Page 97 of You Were Always Mine
“Shhh,” he whispers against my ear, his voice so low it makes my stomach twist. “You’ll wake them.”
Them. Mum. Dad. Just a floor away. The thought alone should make me shove him off, but I don’t move—can’t. His hand holds me in place, and the filth of my own confession burns through me like wildfire.
“You wanted this, didn’t you, Scar?” he breathes, his nose brushing my temple, the words brushing straight into my skull. “Don’t lie to me now. You wanted me to fuck you with their voices just down the hall. You wanted to choke on your own moans.”
Tears sting my eyes, trapped against his palm. I shake my head because it feels safer than nodding, but my body betrays me—hips twitching, thighs clenching, chest heaving beneath his weight.
His thumb strokes across my cheek as if he’s soothing me, as if this isn’t the cruelest kind of torment. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Stay quiet. Don’t you dare make a sound.”
I try to speak—try to beg or deny or anything—but all that comes out is a muffled whimper swallowed into his skin. His grip tightens, and he presses closer, his breath hot and jagged against my hairline.
“You feel it, don’t you?” he says, and I can feel the smile against my ear. “How filthy you are. How badly you need me. And I haven’t even touched you yet.”
Every nerve in my body is screaming. I can’t run, can’t speak, can’t confess again—but the burn of wanting him like this, hand silencing me, shame eating me alive, is worse than anything.
His palm seals over my mouth, hot and heavy, muffling the breath that wants to turn into a cry. The whole house is silent above us, the kind of silence that feels like it has teeth, ready to bite if we’re caught. My chest rises too fast, too sharp, and the burn in my lungs is nothing compared to the heat that spreads when his other hand leaves my hip.
It drifts lower, deliberate, cruel. Over my ribs, grazing the edge of my stomach, then pressing flat so I can feel how steady he is while I’m shaking like a leaf. He doesn’t rush. He drags every second out like punishment. My thighs clench instinctively, shame flooding me before his fingers even get there.
“Shhh,” he breathes against my ear, the word molten and taunting. “They’re asleep upstairs, Scar. You don’t want to wake them, do you?”
I try to shake my head, but his palm tightens, forcing my answer into a broken whimper caught in his skin. Hishand explores lower, skimming the waistband of my leggings, not pushing in, just hovering, making me ache.
“You think I don’t remember the things you whispered?” His voice is a dark curl of smoke. “Your filthy little fantasy. Wanting me here. Wanting me to touch you with them just a few steps away.”
The shame stabs sharper than the desire, but my body betrays me, arching into his touch, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
His fingers don’t go where I need them—they ghost, cruel, over the seam of my clothes, enough pressure to make my pulse spike, not enough to give relief. He keeps me trapped between his palm over my mouth and his hand tormenting me lower, like he owns every sound and every breath.
“Show me, Scar,” he whispers, the words so soft and filthy they melt into my skin. “Show me how much you hate yourself for needing this.”
His palm still seals over my mouth, hot and unyielding, the press of his skin a warning and a promise. The candles burn low around us, shadows trembling across the walls, and I swear he can feel every frantic beat of my pulse beneath his hand. My body betrays me—I’m trembling, restless, heat pooling low where I ache the most.
Kai leans in, his breath brushing my ear, dark and unrelenting.
“Do it for me, Scar,” he whispers, voice smooth as broken glass. “Play with yourself. Right here. Let me watch you fall apart.”
The words slice through me like a sin I can never undo. My shame claws up my throat, but his hand keeps it trapped there, my whimper swallowed against his palm. My thighs clamp together like I can hold the shame in, buthis other hand pries them apart with cruel patience, fingertips biting into the soft insides until I can’t resist the pressure anymore.
“Show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone,” he murmurs, softer now, like he’s coaxing, like it’s tender. But there’s nothing tender in the heat coiling behind his eyes. “I want to see it. I want to know if you made yourself this wet thinking of me.”
The shame makes my vision blur, but my hand is already moving, sliding hesitantly down, the tremor in my fingers betraying me more than any words could.
My hand shakes as it slides lower, every nerve screaming at me to stop, to pull away, to shove him off—but his hand stays clamped over my mouth, forcing silence into me, forcing me into this. My palm hovers, the heat between my thighs unbearable, the ache so sharp it almost feels like punishment.
Kai’s eyes darken, fixed on me like I’m his captive, his creation. His whisper is velvet and venom all at once.
“That’s it, Scar. Don’t hide from me. Touch yourself like you do when you’re in your room pretending I don’t exist. Show me how pathetic you get for me.”
The shame makes me sob against his palm, but my fingers obey. I slide them between the slickness of my folds, the wet sound obscene in the room’s hush. His chest rises sharply against my back, his breath jagged, like every tiny motion I make is pulling him apart.
He presses harder against my mouth, muffling the strangled cry that slips out when my fingers brush my clit.
“Fuck,” he groans low in my ear, his words as filthy as his stare. “You’re soaked. Drenched for your brother. Do you know how wrong this is? How good it makes me feel to watch you break yourself open just for me?”
Tears burn down my cheeks, but my body doesn’t stop—it can’t. Every circle of my trembling fingers pulls me closer; every filthy word from him pushes me deeper into the spiral.
His lips graze my temple, his voice softer now, cruel in how sweet it sounds.
