Craving Forbidden Pleasures

Elena's POV

The front door clicked, and my stomach twisted-not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.

Julian was back.

I hadn't seen him in five years. Not since my wedding. My wedding-to his younger brother, Max. The same wedding where Julian, already half-drunk and devastatingly handsome in a black tailored suit, had pulled me into a shadowed hallway and whispered, "You sure about this, sweetheart? You still have time to run",

I hadn't run. I married Max. Safe, steady Max. For five years, I'd been the perfect wife-smiling at charity galas, hosting dinners, pretending the magnetic tension between me and Julian was nothing more than a memory.

I had married Max because it felt safe to do so. Getting entangled with the dangerous and unpredictable Julian might get my heart broken, or at least that was what I thought. He was the black sheep of the family. A playboy from all appearances but irresistibly hot and charming. I had felt safe but secretly lonely for these five long years, praying that I overcome my attraction to Julian.

But now he was here. Living in our guesthouse for the next month while his Manhattan penthouse underwent renovations.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress and caught my reflection in the hallway mirror. Max was at work. It was just me-and Julian. And the silence between us crackled like lightning.

"Still staring at yourself, huh?" came the low, velvet voice behind me.

I turned. Slowly.

Julian Hart.

Taller than I remembered. The same rakish smirk that had once made my knees weak. Broad shoulders in a fitted charcoal coat, sleeves pushed to his forearms as if he owned the room-because he always had. His dark hair fell perfectly messy, and the scent of leather, smoke, and something undeniably masculine hit me like a drug.

"Do you approve?" he asked and I could not pretend I didn't know what he was talking about. Not when he had caught me staring blatantly at him, his abs and oh, his tiny waist.

"You're early," I said instead, attempting composure. My voice betrayed me-too tight, too needy.

"Missed you," he said casually. "Missed this place. And my favorite sister-in-law, of course."

"I'm your only sister-in-law," I corrected, narrowing my eyes.

"Exactly," he said, stepping closer. Heat radiated from him, threatening to consume me.

I swallowed and stepped back-but Julian followed. He always followed. My retreat was an invitation.

We stopped only when we were toe-to-toe. His eyes dropped to my lips, lingered, then lifted to mine.

"You look even better than I remembered," he murmured, his voice smoky and low.

"You should stop," I whispered, breath hitching. "Max-"

"Isn't here," he said. "And you didn't tell me to stop at the wedding either."

My cheeks burned. That hallway. That kiss we never spoke of. That damn kiss. It always came back to it.

"I was scared," I said, barely audible.

"So was I. Scared of how badly I wanted what wasn't mine," he confessed, leaning in so his breath brushed my ear.

A small sound escaped me-not quite a gasp, not quite a plea. My knees trembled.

His fingers grazed my waist. I froze-not from resistance, but anticipation.

"I thought five years would kill this thing," he said. "But the second I saw you, I knew it hadn't died. Just gone dormant."

"You can't," I whispered. "Julian, we can't." My heart thudded in my chest.

He smiled, slow and wicked. "Can't? Or won't?"

I should've pushed him away. I should've reminded him I was his brother's wife. But when his mouth finally brushed mine, my hands didn't resist-they clutched his shirt and pulled him closer.

The kiss was fire.

Not soft, not sweet-it was five years of unspoken desire, of lying in bed beside Max imagining Julian's hands, lips, tongue...

His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head deeper. The other gripped my hip, pressing me flush against him. I moaned. I was already trembling with want.

"Say it," he growled against my mouth. "Tell me you missed me."

"I missed you. Every damn day," I whispered.

He kissed me again, rougher this time, his thigh pressing against mine. My dress hiked up as I pressed into him, chasing friction like an addict.

Then he pulled away. And all at once I felt bereft.

"You're not ready to be fucked by me, Elena. Not yet. But soon," he said darkly.

"Julian-" I breathed, disappointment gnawing at me.

"Tonight," he said. "Dinner. Just us. Wear something you've never worn for Max."

And then he left, leaving me flushed, trembling, and wanting.

I hated him. I was sure I did. I hated the way he made me feel. He made me feel like a whore. A woman who had no control over her emotions and desires. But I also loved him. LOVE? I didn't know what the feeling was that I had for Julian but it was definitely a very strong one. It made me lose control. My body seem to dance to His every tune.

I don't want to feel this way. I was married for goodness sake. I didn't want to feel that I made a mistake in my choice of a husband but it continues to feel that way right from the very start.

Am I a bad girl? Why do I crave the wrong brother?

I stared at the closet like it was a battlefield. What to wear? Red? Too obvious. Black? Too somber. White? Too bridal.

Then I saw it: silk, emerald green, hugging my curves, low at the back, teasing at the front-just enough to tempt a second glance. Max hated it. He felt it was too clingy and exposed lots of flesh. Perfect. Julian would get it.

Heels added height, hair pinned up with strands framing my collarbone. The slit whispered promises up my thigh.

The doorbell rang at exactly eight.

I didn't rush. I didn't smile. I didn't hesitate.

Julian leaned against the frame, a bottle of wine dangling from two fingers. His eyes roamed me. "You wore it," he said, voice thick.

"You asked," I said, stepping aside. "Come in."

He brushed my arm as he passed. Heat radiated off him. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, veins taut along his forearms. I swallowed.

He paused by the table-candles lit, pasta fresh from scratch, soft jazz filling the room. "Someone pulled out the stops," he said, smirking. "Hoping to impress me?"

"I'm hoping to survive you," I replied honestly.

Then he closed the distance, bracing his hands on the counter beside me. His face was inches from mine.

"Let me ruin you a little," he said. "Just enough to make you never forget me."

"What if I want to be ruined?" I whispered. I couldn't believe that I actually said that out loud. But it was the truth. I was ready to throw caution to the wind for once in my life.

"Then dinner can wait", he said, huskily.

His mouth claimed mine. Rough, consuming, insatiable. He lifted me onto the counter, my legs wrapping around him. He groaned at my heat.

"Elena," he growled. "God, you're already wet."

"For you," I moaned.

He slid between my legs, teasing, stroking. My hips pressed against him, desperate.

"Dinner," he finally muttered, pulling back. "You cooked. I'm not completely savage. And the food cannot be allowed to go to waste."

I slid off the counter, legs trembling. "You're evil."

"Only for you," he replied, eyes dark.

Dinner was a blur. Every bite, every glance, every brush of our knees under the table-foreplay.

He undressed me with his eyes. I imagined his lips on mine as he coupes the food into his mouth. I imagined them on my breasts as he drank from the wine and to make it more devastatingly unbearable, his eyes never left mine.

My eyes followed the movement of the food down his throat, his tongue as he locked his lips and I kicked mine as well, because it suddenly felt dry. His eyes snapped back to my lips and his eyes darkened as he looked back at me. I could feel the tension of his body as he practised restraint.

I was not going to be the only one suffering this loss of control, so, I dipped my hand into my glass of wine and deliberately, slowly inserted it into my mouth, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

As I sucked my finger and get it out again, making a flop sound, he gasped and I smiled inwardly with satisfaction. If he wanted to play this game, then I was going to oblige him. Two can play the game.

"I missed you so much, it was unbearable", he croajed, his eyes now very dark with lust.

"You can't imagine the torture it was for me. You had things to distract you but I didn't. Not really", I confessed.

"You married the wrong brother," he murmured.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I only nodded. "I know."

His hand traced my thigh under the table. Desire coiled tight in my stomach.

"Upstairs," he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

I followed without thought. To the guest room, the door clicked shut behind us, and

we were tearing at each other. He backed me against the door, his mouth hit against mine, searing me, as though leaving his mark on me. I knew I was not going to be the same after tonight. His mouth left molten trail of fire as he kissed my throat, my neck, my shoulder... Oh it was heavenly when his mouth git to my cleavage and I thrust my chest into his face, arching forward, even closer to him, my nipples were already painfully hard, straining against the silk fabric of my dress, waiting impatiently for him to take them into his mouth. My hand combed his hair burning themselves inside his hair, pulling his head further down.

He started tearing of my clothes with an urgency I could relate with. I reciprocated and soon we were both stark naked. I pushed him into the bed and climbed into the bed, straddling him. He looked at me with shock at first, then with expectancy. I kissed him firlercely. He broke the kiss and flipped me over, so he was now atop of me, his knee nudging my legs open his cock long and hard and thrubbing .

"I want to bury myself deep inside you", he murmured huskily.

"I want to feel you moving inside me", I moaned. He thrust into me then, stretching me and I gasped with pleasure as everything I had restrained for years ignited in a storm of need, claiming, fire, and surrender.

I woke in a bed that didn't smell like my life.

It smelled like cedar and paint thinner, skin and aftershave-like him.

Julian's side of the bed was warm but empty. The sheets beside me were tangled, holding the ghost of his body. The green dress lay in a careless heap on the floor. My heels were near the nightstand. My stomach twisted. One night. One kiss. And yet, the impact reverberated through me as though I had shattered every part of the careful life I had constructed.

I tried to steady myself, pulling the sheet closer to my chest.

I thought if Max, my husband, and guilt, flared, sharp and hot in me. His name was a tether I could no longer ignore. I had cheated. Not just physically, but emotionally, with every part of my body that had cried out for Julian's touch. And worse, I hadn't regretted a single moment.

A champagne cork rolled lazily across the floor, like we'd celebrated something. Like we'd won.

But we hadn't.

I was still Max's wife. Still... me. Guilt coiled hot in my chest, yet again, but it was meaningless now. I had let Julian inside me. I had cried his name into his throat. I had let him see me unravel in a way Max never had.

And I hadn't regretted a second of it.

The door creaked. Instinctively, I pulled the sheet to my chest.

Julian appeared, shirtless, two mugs in his hands.

"You're still here," he said, almost uncertain.

"You thought I'd sneak out?" I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're married, Elena. I thought you'd have gone back to your room."

I flinched at the sound of my name on his tongue-intimate, knowing.

He set one mug down on the nightstand beside me. "Chamomile. No cream. One sugar."

I blinked. "You remembered."

"I remember a lot of things I shouldn't," he said softly, and my mind went to back to the crazy night we had last night. His presence filled the room, a force I couldn't resist.

I swallowed. The memory of last night was raw-his hands, his lips, the way he had claimed me. The way I had let him. My fingers dug into the sheets as he stepped closer, arms crossed, muscles taut. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't think clearly.

He didn't sit, just stood there-muscles tight beneath golden skin, morning light sharp against his jaw. Hickeys on his neck. I had done that. I knew if I looked, I'd find them on my neck as well. Last night had been wild and I was not ashamed to admit to myself that I wanted more.

"You look like you regret it already," he said.

"I don't," I said too quickly. "That's the problem."

He finally sat beside me, close but not touching. "Then don't pretend you do. Don't disappear into that perfect little version of yourself you built for Max."

"You're asking me to destroy my life," I whispered.

"No," he said. "I'm asking you to choose."

My breath caught. "I need time," I hedged, wondering how I would tell Max I wanted out to be with his brother.

"You don't have time, Elena," he said sharply.

He reached into the drawer and pulled out something small and black. A phone. Not his. Max's.

"He was here last night," Julian said simply.

I went cold. "What?"

"He stopped by. Forgot his charger or something."

"And... he saw me?"

Julian shook his head. "He knocked. I didn't answer. He must have assumed you were asleep. Left this behind."

He handed me the phone. My heart hammered. I unlocked the screen. One unread message, timestamped 11:32 p.m.-while we were upstairs, entangled in each other's arms, moaning and groaning with pleasure.

The message read, "Hope you're sleeping. Got a weird vibe tonight. Anyway... love you. See you tomorrow".

I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.

Julian touched my knee. "He doesn't know. Yet."

"But he will," I whispered.

"You can lie," he said. "You've done it for years. One more isn't a problem."

"That's not fair," I said.

"It's true," he said, voice tight. "Max doesn't see you. Never has. You're his trophy, not his partner."

"You don't get to ruin me and pretend you're rescuing me," I said quietly.

He stopped, the fire draining from his eyes. "I didn't want to ruin you. I just couldn't watch you shrink anymore."

He turned away. "I'll be gone by tonight. You'll never have to see me again."

I sat frozen, gripping Max's phone-and then it buzzed.

An unknown number.

He's not the only one who saw you last night.

My blood ran cold. It was another message: a photo. Taken through the window. Me. In Julian's arms. Mouth open, eyes half-lidded. No mistaking it.

Thought you should know. More where that came from.

I felt insane. Lust, fear, and need twisted inside me. I wanted him. I needed him. And now... someone else was watching.

And it didn't matter because I was still going to have him, if he would have me.

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