My Stepbrother's Forbidden Touch: The Night We Crossed the Line
My Stepbrother's Forbidden Touch: The Night We Crossed the Line My Stepbrother's Forbidden Touch: The Night We Crossed the Line My heart hammered against my ribs the moment his fingers brushed the inside of my thigh under the dinner table. It was innocent enough—or at least that's what I told myself. Mom and Dad were laughing about some old vacation story, oblivious, while the candlelight flickered across his face. Alex. My stepbrother. The one I'd grown up avoiding eye contact with ever since our parents got married five years ago. Now twenty-four, he was back from grad school, all sharp jawline and quiet confidence that made my stomach twist in ways it never should. I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. His hand lingered, warm through the thin fabric of my sundress, thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle. Not high enough to be obvious, but high enough that heat pooled between my legs instantly. I shot him a look—sharp, warning. He ...