Seduction Hot Compilation

Blurb: "You're younger." "Doesn't change the fact that you are dripping wet for me." She said it was wrong. He proved it felt too good to care. He's her best friend's cousin. Sleeps across the hallway. Two years younger, and still knows how to make her bend. Moan. Beg. "Truth or dare?" he asks. "Dare." "Then don't make a sound while I fuck you."

___

The farmhouse was too quiet for a summer stay. Rhea had barely stepped inside when the weight of silence clung to her skin like heat. All glass and marble and lemon-polished floors, the place stretched wide and endless, nestled in the green arms of Northern California's wine country. She could already picture herself curled up with her laptop near the giant window, pretending to study while secretly drafting another filthy Wattpad chapter.

But first: settle in, claim a room, and hope her best friend hadn't invited any annoying extras.

Rhea Marcelline, 21, tech intern turned future full-timer, had been looking forward to this summer break. Just 2 weeks before her big girl job started in San Francisco-time to breathe, write, maybe flirt with the universe again. The plan had been simple: she and her best friend would crash at her friend's extended family farmhouse, alone, peaceful, isolated. No obligations. No parents. No drama.

Except... there was one minor change.

"You remember Beck, right?" her best friend had texted casually, hours before arrival.

Rhea's stomach had dipped.

Beck Nolan. Nineteen. Two years younger. Her best friend's cousin from Seattle. Smart. Hot. Smug as hell.

The last time she saw him, he was just a lanky teenager with messy hair and sharp eyes. But from what she'd heard lately, he wasn't lanky anymore. He was charming. Obnoxiously confident. Maybe a little dangerous, in that effortless, I-know-I-look-good kind of way.

Still. She could handle a boy. She was older. Wiser. In control.

Or so she thought-right until the moment he opened the door, towel slung dangerously low on his hips, freshly out of the shower.

"Hey, Rhea," he said.

Her eyes went straight to his abs-tanned skin, droplets gliding down muscle lines that had no business being on a nineteen-year-old. His hair was wet, curling a little at the ends. A lazy grin stretched across his face as he caught her looking.

Rhea blinked hard. "Seriously? Put something on."

He didn't move. "Sorry. You were early. I was just finishing up."

He rubbed the towel through his hair, chest flexing casually with each motion. When he tossed it around his neck, the shift of fabric teased the line of his hip, and Rhea found herself turning away, jaw clenched.

"You okay, Rhea? You look flushed," he said innocently.

She turned to shoot him a glare, only to find him closer than before.

Too close.

She took a step back. "I'm fine. Just surprised. Didn't think I'd be greeted by... nudity."

"You sure? Looked like you were enjoying the view."

There was no saving her now. Her skin burned with humiliation-and something else, darker, that curled low in her belly. She tried to compose herself.

"I don't make a habit of ogling little boys."

His smirk sharpened. "That so? Because little boys don't usually make girls blush like that."

She hated that he noticed. Hated that he was right.

And hated, more than anything, that her thighs were pressed together without her permission.

---

The bedroom she claimed was down the hall from his. Big, soft, sunlit. Perfect. She tossed her duffel on the bed, flopped down, and exhaled hard.

What the hell had she signed up for?

She grabbed her phone, opened her Wattpad app out of habit, and saw the draft she'd been working on before the trip.

"You're older," the male lead says, pushing the girl to her knees. "And you're dripping," he growls. "Doesn't matter now, does it?"

She closed the app.

Except now, when she closed her eyes, it wasn't a faceless character saying those words.

It was Beck.

---

Dinner was quiet. Her best friend wouldn't arrive until tomorrow, which left just the two of them. He cooked, surprisingly well. Pasta, wine, a salad that made her question his entire personality.

"Didn't think you'd be into vegetables," she said, stabbing a tomato slice.

"Didn't think you'd be into nerdy codeboys," he shot back.

She raised a brow. "Who says I am?"

He tilted his wine glass toward her. "You are one."

God. He had a comeback for everything.

Later that night, she passed by the hallway to get water and saw his door open. Music low. Lights off. Just a faint glow of laptop screen against his face.

He didn't see her. But she saw him. Glasses on. Shirtless again. One hand on the mouse. Other... somewhere in his lap.

Her breath caught.

She ran back to her room.

Heart. Pounding.

---

She didn't sleep. Not really.

All she could hear was his voice. All she could see was that towel. All she could feel was the ache between her legs.

Two weeks.

That's all she had to survive.

Only now, she wasn't sure she'd survive even the first day.

___

The bathroom was still warm.

Not just warm-wet.

Steam clung to the mirrors like ghosts, curling around the edges of the sink and sliding across the tiles in lazy waves. Rhea stepped in barefoot, the cool floor shocking under her soles. She tugged at the hem of her oversized t-shirt, shorts barely visible beneath it. Early morning, no one's up yet, just her and the haze.

The air smelled like cedar shampoo and skin.

She closed the door, turned the knob to the left, and let cold water run over her wrist. It helped. Kind of.

Her phone buzzed on the sink. A text.

Beck: You always take this long to stare at yourself in the mirror?

She froze.

Her eyes darted to the reflection-and then to the floor.

His towel. Still wet. Still here.

He hadn't taken it with him.

She grabbed her phone, typing fast.

Rhea: You left your towel.

Beck: I know.

Rhea: Seriously?

Beck: Seriously. Thought you might want to use it.

She let out a shocked breath and immediately locked the screen.

The door opened.

Not fully. Just enough.

"Bathroom's foggy," he said casually, stepping inside.

Her body stiffened. "Beck-"

He was shirtless. Again. Just basketball shorts this time. No underwear. No socks. Just damp hair and that look.

The look that said he knew.

He stood behind her, close.

Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

"You're in my space," she said quietly.

He leaned in, his mouth inches from her neck. "You're in my fog."

She gripped the edge of the sink. Hard.

He didn't touch her.

But he didn't have to.

He looked into the mirror, directly at her eyes.

"Still pretending you don't want me to?"

Rhea didn't answer.

His hand reached forward slowly, brushing a stray hair off her shoulder.

"You tremble every time I walk past you."

"I don't."

"You do."

His voice was velvet now.

"Even now. Look at your breathing. Look at your thighs."

She tried to step away. He caught her wrist.

Not rough. Just enough.

"Say the word, Rhea," he whispered against her skin. "And I won't do a thing. I'll leave."

She turned.

Looked up at him. Really looked.

His chest was barely rising. His eyes, darker than before. Mouth parted. Waiting.

"Beck..."

One more second.

One more inch.

And he'd be against her.

But she pulled away.

"Get out."

His smirk returned. A little sad. A little proud.

He leaned back, walking toward the door.

"You sure?"

She didn't answer.

He opened the door, letting the cold air from the hallway pour in.

But before leaving, he looked over his shoulder.

"You don't have to say yes," he said.

"Your body will."