His Possession (30 Nights of Sinful Corruption)

I had a million plans for my anniversary, but getting thoroughly f*ck*d by my husband’s brother wasn’t one of them…

ALEXA.

“Stop looking at your phone,” I said.

Eric glanced up from the armchair. I stood between him and the hotel mirror in the black slip I had bought for tonight, thin enough that the bathroom light showed the shape of my breasts. No bra. The hem ended high on my thighs. I had shaved, oiled my legs, and put perfume on the inside of my wrist because he used to notice that.

“I’m not working,” he said.

“You said that last Sunday.” I crossed the carpet and took the phone out of his hand. “You said it when I sat on the kitchen counter in your shirt. You kissed my knee and took a call from Singapore.”

His mouth tightened. Four years of marriage, and the last two had been mostly that. I came home from the salon. He came home after midnight. I waited in bed until the ache turned mean, then I locked the bathroom and finished with two fingers and my palm over my mouth. He never asked why the shower ran so long.

“I cleared tonight,” he said. “No laptop. I meant it.”

“Then touch me.”

I set the phone face down on the table and climbed into his lap. The slip rode up. His hands found my waist like he had forgotten how, then slid lower, palms rough on the backs of my thighs. I rolled my hips once. He was already hard. For a second I thought the night might actually belong to us.

“Alexa.” His voice went low. “You’re soaked.”

“I’ve been soaked for months.” I took his wrist and guided his hand between my legs, over the thin cotton I had left on so he would have something to pull aside. “You keep leaving me like this. I don’t want a dinner. I don’t want a necklace. I want you to f*ck me before I forget what you feel like.”

He groaned. Two fingers pressed the cotton into me, slow, and my forehead dropped to his shoulder. I rocked against his hand. He let me. His mouth found my throat. I thought, finally, and then his hand went still.

“Open the box first,” he said.

“Eric.”

“On the dresser. Then I’m yours.”

I climbed off him shaky, furious, wet. The box was small and black. I had pointed at a diamond three times this month. Once in a window. Once on my phone while he typed. Once last week, when he found me asleep and only kissed my shoulder.

Two hotel keys lay inside. Not jewelry.

“What is this?”

“The room next door.” He was still in the chair, c*ck straining his trousers, watching the slip cling to me. “I booked it so we wouldn’t be interrupted. I thought that was the gift. Then I realized I might still leave you aching, and you deserve better than another night of almost.”

A knock hit the joining door. My stomach dropped.

“Who is that?”

“Get it,” he said. “You’ll see.”

Dylan stood in the doorway. Eric’s brother. Jacket off, tie loose, the same careful smile he wore at our house three weeks ago when I hugged him in the kitchen and asked about his new apartment. His eyes caught on the slip. He looked away too late.

“Happy anniversary,” he said. “Eric told me you two were here. I was next door anyway. I can say hello and go.”

“Come in,” Eric said.

I stepped back. Shame climbed my neck. Dylan shut the door because Eric nodded at it. The lock sounded too final. I crossed my arms over my chest, which only made the slip pull tighter.

“We were about to open champagne,” I said. My voice did not sound like mine. “If you want one glass. He didn’t tell me you were stopping by.”

“He told me you’ve been lonely,” Dylan said. He stayed near the door. “I thought he meant dinner.”

Eric stood. He dragged the second chair from the desk and set it at the foot of the bed, close enough that his knees would touch the mattress. Then he sat. Ordinary, almost, except his eyes had not left my face.

“Eric,” I said. “What are you doing?”

“What I should have done instead of listening to you in the bathroom.” He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “You tried. I didn’t give it to you. I’m not going to keep pretending a necklace fixes that.”

Dylan’s jaw tightened. “You want to say that plainer?”

“I want you to take my wife.” Eric’s voice stayed even. “Ring stays on. Eyes on me. She dressed like this because she thought tonight was ours. She didn’t know you were coming. She’s embarrassed. She’s also still wet from my hand.”

The room went quiet. I should have told Dylan to leave. The word sat on my tongue and would not move. Dylan looked at me, then at his brother, then at the chair waiting at the foot of the bed.

“Alexa,” he said. “If this isn’t what you want, say it now.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing useful came out. My wedding band flashed when I gripped the edge of the mattress. Eric watched that, and the small curve of his mouth was worse than a shout.

“Happy anniversary,” he said. “I want to watch you get what I don’t give you.”

Dylan had not touched me. Eric had not repeated the order. The slip was still on, my thighs were still pressed together, and the ache from the armchair had not faded at all.

“Take her,” Eric said.

ALEXA

“Take her,” Eric said again, and I laughed.

It came out wrong. Thin, too high, the sound I used when a client told a bad joke and I still had to smile. Dylan had not moved from the door. My slip was still on. My husband’s hand had been between my legs ten minutes ago, and now he was sitting at the foot of the bed like a man who had ordered dinner.

“You’re not serious,” I said. “Dylan, he’s not serious. We hugged in my kitchen three weeks ago. You asked me where I bought the wine.”

“I remember,” Dylan said.

“Then tell him this is insane.” I looked at Eric. “Happy anniversary. Very funny. You can put the chair back.”

Eric did not smile. “I’m not joking.”

“You are.” I smoothed the slip down my thighs because my hands needed something to do. The cotton underneath was still damp from his fingers. “You booked a hotel. You got me wet and then you called your brother so you wouldn’t have to fini