Chapter 1

I never thought I'd find my boyfriend fucking my best friend in a campus bathroom. But there they were—Jake's muscular frame pinning Melissa against the sink, her cheerleader skirt hiked up around her waist as his hips thrust forward with practiced rhythm. The wet sounds of their coupling mixed with her breathless moans, and I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Jake," I whispered, my voice barely audible over their grunts of pleasure.

He whipped around, his face flushed and guilty. Melissa's eyes went wide with shock, but there was something else there too—satisfaction, maybe even triumph. My stomach twisted.

"Sara, wait—" Jake started, pulling out and fumbling with his jeans.

But I was already running. Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled through the hallway, ignoring the curious stares of other students. My chest ached with betrayal so raw it felt physical. Three years. We'd been together for three years, and this was how it ended—with him buried inside my supposed best friend.

I didn't stop running until I reached my car. My hands shook as I jammed the key into the ignition, and I peeled out of the parking lot without looking back. The drive home passed in a haze of tears and rage. How long had this been going on? How many times had they laughed about me behind my back?

The house was quiet when I arrived, earlier than expected. Mom's car was gone—she must be at the hospital finishing her shift. I kicked off my shoes and wiped my face, trying to compose myself. At least I wouldn't have to explain why I was home early.

But then I heard it—a low, masculine groan coming from upstairs. From the study.

My stepfather.

My breath caught in my throat. Brandon. Six foot three of pure muscle, with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing gray eyes that always seemed to look right through me. He'd been a professional hockey player before retiring to coach at the university, and even at forty-five, his body was still a work of art. Broad shoulders, powerful thighs, and hands that could probably span my entire waist.

I'd fantasized about those hands for the past two years, ever since Mom married him. It was wrong, I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help myself. Every time he walked past me in the hallway, every time our fingers brushed at the dinner table, I felt heat pool between my thighs.

Another groan echoed through the house, deeper this time, and my pulse quickened. I'd noticed he and Mom rarely slept in the same room anymore. They maintained appearances for my sake, but I wasn't blind. The way Mom stayed late at work, the coldness between them at breakfast—something was broken in their marriage.

Was he with someone else? The thought sent a strange mixture of jealousy and excitement through me. Part of me wanted to storm in there and catch him, to have proof that he was cheating on Mom. But another part—the darker part I tried to ignore—hoped I'd find him alone.

I crept up the stairs, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. The study door was slightly ajar, just enough to peek through. My hands trembled as I pressed closer, holding my breath.

What I saw made my knees weak.

Brandon sat in his leather chair, his head thrown back and his muscular body tensed with pleasure. His jeans were pushed down around his thighs, and his hand moved in steady strokes over his cock—thick, long, and glistening with precum. On his laptop screen, a woman writhed beneath a man who looked remarkably similar to Brandon himself, all raw power and dominance.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice rough with need. His abs flexed with each stroke, and I could see the veins standing out on his forearms.

I should have left. I should have gone to my room and pretended I'd never seen this. But instead, I found my hand sliding down my stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans. My fingers found my clit already swollen and aching, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan.

This was so wrong. He was my stepfather. But watching him pleasure himself, seeing the raw hunger on his face, made me wetter than I'd ever been with Jake. My hips rolled forward as I rubbed circles around my clit, matching the rhythm of his strokes.

On the screen, the man flipped the woman over and spanked her ass until it glowed red. Brandon's breathing grew ragged, his strokes faster and more desperate. I could see his muscles tensing, his jaw clenched tight as he chased his release.

My own orgasm was building, pressure coiling tight in my belly. I pressed my palm against the door frame to steady myself, my legs shaking as my fingers worked frantically between my thighs. So close, I was so close—

The door swung open.

Brandon's gray eyes locked onto mine, dark with lust and something more dangerous. His hand stilled on his cock, but he didn't try to cover himself. Instead, he looked me up and down, taking in my flushed face, my hand still shoved down my pants, the obvious arousal written all over my body.

"Sara," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Get in here."