Page 5 of Brothers' Brat

"Stop it, Hayden," Leila whispers through chattering teeth, squirming to escape my grasp. But her efforts are weak, like the rest of her is conserving energy, succumbing to my touch.

"Trying to warm you up," I say, the lie sitting heavy in my throat. It's more than that, it's this need to erase the harm, to bring her back from the edge we pushed her toward. I have an explosive temper that only Leila seems to be able to ignite, but touching her like this soothes me in a way I don't think I could express to her.

"Like you care," she hisses back, but her voice breaks, betraying the bravado she's so desperately trying to put on.

"Maybe I do, Leila," I admit, though I'm not sure if it's another lie or a truth I'm only beginning to understand. The heat finally kicks in, a soft hum joining the rhythmic patter of snowflakes hitting the windshield.

Hudson focuses on the road, his jaw set in concentration while the wipers sweep back and forth. I already know where his head is. We're both a coiled mess of frustration, and I'm not sure how much longer he's going to be able to be the good twin. "Dammit, Hayden, we could have avoided this mess," Hudson says, but his annoyance has nothing to do with the snow, and we both know it.

"Let's just get her to the cabin," I reply, barely audible, my hands still moving, creating friction, a desperate attempt to chase away the cold that feels like it's seeped into Leila's bones.

Snow clings to the window, a sloppy mess of white dust, and I feel my little sister shivering against me. I jerk her closer, my grip firm on her waist, forcing her to sit properly on my lap, and her strength must be coming back because she tries to jerk her body out of my hold.

She has no clue how close I am to snapping and ruining everything.

"Behave," I growl low in her ear, "or I'll stop trying to be nice."

Leila's eyes flash with defiance, a spark that always draws me in. "Nice?" she spits out the word like venom. "Your kind of nice is a knife in the fucking chest, Hayden."

Her words cut deep, deeper than she knows. She thinks we're obsessed with her because of the curse, that we can just turn it off, find someone else to want. But it's not that simple.

"You want me to take up playing with knives? Don't fucking tempt me." It’s always been about more than desire with Leila. It's need. It's raw and unyielding.

"Leave me alone, and the curse will go away." Her voice holds a quiver she can't quite hide.

"There's nothing you can do to change how we feel, Leila." I grab her face, my fingers pressing into her cheeks, forcing her to look at me. My heart pounds with feelings I can't control, and I hate that she doesn't see it. "You're the only one who can make this feeling go away. It's always been different between you and me and you and Hudson. You feel it, we know you do."

"You don't love me!" Leila cries out, the anger in her eyes sears me right in the heart, and I want to throttle her, to shake some fucking sense into her. I have never felt an ounce of anything for another girl.

I twist her roughly, pushing her toward Hudson, his green eyes meeting mine in silent understanding. I can see the way his lips are pressed into a thin line that he's had the same reaction to her declaration as I have. Rage.

"Since you seem to be choking on the truth and telling us lies," I say, my voice harsh, "you can choke on something else."

Hudson's hands steady the wheel as Leila struggles between us. The air is thick with tension, and she shows no sign of backing down.

The Jeep's engine hums, a low growl that fades into the background as Hudson's fingers deftly unbutton his jeans. The snow outside paints the world in winter white, but inside, there is nothing but heat and fury.

"Get down there," Hudson commands, voice rough like gravel. His hand is firm on the back of Leila's neck, pressing her face toward his exposed, throbbing dick. I see his hips lift, shoving his cock as far inside her mouth as he can manage. He must hit the back of her throat because she gags, and the choking sound makes my dick jerk with excitement.

"Bad girl," I chastise, my voice dark as I watch her resistance wilt. "Always lying about what you want." My words are barbed hooks, meant to incite her further. She won't give me her softness, her love—I want her anger.

Her body lies across my lap, and with a flick, I lift the hem of her skirt, exposing her to my gaze. "Look at you," I murmur, almost contemplative. "So wet for us."

Hudson's eyes meet mine, the green in them like the forest at dusk. "She loves it when we treat her like our plaything," I say to him loud enough to ensure she hears every word.

A hard slap echoes in the confined space, her skin blooming red beneath my palm. Her gasp mixes with the sound of my hand coming down against her sensitive skin. I part her thighs with intention, my touch branding her. I'm mesmerized by the sight of her mouth sliding up and down my brother's cock. Hudson pulls the Jeep over, no longer able to focus on anything except our sister's sweet tongue and lips.

"Fuck, Hayden," Hudson groans as I slip two fingers roughly into the heat of her silky, tight pussy. "Her mouth… It's so fucking good."

I can feel the catch of her breath with the intrusion of my fingertips, each tremor that racks her body as I drive my fingers deeper, rougher. Her walls clench around me, and there's power in knowing I can unravel her so completely. Hudson fucks her throat roughly, his hand fisting in her hair. Every time he hits the back of her throat, her pussy tightens even further around my digits.

"Bad girls don't get to come," I remind her, my voice steel, wrapped in velvet, as I withdraw my fingers from the slick heat of her core, leaving her hollow, wanting more from us.

"Swallow it," Hudson grits out as he finds his release, his grip tightening to keep her in place. It's over in moments, but those moments stretch long and taut between us. When Hudson's finished, Leila slumps, spent and broken, her breaths jagged sobs that cut through the silence.

"Come here," I say softly, lifting her up to sit back on my lap. She's a marionette with cut strings, her head resting against my chest as her eyes flutter closed. Her exhaustion is palpable, her spirit dimmed in a way that I hate and crave all at the same time.

Wrapping my arms around her, I hold her close, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest against mine. It's a fragile peace, her surrender, and I breathe her in like I might never get the chance again.

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