Chapter 3 Story 2 (): Summer Night Stand

The summer house stood quiet and sun-drenched, tucked between tall pines and wild grass. It looked exactly as she remembered-weathered wood siding, wraparound porch, and wide windows open to the breeze. For a brief second, she let herself imagine a peaceful week ahead: iced drinks, sunbathing, and finally breathing after the chaos of finals.

But the moment she pushed the door open, she felt it-the shift. The energy.

And then she saw him.

"Hey." His voice slid over her like silk.

Her heart lurched.

He stood barefoot in the open living room, a beer in hand, wearing a fitted black t-shirt and gray sweats that hung a little too low on his hips. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd just showered, and when he looked at her, his mouth curved in that slow, deliberate smile that made her stomach flip.

No one had mentioned he would be here.

She forced her voice to work. "Jace?"

His grin widened. "Didn't expect me, huh?"

It had been four years since she last saw her roommate's older brother. Back then, he was just a cocky, tall senior with a reputation for breaking hearts and skipping class. But now... now he looked carved, refined-his easy confidence sharpened into something magnetic.

She dropped her bag at her feet, mind spinning.

"You're staying here?"

"Looks like it." He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving her. "You've changed."

She crossed her arms. "So have you."

"I'm not complaining."

Her cheeks burned, and she quickly looked away. She couldn't-shouldn't-get flustered. Especially not by him.

Her roommate's voice echoed in her mind:

> "Don't go near my brother. I don't care how hot he is or how much you're tempted. He's trouble."

She remembered laughing at the time, not realizing how serious she was. Back then, her crush had been harmless-built on fleeting glances and quiet daydreams. But now, faced with him, live and dangerously close, it didn't feel harmless at all.

---

By late afternoon, she was unpacked and trying to shake off the tension curling low in her stomach.

She found Jace in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, talking on the phone. His voice was low, casual, but it still sent a shiver down her spine. When he saw her, his eyes flicked down her body-bare legs, loose tank top-before slowly dragging back up. He ended the call with a quick goodbye and turned his attention to her.

"Thirsty?" he asked, already reaching for a second glass.

"I guess."

He poured her a drink, handed it over. Their fingers brushed-warm skin, brief contact-but it sent a spark up her arm. She pulled back too quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed.

He had. His smirk deepened.

They talked. About school, about the house, about nothing. But it was how they talked-every word laced with something heavier. Every glance, every pause, every shift of his body closer to hers added to the slow, simmering heat.

When she leaned back against the counter, he stepped into her space, not touching but close enough to feel his presence.

"You always this quiet?" he asked.

She shrugged, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Only when I don't trust myself."

His brow lifted. "Around me?"

She didn't answer.

---

That evening, while the sun dipped below the trees, she sat alone in the kitchen finishing a snack. She heard footsteps behind her, and before she could turn, his voice slid through the room.

"You're nothing like I remember."

She turned slowly.

Jace stood in the doorway, half in shadow. His eyes were darker now, unreadable, and the way he looked at her-hungry, intense-made her heartbeat stutter.

"I don't know if that's a compliment," she managed.

"It is."

He took a few steps forward. Her breath caught when he stopped just a foot away. She could smell his cologne-clean, subtle, male. The air felt thick.

"Why are you really here, Jace?" she whispered.

"I told your sister I needed a break. Said the city was getting to me." He smiled, slow and dangerous. "But maybe I just wanted to see you again."

Her stomach flipped.

She stood up quickly, her chair scraping the floor. "This is a bad idea."

He didn't move. "Probably."

Her heart raced as she slipped past him, heading toward the hallway. But the second she turned the corner, he was there again. This time, he didn't keep the distance.

He leaned close, his breath warm on her ear.

"We both know you want this."

She froze.

The words crackled in the silence like electricity. She wanted to deny it, laugh it off-but her body betrayed her. She was trembling, flushed, too aware of how close he was. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

And then, he stepped back.

"Good night, sweetheart," he murmured, disappearing into the shadows.

The next night, the line shattered.

They sat side by side on the porch, a single bottle between them, moonlight painting his features in silver. Their legs brushed-once, twice. Neither pulled away.

She was tipsy, but not drunk. Buzzed just enough to feel bold.

"You're staring again," she said, not looking at him.

"Can you blame me?"

When she finally looked, his gaze was already on her mouth. He leaned closer. She could feel the heat of him, the tension in his body.

"I've wanted this for years," he said, voice low and raw. "Since the first time you walked into our apartment, all shy and cute, hiding behind your textbooks."

She felt the words in her chest, in her throat, everywhere.

He reached for her hand, slow, deliberate. When their fingers touched, the world tilted.

She didn't stop him.

They stood at the foot of the stairs. Neither moved.

She chewed her lip, heart racing. "This isn't just a summer fling, is it?"

His jaw flexed. "No."

He stepped forward, cupping her cheek with one hand. "But if you want to pretend it is, I'll play along."

She hesitated. Everything inside her screamed that it was wrong-her best friend's brother, the one person she was told never to touch. But her body ached for him. Her skin tingled from the memory of his gaze, his voice, his nearness.

She nodded.

And together, wordless, they started up the stairs.

Each step was thick with anticipation. She could feel his presence behind her, his gaze on her legs, her hips, her back. When they reached the top, she paused, her breath shallow.

He leaned in, lips grazing her neck.

"You sure?" he whispered.

She turned to face him, eyes wide but certain.

"Yes."

The door clicked softly behind them as they entered the bedroom. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it over the silence. He turned, watching her like he was seeing her for the first time-slow, deliberate, intense.

"I meant it," he said, stepping closer. "I've wanted this for years."

Her breath caught. There was something about the way he said it-raw, honest, almost vulnerable. She wanted to be afraid, but she wasn't. Not with him.

Still, her fingers trembled as she touched his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath his shirt. "I've never... done this before," she whispered, barely able to meet his eyes.

He paused. "You're a virgin?"

She nodded.

The heat in his eyes didn't fade, but something softened. "Then we go slow. You tell me to stop, I stop."

His hand came up to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. "But if you want this... I'll take care of you."

She didn't answer with words-just leaned in, letting her lips find his.

The kiss was gentle at first. Exploratory. But it didn't stay that way for long. The tension they'd built over days-years, even-crashed into them all at once. His hands roamed her body with reverence, tugging her shirt over her head, fingertips skimming her skin like she might break.

Her breath came in soft gasps as he kissed down her throat, her collarbone, his touch reverent but sure. When her back hit the mattress, she didn't feel nervous anymore-only full of heat, of hunger, of aching anticipation.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispered again.

"I don't," she said, voice breathless.

He took his time-sliding off each piece of clothing like unwrapping a secret. When he saw all of her, he didn't look away. He looked at her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered.

His hands and mouth explored slowly, making her feel things she never knew her body could feel. She gasped, squirmed, whimpered-but she never told him to stop.

And when he finally moved over her, their eyes locked, bodies pressed together, she held her breath.

"It might hurt," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

"I don't care. I want you."

She felt it-the sharp stretch, the sting-but it was overwhelmed by the warmth of being held, kissed, cherished. He didn't move until she nodded, and when he did, it was slow and careful and completely overwhelming.

The rhythm built, her hands clinging to him, her breath catching with every slow thrust. He whispered her name like a prayer, forehead pressed to hers. She felt everything-every inch, every heartbeat, every unspoken emotion.

And when her body tightened around him, when pleasure crested inside her like a wave she couldn't hold back, she cried out. He followed soon after, shuddering, burying his face in her neck as he let go.

They lay tangled in silence afterward, the room filled with the sound of their breathing.

"You okay?" he finally asked, brushing her hair from her face.

She nodded, lips parted, body still tingling. "More than okay."

He pulled her close. "You're mine now, you know that?"

She didn't answer-but she didn't pull away either.

Because part of her already knew she was.