Page 7 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Don't cry," he says, more command than comfort. "This was an honest mistake."

"Honest mistake!" The words explode from me, panic giving way to anger. "Who the fuck are you! This is bad. This is so fucking bad!"

"I'm Sanderson," he says, as if that explains everything, as if that makes any sense at all.

"Well, Sanderson, you have some explaining to do because––"

"I thought I was dreaming," he interrupts, "and then I woke up to my dick shoved inside you and you moaning."

I stare at him, speechless at his audacity. "You. Thought. It. Was. A. Dream!" Each word feels like a separate sentence, punctuated by my disbelief. My breath is shaking.

"I'm going to get us cleaned up. Wait here."

The practical reality crashes over me—his semen cooling on my stomach, dripping down my thigh, inside me. He turns on the bathroom light, and despite everything, my traitorous eyes follow him, taking in the muscled curve of his backside. When he turns, I see he's still hard, his dick swinging between his legs. I force my gaze forward, mortification burning through me.

He returns quickly with wet paper towels, his movements careful as he cleans my stomach. His eyes never leave mine, searching for something.

"You're Cade's girlfriend?" he asks, wiping my skin with surprising gentleness.

I nod, unable to form words.

"For how long?" he presses.

"Almost two months," I manage, my voice raw. I can't bring myself to tell him the devastating truth—that I've never slept with Cade, that my first time with my boyfriend was actually with him, that the most intense pleasure I've ever felt came from the wrong man.

"Two months? Where has he been hiding you?" he asks, something like surprise in his voice.

"Hiding me?" Indignation pushes through my shock. "He hasn't been hiding me."

He just nods, unconvinced. "Trust me, he has. He hasn't mentioned you."

The casual revelation lands like a slap. "I'm sorry but who are you?"

He retrieves my clothes from the floor by the door and hands them to me, his eyes lingering on my lingerie for a moment—the special set I bought specifically for Cade. I don’t feel embarrassed under his gaze, rather like he could go for another round. But he quickly picks up his own pants and throws it on before sitting on the bed beside me.

"I'm his brother."

The words don't make sense at first, letters arranged in an order that my brain refuses to process.

"No fucking way," I stutter, mint toothpaste suddenly bitter on my tongue. I point at him, as if accusing him of a lie. "No!" I’m shaking. "No!"

He licks his lips as I scramble back into my clothes, desperate to armor myself against this nightmare.

"You can't tell him about this," he says.

"What! Are you out of your mind? I don't even think I can see him like ever again." The thought of facing Cade, of looking into eyes that are echoes of the ones watching me now, makes my stomach turn.

Sanderson shakes his head. "You're not going to break up with him because of this. If he's been hiding you, he likes you. A lot."

I feel dizzy, untethered. "Then where the fuck is he right now? He told me he was going to be home?"

"Good question. Let me go get us water and I'll see if he's on the couch."

A marching band erupts in my stomach, a nauseating rhythm of horror.

No, please no.

The possibility that my boyfriend might be just outside this room, separated from this betrayal by nothing more than a thin wall, is too much.

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