and primal flashed there, making my heart stutter.
My lips parted instinctively, a silent invitation I hadn’t meant to extend. I was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could almost taste him on my tongue already. Just one small movement, just an inch forward, and I could finally know if reality matched the fantasy I’d built in my head.
The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and I nearly lost what little control I had left. My fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling him imperceptibly closer as his hand continued its relentless rhythm below.
Then reality crashed through my desire-fogged brain like a bucket of ice water. What was I doing? This was Aiden—my stepbrother, my family. This was already crossing so many lines, and a kiss would make it impossible to pretend this was just... whatever this was. He would push me away, disgusted. He would realize exactly how I felt about him.
I jerked back, panic flashing through me, turning my face into his neck instead. The moment shattered, but the overwhelming pleasure of his touch remained, intensifying as his hand quickened its pace. His other arm tightened around me, holding me close as if he sensed my retreat and refused to let me go completely.
“It’s okay,” he murmured against my hair, his voice rough with something I couldn’t name. “I’ve got you. Let go for me.”
His words vibrated through me, breaking the last of my resistance. The pressure built like a tsunami, heat coiling tighter and tighter in my core until I thought I might shatter from it. My hips moved of their own accord, chasing his touch, seeking more of that exquisite friction.
And then suddenly I was coming apart in his arms, my world exploding into a million stars. It was definitely, absolutely, without question the best orgasm of my life. Not that I had a vast catalogue to compare it to, but still. My body arched against him, trembling with the force of my release, his name a broken whisper on my lips as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with something I couldn’t name. “So beautiful. So perfect for me.”
For me. The words echoed in my pleasure-hazed mind, taking root somewhere deep. For me. As if I belonged to him. As if this wasn’t just a one-time thing, a moment of weakness, but something more. Something lasting.
When the storm had passed, leaving me boneless and trembling in his arms, Aiden’s voice reached my ears, soft and soothing. “Do you feel better now?”
I nodded weakly, my body still humming with the aftershocks of what had just happened. Eye contact seemed like too much effort, so I found myself suddenly fascinated by his shoulder, by the way the fabric of his shirt stretched across it, by the damp spots where my tears—or maybe my mouth—had left marks. Plus, I was pretty sure my face was doing its best impression of a stop light. Did he notice how I’d almost kissed him? How desperately I’d wanted to?
“Get dressed and then go to sleep,” he instructed, back to big brother mode like he hadn’t just given me the hand job of the century. Like we could just casually move on from the fact that he’d made me see stars with just his hand. Like this was normal, something we did every day.
Another mute nod. Apparently, my vocabulary had packed its bags and gone on vacation without leaving a forwarding address. Words seemed inadequate anyway. What could I possibly say? Thanks for the orgasm? Same time tomorrow? By the way, I’m madly in love with you and have been for years?
He pulled away, and the loss of his warmth hit me like a physical blow, leaving me cold and suddenly aware of my nakedness in a way I hadn’t been before. I wanted to grab him, to beg him to stay, to curl up against his chest and pretend this wasn’t the most complicated thing we’d ever done. But that would be crossing a line—because apparently, this hadn’t crossed enough lines already.
“Good night, Haru,” he said, his voice carefully controlled as he turned toward the door.
“Night, Aiden,” I whispered to his retreating back, watching him disappear through my door with the same grace and confidence he did everything else. Show-off.
I flopped back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling as reality started creeping back in. Well. That happened. My stupidly gorgeous stepbrother just gave me a hand job. The man I’d been in love with for years just... yeah. And now he was gone, leaving me with a head full of questions and a heart full of confusion.
My brain started helpfully replaying every moment in vivid detail, like some sort of X-rated highlight reel. Thanks, brain. Really helpful. The careful way he’d touched me, like I might break. The controlled rhythm of his breathing, like he was holding himself back. The almost-kiss that I hadn’t been brave enough to complete. The way he’d called me beautiful, perfect. For me, he’d said. What did that mean?
And why had he done it at all? Was it just pity? A way to distract me from my heartbreak over this mystery person he thought I was in love with? (The irony of that situation wasn’t lost on me.) Or was it something more? Something he’d wanted too?
Tomorrow was going to be interesting. And by interesting, I meant absolutely mortifying. How was I supposed to look him in the eye over breakfast? Hey, thanks for the orgasm, can you pass the coffee? Oh, and by the way, the person I’m hopelessly in love with? It’s you. Always has been.
I grabbed my pillow and screamed into it, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment and arousal at the same time. At least if I spontaneously combusted, I wouldn’t have to face him at breakfast.
But a tiny, traitorous part of me was already wondering if this would happen again. Because apparently, one earth-shattering orgasm wasn’t enough to satisfy my Aiden addiction. And I hadn’t missed the evidence that he wasn’t entirely unmoved by what had happened between us. But that didn’t mean he felt the same way I did. It was probably just a physical reaction—any guy would get hard in that situation, right?
For me, he’d said. Those two words played on repeat in my mind, a dangerous hope taking root. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t one-sided. Maybe he felt something too. Maybe...
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought before it could fully form. Hope was a dangerous thing. Especially when it came to Aiden. I couldn’t afford to read too much into this, couldn’t let myself believe it meant more than it did. That way lay heartbreak and ruin.
God, I am so screwed.
And not even in the fun way.