It Was My Fiancé’s Older Brother Who Fell For Me First

Adrian shoved his hands against my shoulders, tearing his mouth away from mine.

"Stop." His chest rose and fell against mine, his voice rough as gravel. "You’re marrying my brother in twelve hours."

"I know," I breathed.

Before he could pull back further, I surged forward, looping my fingers through his hair and dragging his mouth down hard against mine again.

He stiffened for a second. Then his restraint snapped.

His hand clamped around the back of my neck, fingers gripping tightly, hauling me across the console until I was half in his lap. He bit my lower lip until I tasted iron, kissing me with a harsh, bruising hunger that made my head spin.

"Fuck it," Adrian growled against my lips.

He didn't drive me back to my father’s estate.

Twenty minutes later, the private elevator opened directly into his high-rise penthouse. The city glittered below through floor-to-ceiling glass, cold and indifferent.

Adrian didn't turn on a single light.

He kicked the front door shut, grabbed both my wrists, and pinned them flat against the wall above my head. His dark coat hit the floor.

"Look at me, Clara," he ordered, his breath warm against my cheek.

I tilted my chin up, meeting his stormy gray eyes in the shadows. "Do you think I'm going to look away?"

"You still have time to turn around," he warned, his voice low, his fingers digging into my skin. "Walk out that door, go home, and be Nolan’s proper little bride."

"I don't want to be anyone's proper anything," I countered. "Take my clothes off, Adrian."

A harsh laugh scraped his throat. "Don't tempt me with things you can't handle."

"Try me."

Adrian didn't wait. He ripped my blouse down the center, buttons skittering across the hardwood like hail. He jerked my skirt down, tearing the delicate silk of my underwear aside until I stood bare against the freezing plaster.

His hands were rough and calloused as he lifted my thighs, locking my legs around his waist.

"Adrian," I gasped.

He unzipped his slacks with one hand, kicking them free, and shoved inside me in one violent thrust.

I cried out, digging my fingernails into his muscular back. He filled me completely, stretching me open with an intensity that burned white-hot.

"You feel that?" Adrian hissed, his forehead pressed against mine, his thrusts deep and unrelenting against the wall. "Say my fucking name, Clara."

"Adrian..."

"Again." He pounded into me, faster, harder, lifting me completely off the floor.

"Adrian! Fuck..."

His mouth crushed mine, swallowing my moans while his cock drove deep into my cunt. Every slam of his hips vibrated through my spine, rattling the picture frames on the wall. I tightened around him, drowning in the raw friction, desperate to burn away the memory of Nolan’s smirk and my father’s hand.

He carried me toward the bedroom without pulling out, tossing me onto the king-sized mattress and following me down. He pinned my knees to my chest, pounding into my wet cunt until the bed frame groaned against the wall.

"Look at me," he grunted, sweat dripping from his jaw onto my collarbone. "Who’s fucking you right now?"

"You," I sobbed, claws raking his shoulders. "You are."

"Don't you ever forget it."

He drove into me until my body shattered, waves of spasms clamping down around his cock. With a harsh groan, Adrian thrust one last time, buried to the hilt, spilling his hot come deep inside me.

He collapsed beside me, his heavy arm thrown across my waist.

Neither of us said a word.

***

Pale morning light spilled across the hardwood floor when I opened my eyes.

The alarm on my phone didn't ring—I had left it miles away in the study. But the clock on the nightstand read 7:15 AM.

In less than five hours, hundreds of guests would fill the cathedral for my wedding.

Adrian was already out of bed, wearing only a pair of dark gray sweatpants low on his hips. He leaned against the balcony door frame, holding a steaming mug of black coffee, watching me quietly.

"You’re awake," he said.

I sat up, pulling the thick duvet to my chin. My muscles ached, and my skin felt raw and marked by red bruises.

"I am," I said, clearing my dry throat.

Adrian took a sip of his coffee. His gaze was sharp, dissecting me under the gray morning sun.

"Why me, Clara?"

I blinked, avoiding his stare. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb," he said, stepping away from the glass. His voice was quiet, dangerously steady. "You ran out into the night to ruin yourself. You could have picked anyone. You could have walked into a dive bar and found ten guys willing to take you home. Why did you kiss me?"

I looked toward the scattered remains of my torn clothes on the rug, forcing a careless half-smile onto my face.

"Does it need to be deep, Adrian?" I asked lightly.

He set his mug down on the dresser with a sharp *clack*. "Answer the question."

I shrugged, letting the duvet slide slightly. "Nolan spent last night with his tongue down another woman's throat. He told me to my face that he’d keep fucking her after we’re married. He thinks he can treat me like garbage and I'll just sit pretty."

Adrian took another step closer. "And?"

"And I don't like losing," I said, looking right into his gray eyes. "He fucked his girl. I fucked his older brother. Now we're even. It's just a fair trade."

The room went dead silent.

Adrian didn't shout. He didn't sneer. But the temperature in the bedroom dropped instantly. The warmth that had lingered in his eyes vanished, replaced by an icy, piercing fury.

He walked over to the edge of the bed and leaned down, placing both palms flat on the mattress on either side of my hips, trapping me between his arms.

"A fair trade?" he whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

I held my chin high, refusing to flinch. "Yes."

"So when I had you pinned against the wall..." Adrian leaned in until his lips were inches from my ear, every word cutting like a blade. "...when you were screaming and begging me to go deeper, you weren't feeling me at all."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden lump lodging in my throat.

"You were thinking about him," he snarled.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. The cruelty in my own lie choked me.

Adrian pulled back, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched. He looked down at me not with passion, but with utter disgust.

"Get dressed," he said coldly, turning his back on me. "I’ll have my driver take you back to your father. Go marry your husband."

He walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open.

I sat frozen for a moment, the silence heavy and suffocating. A bitter taste coated my tongue. I hadn't thought about Nolan once while Adrian was inside me. Not once. But admitting that terrified me more than the wedding ever could.

I climbed out of bed on shaking legs, scanning the floor. My blouse was ruined, shredded beyond repair.

I walked into his walk-in closet, grabbed an oversized navy silk button-up of his, and pulled it over my head. It swallowed my frame, smelling heavily of cedar and his aftershave. I buttoned it down to mid-thigh, keeping my bruised throat hidden beneath the wide collar.

I stepped out into the living room, heading for the front foyer. Adrian stood by the island, pouring another cup of coffee, not even bothering to look up.

"Adrian, I—"

*Bang. Bang. Bang.*

A loud, impatient pounding rattled the heavy front door.

Both of us froze.

Through the solid wood, a familiar, arrogant voice echoed into the penthouse foyer.

"Adrian! Open up, man! It’s Nolan. I know you're awake—I've got a fucking crisis."