Raph stared, his breath punching out of his lungs. Drive into what? You?
He could imagine that tattoo beneath his palm, Wyatt’s ass grinding down on him, taking him in. And along with that sweet, familiar scent, he caught a telling musk, faint and heady.
Wyatt was in heat. And he was strutting around in that too-loose pair of swimming trunks, its waistband slipping off his hip. Damp fabric clung to the curve of his ass, his thighs. He could’ve been naked, for all the good those shorts were on him.
Drive In, the tattoo murmured, stark on his pale skin.
Something hot slid through Raph’s veins, ferocious and hungry. He had a second to think. Then need crashed through his body, surging between his legs. He staggered.
It felt like a rut. Fucking hell, it was a rut, and all he’d done was stare at Wyatt’s ass.
Never mind that they’d grown up together. Never mind that Raph had taught Wyatt to dive into a pool, arms outstretched, head ducked down. He was hard for his stepbrother, and all Raph could think about was that afternoon in the piano room, back when Wyatt had been playing that song, and Raph had slipped his hand between Wyatt’s thighs.
Nine years ago, Wyatt had whimpered, grown hard for him, his lips soft and damp when Raph kissed him.
And here he was, his ass all but bare, his tattoo whispering seductively at anyone who glanced at it. As though he was inviting any damn alpha to touch his ass.
Raph stalked up to the poolside, snagged Wyatt’s gleaming, damp arm. Whirled his brother around to face him.
“What the—” Wyatt met his eyes, and the words died on his lips.
For how much land the party spanned across, it wasn’t brightly-lit at all. Strings of fairy lights hung over the garden and grilling pit. Paper lanterns hovered from tree branches, casting scant light on the crowd.
Wyatt was half-lit by the blue glow of the pool, and by the golden shine of the light strings above them. His magnolia scent wafted into Raph’s nose, sweet and familiar, and Raph hadn’t had enough of it. Not with inches between them. Not with the crowd milling around.
Wyatt was his brother, the omega he hadn’t seen for nine years, and Raph shouldn’t be this hard for him.
The tattoo. An unwarranted possessiveness roared through his chest.
“What the hell,” Raph growled, his fist tightening on Wyatt’s skin. “This isn’t your party. Why the fuck are you baring that—”
Wyatt sucked in a breath, eyes wide. His gaze darted over Raph, down his crisp dress shirt and jeans, to his hips, where the fairy lights cast the bulge of his pants into sharp relief. Wyatt’s throat worked; he trembled against Raph, his lips parted, his skin chilly from the evaporating water.
The musk of his scent deepened; it reached into Raph and hooked. And Raph’s cock throbbed, aching, trapped inside his too-tight pants.
A tiny whimper slipped from Wyatt’s throat, as though he’d smelled Raph’s need. He tugged on his arm, stepped back.
His foot caught on the edge of the pool. In that second, his eyes were vulnerable, his expression helpless.
With a yelp, Wyatt slipped backward, flailing, his movement so sudden that he hauled Raph forward.
Raph couldn’t stop Wyatt’s fall, not without dislocating Wyatt’s arm. He either fell in with his brother, or released him.
It took a split second to make his decision. After what happened in the past, after he’d failed Wyatt... He wouldn’t make the same mistake. He’d fall with Wyatt, this time.
So Raph followed him down, air rushing past his face, through his hair. Then he hit the water’s surface, and the noise of the party went silent.
3
Wyatt
Water stung his skin as he crashed through the surface. Then, warmth enveloped him.
Wyatt’s breath rushed out in a string of gurgling bubbles. Underwater, the pool rumbled, the heated water sliding over his skin. He cracked his eyes open to a sea of blue.
Something plunged into the water beside him. When the bubbles floated to the surface, Raph was left behind, his hand still on Wyatt’s arm, his shoulders broad.
For the second time tonight, Wyatt’s heart stopped. The partying townsfolk had fallen out of sight. The lilting music had muffled, and the pool’s surface rippled like dark silk above them. Nothing mattered, except for the white-and-navy mosaic tiles beneath his feet, and Raph.
Raph cracked his eyes open. Then his gaze found Wyatt, and Wyatt froze.
The last time he’d seen Raph in person... That had been nine years ago, in the piano room. Raph’s fingers had been careful on him, gentle, and Wyatt had grasped his arm, surging up, needing more.
His cock strained, hidden by the loose folds of his swimming trunks. Raph’s gaze raked down his chest, over his nipples, his belly, to the telling bulge in his shorts. Wyatt’s cheeks burned. Raph shouldn’t be looking. It was... too intimate for a stepbrother.
Raph’s fingers squeezed around Wyatt’s arm, pulling him close. His jaw worked, as though he wanted to say something while they still had this privacy. Then he released Wyatt, and Wyatt’s heart sank.
Nothing could happen between them. Raph had spent years teaching Wyatt to play soccer, teaching him to swim and dance and ride. And Raph knew it, too, from his dark eyes, his pressed-thin lips. No matter how desperately Wyatt had wished they weren’t brothers, they still were.
Except Raph slipped his arm around Wyatt’s waist, solid and warm, pulling Wyatt flush against his chest. The line in his jeans pressed into Wyatt’s hip, and Wyatt’s cock ached.
This can’t be happening.
They broke the surface, the evening air cool on their skin. Wyatt gasped. Raph’s bulge ground into his thigh. Before they’d fallen in, he’d caught a whiff of heavy musk, mingled with teak. It couldn’t possibly happen—Raph couldn’t be in a rut. Except it would explain why he smelled more than delicious.
And why his covered cock pushed against Wyatt’s skin, thick and hungry and needing an omega. Like him.
Wyatt’s hole squeezed. He gasped, his face
