Filed To Story: Craving The Wrong Brother Book PDF Free by Elysian Sparrow
She doesn’t hesitate. Not for a second. Her fingers find the hem of her top, and she peels it off in one smooth motion. Her bra follows. Her jeans. Panties.
Layer by layer, she undresses for him. There’s no shyness in her movements, only desire. Willingness. Trust.
And all I can do is watch.
My jaw clenches. My fists curl into tight, shaking knots. I shouldn’t be hard right now, but I am. That traitorous part of me wakes up at the sight of her nakedness.
“Kneel. Hands in the air.”
She drops to her knees.
Her posture is perfect, back straight, hands lifted like an offering. Her eyes are wide, fixed on him. She looks up at him like he hung the fucking moon.
Knox pulls something from his pocket.
Handcuffs.
He steps forward and binds her wrists together.
I’ve never seen her like this. Never seen her submit to anyone. She was kind of a bully to the girls I hung around with in college.
And something inside me burns.
She was mine.
Hands In The Air
She still is.
I make a sound before I can stop myself. A grunt. A sharp inhale. Something small, but not small enough.
Knox freezes.
His head turns.
“Is something wrong?” Sloane asks, her voice low, breathless.
He doesn’t answer.
His gaze stays on the closet.
And then he starts walking toward it.
Step by step.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: A Warning Before We Continue.
The last two chapters mark the beginning of a shift.
As stated in the synopsis, these characters are morally complex-and we’re about to start peeling back the layers. Things are about to get messy. Unhinged. Darker than before.
Every character is stepping into their truest form, from which they can either grow better or worse.
Choices will be made. Lines will be crossed. And not everyone will come out clean.
If you’re here for the ride, buckle up.
You’ve been warned.
– E. S.
***
~~KNOX~~
***
Years of patrolling enemy lines in the kind of places where men disappear without a trace taught me how to listen. Really listen. To the crack of a branch that means you’re not alone. I can tell the make of a gun just from the way someone cocks it in the dark. I can count how many people are in a room by the rhythm of their breath.
And the faint scuff I just heard inside Sloane’s closet? That was a leather-heeled dress shoe. Office-worn. Male.
There’s only one person pathetic enough, obsessed enough, and entitled enough to sneak into her space and hide in the dark.
I’d bet my entire fucking fortune it’s Finn.
I step toward the closet and press my hand against the wood.
He’s breathing. Not loud. But not trained either.
I catch the subtle trace of cologne, a familiar one that confirms my suspicion.
Finn.
Fucking Finn.
You’d think he’d reveal himself now that he’s been caught. That he’d step out of the damn closet and face me like a man. But no-of course not. That would require a spine. Finn’s never had one of those.
I stare at the sliver of darkness between the closet doors, my pulse loud in my ears.
Every second he stays hidden, my anger boils higher.
This has always been Finn. Since we were kids. Always needing to have the better things for himself, even when he doesn’t truly want them. He’d beg, borrow, steal-and lie through his perfect teeth if it meant he could have more. I let it go every time. Told myself it wasn’t worth the fight.
But then there was Lydia.
My jaw ticks.
Our little sister.
I’ve never forgiven him for that.
I force the thought away. I can’t go there.
Not right now. If I do, I’ll have to think about other things too. Enlisting. Deployment. Blood in sand. Screams in the jungle. Ghosts in the mirror. Scars.
I should open that door. Should rip him out of there by the collar, slam him against the wall, and make sure he never breathes Sloane’s name again.
But if I touch him right now, if I so much as lay a finger on him-
I don’t know what I’ll do.
The rage is that loud. That thick.
Successfully unlocked!
I can already imagine my hands closing around his throat, see the Whith bfhis eyes when he realizes I’m not joking anymore.
Then-
A voice. Soft. Like a rope pulling me out of the storm.
On The Other Side Of The Door
“Knox?”
I turn.
Sloane.
“What’s the problem?” she asks.
She’s still on her knees. Hands raised, cuffed. Hair hanging over her shoulders. The way she’s looking at me punches every thought clean out of my head. She’s so perfect.
“The closet,” I say. “Wonderful woodwork.”
She smiles. “It was a gift from my grandmother. In her younger years, she was kind of a professional divorcee. So she’s loaded.”