Afternoon sunlight bled through my heavy blackout curtains, turning the steam in my Bellevue apartment a hazy gold. I tightened the belt of my champagne silk robe. The fabric slipped against my bare skin, doing nothing to hide the heavy curve of my breasts or the dip of my waist. Twenty-three years old, and everyone still treated me like a kid with a baby face.

Everyone except the man on my television.

I stared at the screen. Seattle's home game replay. Number 7 drove into the paint, sweat making the sharp lines of his jaw and massive biceps gleam under the arena lights. Ethan Cole. Twenty-five, league MVP favorite, six-foot-seven, and the boy who grew up next door. My so-called older brother.

"Fuck," I whispered, my throat going dry.

My fingers curled into the collar of my robe. Watching his absolute, aggressive control on the court made my core throb. I shouldn't be doing this.

I pulled my laptop onto the bed and clicked the hidden folder. The video loaded instantly. The guy on screen had Ethan's exact build—massive shoulders, a narrow waist, and thick, corded veins popping on his forearms as he slammed into the woman beneath him.

My knees gave out. I sank against the headboard.

The silk robe parted. I reached for the pink silicone vibrator on my nightstand. It was already warm from my hands. I flicked the button, the low hum buzzing loudly in the quiet room.

"Just pretend it's him," I muttered to myself.

I pressed the vibrating tip against my clit, then slowly pushed it inside my wet pussy. I bit my lower lip hard. On screen, the guy pinned the woman down. I imagined Ethan's giant hands pinning my wrists, his heavy body crushing me into the mattress, fucking me with that same ruthless athletic power.

"Ah..." A soft moan slipped out.

My hips bucked upward on their own. The robe fell completely open, exposing my flushed skin. I squeezed my thighs together, then spread them wide, chasing the intense friction.

The front door lock clicked.

The sound stabbed through the apartment. A spare key. Only one person had it.

Panic spiked, but the orgasm was already rolling through my nerves, making my muscles sluggish. I scrambled to slam the laptop shut and yank the toy out.

Ethan Cole walked straight into my bedroom.

He wore a plain black T-shirt and gray sweatpants. A small paper bag dangled from his massive hand—my expensive essential oils, misdelivered to his penthouse next door.

He stopped dead in the doorway.

His dark eyes locked onto the laptop screen. The porn audio blasted, loud wet slaps and the woman's screaming moans filling the space. Then, his gaze dropped.

My robe was completely open. My legs were spread wide. The pink silicone toy hummed inside my dripping pussy.

All the air left the room.

"Ethan, wait—" I lunged for the computer.

My bare foot caught the edge of the rug. I slipped, tumbling backward into the small armchair near the bed. The narrow armrests trapped me.

Ethan didn't say a word. He crossed the room in two massive strides.

He forced his knee between my thighs, pinning my legs far apart. His six-foot-seven frame cast a dark, towering shadow over me. The angle forced the vibrator deeper, the buzzing vibrating right against my sensitive nerves.

My chest heaved. I stared up at him, paralyzed.

His rough thumb brushed against my swollen lower lip. He pressed down, forcing my mouth open.

"You get off watching this shit?" His voice was a harsh, gravelly scrape.

I tried to shake my head, but no sound came out.

"Answer me, Lily."

"I was just... watching the game."

"The game." Ethan let out a dark, mocking laugh. He nodded toward the laptop. "Looks like a real competitive sport. You like watching him fuck her like that?"

"Shut up," I whispered, my face burning.

His eyes dropped to my crotch. The muscle in his jaw ticked. He reached down and wrapped his huge hand around the base of the pink toy.

"If this fucking piece of silicone isn't getting the job done," Ethan growled, shoving the toy an inch deeper. "Want to try with me?"

My spine arched instantly. I tried to squeeze my legs shut. His knee felt like a steel beam, locking me open.

"Ethan, stop," I whimpered.

"You don't want me to stop."

He pulled the toy halfway out, then slammed it back in. His thumb found the power button and cranked it to the highest setting.

"Fuck!" I screamed, my fingers digging into the chair's upholstery until my knuckles turned white.

"Are you fighting me right now?" he demanded, leaning closer.

I couldn't form words. Tears stung my eyes. My body betrayed me, trembling and pushing up into his hand with every brutal thrust of the toy.

"Tell me to leave, and I will," Ethan challenged. "Say the word, Lily. Tell me to get the fuck out of your apartment."

I just sobbed, a broken, messy sound. My breasts heaved, my hard nipples entirely exposed to his burning stare.

"Can't say it, can you?" he taunted, his voice dropping an octave.

He braced his free hand on the back of the chair, trapping me completely. The scent of my rose body wash mixed with the heavy, slick smell of my own arousal. I saw a muscle twitch under his eye.

He pumped the vibrator faster, grinding the vibrating base right into my clit.

"You're fucking soaking wet for a guy who looks like me," Ethan muttered, his eyes dark and wild. "Admit it. You want me to fuck you just like that guy on the screen."

"I want you," I sobbed out, the shame burning my throat. "Ethan, please."

"Please what? Use your words."

"Make me come. Fuck, please."

"You want my fingers inside you instead of this plastic garbage?"

"Yes. Yes, please."

"Say my name again."

"Ethan. Ethan, please."

My toes curled. My thighs shook violently. The orgasm built, a massive wave ready to crash and drown me. I was seconds away from completely shattering around the toy.

A sharp, obnoxious ringtone blasted through the room.

Ethan froze.

The phone in his sweatpants pocket kept ringing. He glared at it, then pulled it out. The screen flashed: *Manager - EMERGENCY. Away game moved up. Assemble NOW.*

His chest rose and fell in a massive, jagged breath. He stared at my flushed face, then down at my soaking wet pussy and the toy still buried inside.

He swallowed hard.

Ethan yanked the vibrator out of me in one smooth pull. He tossed the slick, buzzing silicone onto the rug. It landed with a soft thud.

He stepped back, taking his heat and his shadow with him.

"Clean yourself up." He gritted his teeth, his voice completely raw. "I'm leaving."

He turned on his heel and walked out. The front door slammed shut.

I sat collapsed in the armchair, my legs trembling uncontrollably. The deep, aching emptiness inside me throbbed. For twenty years, he was just the boy next door. Today, he had completely dominated me, and the most terrifying part?

When he came back from this road trip, I knew exactly what he was going to demand from me.

The Seattle arena lights burned my eyes. Game five of the playoffs, and the roar of seventy thousand fans crashed through the stands. I sat in the front row, my college roommate Sophia pressed against my side.

Out on the hardwood, Ethan played like a man possessed.

Number 7 drove hard into the paint, shoving two massive defenders aside. Sweat shone on his sharp jawline. He slammed the ball through the hoop, the backboard shaking violently under his grip.

"Jesus, he's going to kill someone out there," Sophia yelled over the deafening crowd.

I kept my eyes fixed on my lap. "He wants this win."

"He wants you." Sophia nudged my ribs hard.

"Shut up, Soph."

The giant overhead screen flashed. Ethan's face, hard and focused, transitioned straight to a live shot of me sitting courtside. The crowd cheered louder.

"See?" Sophia smirked. "The whole league knows you're his girl, Lily. He's going to take you out tonight. Celebrate the win."

"I'm just a team operations assistant. He's the MVP."

"He pays your tuition. He gave you a spare key to his penthouse." She rolled her eyes. "You think he does that for his other assistants?"

"We grew up together. He's just protective."

"Right. Protective. That's why he glares at any guy who breathes in your direction."

"He's like my brother."

"Brothers don't buy you diamond earrings for your birthday, Lily."

"They were just studs."

"They were two carats each." Sophia leaned closer. "You don't look at a brother the way you look at him. And he definitely doesn't look at you like a sister."

I pulled the collar of my beige sweater higher up my neck. My cheeks burned fiercely. Sophia didn't know about last night. She didn't know Ethan had shoved his knee between my thighs, wrapping his massive hand around my toy.

*Want to try with me?*

His gravelly voice echoed in my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of his thumb grinding the plastic into my skin.

The final buzzer blasted through the speakers. Seattle won.

Teammates mobbed Ethan at half-court. He didn't smile. He didn't celebrate. He just lifted his chin, his dark eyes cutting straight through the chaos, locking directly onto mine.

My stomach dropped.

"Go to him," Sophia urged.

"I have to get clipboards from the operations office," I lied, standing up quickly.

I needed to get away from the noise. I needed to hide.

The tunnel leading to the locker rooms felt freezing. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The air smelled of fresh body wash, stale sweat, and rubber sneakers.

I turned the corner.

A massive hand clamped around my wrist.

Before I could scream, a heavy force shoved me backward. My spine slammed into the cold brick wall. A towering shadow eclipsed the harsh lights.

Ethan.

He had just stepped out of the showers. Gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his narrow hips. Water drops rolled down the deep grooves of his chest and abdomen. His wet hair clung to his forehead.

He planted his hand on the bricks right beside my ear.

"Running away?" he asked, his voice a low scrape.

I pressed my palms flat against the wall. "I have to get back to work."

"Work is over."

"I have inventory to do."

"Inventory can wait."

He stepped closer. His knee parted my legs, sliding high between my thighs and pinning me in place. The heat rolling off his damp skin scorched me.

"Ethan, step back."

"Not a chance."

His dark eyes dragged down my face, settling on the high collar of my beige sweater.

"You sat in the front row today," he murmured. "Watching me."

"I watch every game."

"Not like today." His rough thumb brushed the base of my throat. "You were blushing the entire fourth quarter."

I swallowed hard. "It was hot in the arena."

"Bullshit." Ethan leaned in, his nose brushing my cheek. "After last night. After what you watched on that screen. Who were you thinking about today?"

"Nobody."

"Lie to me again."

He hooked a finger under the edge of my collar. He pulled the knit fabric down just a fraction.

"Was it the guy in the video?" His thumb traced a slow circle over my collarbone. "Or was it me?"

"Ethan, please."

"Please what? You begged me last night, Lily. You wanted my fingers inside you."

"I was confused."

"You were soaking wet."

My heart hammered against my ribs. He was too close. The bulge beneath his sweatpants pressed against my stomach, heavy and undeniable. If I admitted the truth, I would lose the only safe space I had ever known. He was a superstar. I was nothing. If he knew I loved him, he would pity me. He would use me until he got bored, and then I would have nothing. No best friend. No protector. Just a broken heart.

"Answer me."

His index finger found the top button of my sweater. He flicked it open. Cold air hit my bare skin.

"Stop." I pushed at his solid chest. It was like pushing a brick wall.

"Tell me you want me."

"You're crossing a line."

"I'm erasing the line."

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

I turned my head. Marcus Reyes walked out of the physio room. The twenty-six-year-old starting shooting guard moved with quiet, aloof grace. He didn't look our way, but he was getting closer.

Panic clawed up my throat. Ten years of hiding my feelings, ten years of terrifying insecurity, boiled over completely. Ethan's aggressive heat was suffocating me. I needed an escape. I needed to push him away before he realized how pathetic I truly was.

"I wasn't looking at you!" I yelled, my voice cracking.

Ethan froze. His hand hovered over my second button.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"I like Marcus!"

The words ripped out of me. They echoed off the concrete walls, loud and desperate.

Silence slammed into the tunnel.

Ethan's fingers curled into a fist. The mocking smirk vanished from his mouth. I watched the heat drain out of his eyes, replaced by a terrifying, empty cold.

He stared at me. His jaw locked so tight the muscle jumped beneath his skin.

"Marcus," Ethan repeated. The word sounded like ash in his mouth.

"Yes," I whispered, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

He stepped back. The overwhelming heat of his body vanished, leaving me freezing against the bricks. He didn't yell. He didn't punch the wall.

He just looked at me like I was a stranger.

"Got it," he said softly.

Ethan turned his back to me and walked down the hall, disappearing into the locker room without a single backward glance.

My knees gave out. I slid down the wall, clutching my unbuttoned sweater, entirely broken by the lie I just told.

I buried my face in my hands.

"Did you mean that?"

A deep, unfamiliar voice sounded right above me.

I snapped my head up. Marcus Reyes stood three feet away, his gym bag slung over one shoulder, staring down at me with an unreadable expression.

POV: Ethan

"I like Marcus."

I spat the words into the pitch-black living room. They tasted like ash.

"Bullshit," I growled.

I kicked the heavy oak coffee table. It didn't budge.

Rain hammered the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Seattle penthouse. 2:30 AM. I hadn't slept a single second. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face in that concrete tunnel. I saw the panic in her eyes and the way her lips trembled when she screamed another man's name to get away from me.

"You're her brother," I said to the empty room, pacing across the hardwood. "You protect her. You watch out for her. That's the deal."

I laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that echoed off the glass.

"Since when do brothers want to pin their sisters to a wall and fuck them senseless?" I asked the shadows. "Since when do brothers buy the apartment next door just to track who comes in and out?"

I stopped pacing and dragged both hands down my face.

For twenty years, I played the role. I beat up the kids who pulled her hair in elementary school. I scared off the college guys who stared too long at her legs. I told myself it was just habit. I told myself I was keeping her safe.

The truth was finally out. Today, when she pushed me away and claimed she wanted Marcus, something inside me violently snapped. I didn't want to protect her from other men. I wanted to destroy any man who looked at her.

A sharp noise bled through the drywall.

I froze.

My penthouse shared a wall with her bedroom. I made sure of that when I signed the lease, demanding the owner sell me both units.

"Lily?" I asked the darkness.

A muffled, broken sob answered me. She was crying into her pillow.

"Don't cry," I muttered, taking a slow step toward the wall. "Just tell me the fucking truth."

Then, the crying changed. A high, wet moan slipped through the plaster.

My blood turned to ice.

"No," I whispered.

Another moan. Louder this time.

*Marcus.*

The team group chat flashed behind my eyes. Marcus got the green light to fly to Miami for knee rehab. I saw the notification hours ago.

"He didn't get on the fucking plane," I snarled, my hands balling into fists. "He's in there."

He was in her bed. Touching her. Making her scream exactly like she did yesterday when I shoved that pink plastic toy inside her dripping pussy.

Rage blinded me completely. I tore my front door open and stormed into the hallway.

"I'm going to kill him," I swore.

My bare feet slapped the cold tile. I stopped in front of 4B. I raised my fist.

"Open the fucking door, Lily!" I wanted to scream. I wanted to shatter the wood into splinters.

I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. If I broke it down and saw his hands on her skin, my career was over. I would beat him to death on her rug.

My hands shook violently. I yanked my phone out of my gray sweatpants.

I hit his contact.

The line rang twice. Static hissed in my ear.

"Cole? What's going on?" Marcus's voice came through, heavy with exhaustion.

An airport PA system echoed loudly in the background. *Flight 409 to Orlando is now boarding.*

"Where the fuck are you?" I demanded.

"Miami," Marcus replied. "I just landed. Knee rehab. You forgot?"

I stared at the brass numbers on her door. "Miami."

"Yeah. Why are you calling me at two in the morning?" Marcus paused. The line went totally quiet on his end. "Wait. Are you calling about her?"

"Shut up," I snapped.

"Did something happen with Lily? Because she looked terrified in the tunnel today."

"I said shut the fuck up, Marcus."

"You need to back off her, Cole. You're suffocating the girl."

"If you ever look at her again, I'll break your other knee," I promised.

I ended the call and dropped the phone. It hit the carpet runner with a dull thud.

He was three thousand miles away.

Lily was alone.

I pressed my forehead flat against her door. The wood felt like ice against my burning skin.

Another sob drifted through the crack beneath the frame, followed by a wet, frantic gasp.

She was touching herself.

"Fuck," I groaned.

My hips jerked forward on pure instinct, grinding my rock-hard erection against the solid door.

The suffocating jealousy vanished. A raging, violent fire took its place. She was crying because of me. Because I cornered her. Because I forced her to lie. And she was rubbing her clit because she couldn't stop thinking about my hands on her.

"Cry for me, Lily," I whispered to the door, my nails digging into the painted frame. "Show me how bad you want it."

A muffled whimper leaked into the hallway.

"Use your fingers," I commanded, my voice a low scrape, even though she couldn't hear me. "Pretend it's me. Pretend I'm stretching you out right now. Spread those thighs for me."

Her voice spiked. The crying turned into a sharp, desperate wail.

"Ethan..."

The name punched straight through the wood. It exploded in my chest.

"I'm right here," I answered, my voice completely wrecked.

"Ethan! Please!" she cried out again, the sound shattering into a million pieces as her orgasm hit.

Pure, arrogant joy flooded my veins. My cock throbbed so hard it sent sharp spikes of pain into my stomach. I grabbed the brass handle.

"I'm coming in," I told the door.

I was going to turn it. I was going to walk straight into her bedroom, rip the silk sheets off, spread her bare thighs, and bury myself so deep inside her wet pussy she would forget how to speak. I wanted to fuck her until she admitted the truth.

"Open it," I ordered myself.

My knuckles turned white.

But I didn't turn the knob.

Her words from the tunnel echoed in the quiet hallway. *I like Marcus.*

She lied because she was terrified of me. If I kicked her door open right now and took what I wanted, I would break her completely. I couldn't just be the massive athlete who overpowered her. I needed her to beg me for it to my face. I needed her to surrender.

"You're lucky I'm walking away," I breathed, letting go of the brass handle.

I took a step back. The cold hallway air hit my sweat-drenched chest.

"You're mine, Lily," I swore to the closed door. "I'm going to make you admit it."

I turned around and walked back to my penthouse. I shut my heavy steel door and slid down the metal until I hit the floor.

I stared at my shaking hands in the dark.

There was no more brotherly bullshit. I wanted to own Lily Bennett. I wanted to consume her entirely.

And tomorrow morning, she was going to find out exactly what happens when you try to run away from me.