“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 drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead. So much for the heat suppressants.
“What the hell,” he whispered, painfully aware of Raph’s broad chest pressed against him, his tanned skin visible behind his white shirt. The water lapped against their chests. The crowd was around the pool, and all Wyatt needed was a little bit of privacy. So he could feel Raph’s bare skin against his own. Grind up against his cock, feel the full length of it.
He wasn’t over Raph at all, was he?
“Gonna get us out,” Raph muttered. He slipped his arm down Wyatt’s back.
Wyatt hissed, his skin tingling. And Raph glanced down at him, his blue gaze intent. He’d always been taller than Wyatt by a couple of inches, and Wyatt had to tip his head back to meet his eyes.
“Following me?” Raph murmured, so low that Wyatt barely caught his words.
“Yeah.”
The ferocity in Raph had washed away, leaving a slow-burning heat. Wyatt staggered backward as Raph walked them to the shallow end of the pool, where the steps were. The entire way through, Wyatt’s cock rubbed up against his thigh, thick and telling, and Wyatt had no idea how he’d deal with that when they stepped out of the pool. What Raph even thought about all of this.
“I need a towel,” he said.
“I’ll get you one.” Raph glanced around them. Wyatt ducked his head, his cheeks burning.
“Are they looking?”
“Not for long. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry. At those words, something in Wyatt relaxed, like Raph had released a valve in him, venting the anxiety from his chest. Raph had always been able to do that, calm him
