Let me tell you the shape of my family before I tell you what I did, because the shape is the whole excuse and I want you to see how thin it is. Adrian Crosswell married my mother ten years ago, when I was twelve, and he brought his whole dynasty into our small life like weather. Pharmaceutical billions. A mansion with maids who learned my name before I learned theirs. And a younger brother, Damian, who they all decided I should call my uncle.

The lab still smelled of ethanol and the faint metallic bite of sterilized steel when his mouth found mine. His tongue pushed past my lips, hot and insistent, and I tasted the coffee he had drunk an hour earlier. My fingers curled into the stiff front of his white coat, the fabric rough against my palms.

He is not. None of them are. There is no blood between me and a single Crosswell. My mother is dead now, and the man I call my stepfather shares nothing with me but a surname I took to make the lawyers happy, and the brother I call my uncle is mine only by paperwork, a clean corporate lie everyone agreed to sign.

I tell you this so you understand there is no law I broke. Only every other kind. Because the man I have wanted since I was old enough to know the word for it is Adrian, and the man currently fingering me against a lab table with his tongue in my ear is his brother, and I am letting him, and the worst part is not that I cannot stop. The worst part is the reason I can't.

“Damian, please, we cannot do this,” I panted between kisses, the words breaking apart as his tongue pushed into my mouth, sliding against mine while he sucked at my lip.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Professor while we’re at work?” he said against my mouth, the mockery quiet and even, like he had all the time in the world. My body had gone still with the shock of it, my hands clenched tight in the front of his white lab coat. I tried to pull my lips away. One warm hand slid up the back of my head and held me there, steering my wet mouth back to his.

“I’ll give you so much pleasure you’ll forget all about Adrian,” he said low against my ear, the name dropped on purpose, the way you set a thing down where someone will trip on it.

“Please,” I breathed, and the sound came out as a moan I hadn’t meant to make. His hand slid inside my lab coat and cupped my left breast, kneading slow and hard. Heat dropped through me, and I felt myself go slick between my legs, fast, too fast. I am reacting to him this quickly. His body crowded me back against the steel table, and his thigh wedged between mine. I tried to tell him to stop. All I could manage were moans, broken up by my own ragged breathing, while he worked both my breasts through my clothes.

“No. Stop. I can’t,” I gasped as his tongue dragged along the shell of my ear and his lips closed over it, wet and unhurried. The sensation pulled my eyes wide open, and I looked straight into his face. That was the worst part. His green eyes, his dark brown hair, his beautiful straight nose, his lean and slightly muscular body. So close to the man I love and have wanted in secret for as long as I’ve known the word for it. My stepfather. I closed my eyes again so I wouldn’t have to choose which brother I was seeing.

He kissed me again, deeper, and I let him, our mouths slick and open every time he changed the angle. His thigh stayed pressed up between my legs, the seam of his trousers riding exactly where I was wet and aching, and I hated how perfectly it landed.

“You’re grinding your pussy on my leg,” Damian said. Not a tease. An observation, the way he’d note a reading off an instrument.

My whole body went still. The shame of it hit me a half-second behind the words, how much I’d already given away, how little control I had left in this room. While I froze, his hands tore open the front of my blouse and pushed my bra aside. Cold lab air hit my bare skin and my nipples tightened at once. Then his warm hand was on my left breast and his hot mouth closed over my right nipple, and the cold was gone.

“No. Please,” I cried out in a voice so strained I barely knew it as mine. His tongue flicked fast at one nipple while his hand worked the other, squeezing, rolling it hard. My hands were buried in his hair. The harder he sucked, the louder I moaned, and I felt my pussy clench, empty and wanting, and I ground myself against his thigh for any relief I could get.

“You’re soaked,” he said into my ear. “Did your uncle do that, huh?” His fingers pressed against the center of my underwear, dragging the wet lace.

“You’ve soaked clean through. Did you come just from my mouth on your breasts?”

He hiked my skirt up around my waist and the cold air hit me, exposed now, and he pulled my underwear down my legs and off in one motion. With nothing holding it back I felt exactly how wet I was, the slickness sliding down the inside of my thighs, and the cold on it told me how long I’d been like this for him.

“No more. Someone might come in,” I whispered, the only excuse I could find to make him stop.

“Then you’d better keep those noises down,” he said, and pushed his middle finger into me in one deep, fast stroke. I cried out, my legs nearly going, and I caught myself against the table. The wet sound of it filled the lab office while he worked his finger in and out of me, then curled it up to find the spot that emptied my head of every thought.

“Is this where you like it?” His voice stayed low and even as his finger pressed against it. I only got wetter, helpless to it, grinding against his hand and moaning without any shame left to stop me. The sounds echoed off the steel and the tile, mixed with our breathing. Feeling how much I wanted it, he worked a second finger in and thrust harder, faster, the angle changing each time.

“Your pussy is sucking my fingers right in,” he said against my ear, his tone almost clinical, almost bored, and that was what undid me. “Look at you. I can’t wait to fuck you.” Then his mouth was back on my nipples while his fingers kept working me.