All At Once

CHAPTER EIGHT

POV: Zara

The phone screen burned in the dark like a brand. “Time’s up.” Those three words sat there, glowing, while her fingers were still between her legs, slick from Damon’s cum and her own desperate need. Zara snatched her hand away like she’d been caught, heart slamming against her ribs. The room felt too small. The sheets still smelled like him—musk and sweat and the faint trace of the fireplace smoke from earlier. Ryan was upstairs. Camille was somewhere in this house. And now this.

She typed back with shaking thumbs: Who the hell is this? Stop messing with me.

Delivered. No reply. Just like before.

Zara dropped the phone on the bed and pressed her face into her hands. Her thighs ached in the best-worst way, sore from being spread around Damon’s hips hours ago. She could still feel the ghost of him inside her, that deep, claiming stretch that made her forget every rule she’d ever set for herself. “This has to stop,” she whispered to the empty room, but her voice cracked because she didn’t believe it. Not really.

She cleaned up quickly in the attached bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, trying to scrub the flush from her cheeks. When she slipped back into Marcus’s room, Ryan was still asleep, breathing steady and trusting. She stared at him for a long minute—his kind face, the slight frown he got even in dreams—and felt tears prick her eyes.

“Zara?” Ryan mumbled, stirring as she climbed in beside him. “You okay? You were gone a while.”

She forced a smile and curled against his chest, letting his arm settle around her. “Just thirsty. Go back to sleep, babe.”

He kissed her forehead, already drifting off again. “Love you.”

The words landed like stones in her stomach. She lay there wide awake, Damon’s marks hidden under her clothes, his scent probably still clinging to her skin no matter how hard she’d scrubbed. Love. What a simple word for how complicated everything had become.

Morning hit like a slap. Sunlight finally breaking through after days of storm, melting snow dripping from the eaves in steady, accusing rhythms. Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like coffee and bacon—the kind Damon always made perfectly crisp. Camille was at the table scrolling her phone, looking polished even in casual leggings and one of Damon’s old shirts. Zara’s stomach twisted at the sight of that shirt.

“Morning,” Camille said with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Ryan still sleeping?”

“Yeah. Long drive yesterday.” Zara poured herself coffee, hands steady only because she made them be. “Where’s Damon?”

“Outside clearing some snow from the driveway. Said he needed the air.” Camille’s tone was light, but her fingers tapped the table a little too fast. “You two survive okay while we were stuck? Must’ve been boring, just the two of you.”

Zara took a sip too fast and burned her tongue. “It was fine. We played cards. Read. Normal stuff.” The lie tasted worse than the coffee. She remembered his mouth between her legs, the way he’d growled her name like it hurt him. Normal. Right.

Camille watched her a beat too long. “Good. Damon mentioned the texts you got. The weird unknown number stuff. Sounds creepy.”

Zara froze. He’d told her? Of course he had. They’d been texting each other updates like guilty teenagers. “Yeah. Probably some kid messing around. I blocked the number.”

“Smart.” Camille leaned back. “Still. With the storm and everything… people get cabin fever, do stupid things.”

The front door banged open. Damon stomped in, cheeks red from the cold, snow melting on his shoulders. His eyes found Zara immediately, dark and full of everything they couldn’t say. For one dangerous second the air thickened—memory of her riding him slow in his bed, her nails in his back, his cum leaking down her thighs while Ryan’s message lit up the phone.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough. He shrugged off his jacket and went straight for the coffee pot, standing closer to Zara than he needed to. Their arms brushed. She felt it everywhere.

“Smells good,” Ryan called, coming down the stairs yawning. He wrapped his arms around Zara from behind, kissing her neck. She stiffened, then leaned into it, hyper-aware of Damon’s shoulders going tight across the kitchen.

Breakfast was torture wrapped in small talk.

“So, Damon, you sticking around now that the roads are clearing?” Ryan asked, piling eggs on his plate.

Damon’s fork paused. “Might. Marcus wants me to help with some repairs before I head back to the city. Apartment fumigation should be done soon.” His eyes flicked to Zara. The lie sat easy on his tongue now. They were both getting good at this.

Camille laughed, but it sounded sharp. “You two have been thick as thieves lately. Marcus’s birthday, now this weekend. Should I be jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Damon said, but his hand under the table brushed Zara’s knee for half a second. A warning. A promise. She nearly dropped her fork.

Zara forced a laugh. “Please. He’s like another annoying brother.” The words burned. Damon’s jaw flexed.

Ryan squeezed her thigh. “Good. Because I’ve got plans for us this week. Make up for lost time.” His smile was so genuine it made her want to crawl out of her skin.

After breakfast, the couples split off naturally. Ryan wanted a walk in the melting snow to “stretch his legs.” Zara went with him, bundling up, grateful for the cold air on her face. But every step, she felt Damon watching from the window. Camille had pulled him into the living room for a “talk.” Zara could imagine how that was going.

“You seem distracted, babe,” Ryan said as they trudged along the driveway. His hand held hers firmly. “The storm mess you up? Or that weird texter?”

She squeezed back, hating herself. “A little of both. It’s been a weird few days.”

“Damon take good care of you?” The question was casual. Too casual.

“He cooked. We survived.” She changed the subject fast. “Tell me about your trip. How was the conference?”

He talked, voice warm and steady, and she nodded in all the right places. But her mind kept drifting to Damon’s hands pinning her wrists, the way he’d whispered “mine” against her throat when he came. By the time they circled back to the house, her cheeks were flushed for reasons that had nothing to do with the walk.

Inside, Camille was in the guest room with the door half-closed, voice raised just enough to carry. “—don’t lie to me, Damon. Something’s off. You’ve been distant for weeks.”

Zara paused in the hallway, heart pounding. Ryan had gone upstairs to shower. She should move. She didn’t.

Damon’s reply was low, controlled. “It’s the storm. Work. Nothing more. You’re reading into it.”

“Am I? Zara’s been looking at you like… I don’t know. And you look back.”

Silence. Then Damon: “Camille. Stop. She’s Marcus’s little sister. That’s it.”

Zara backed away quietly, chest tight. Little sister. The words stung even though they were the safe ones. She slipped into the kitchen and found Damon there minutes later, alone, staring out the window.

He didn’t turn around at first. “You heard.”

“Some of it.” She crossed her arms. “We said we wouldn’t do this again. Then we did. Twice. While they were here.”

He spun, eyes blazing. “You think I don’t know that? You think I slept last night with Camille next to me while I kept remembering how you tasted? How you begged?”

“Damon—” Her voice broke.

He crossed the space in two strides, crowding her against the counter just like last night. “Tell me to stop right now and I will. Tell me you don’t want my hands on you again.”

She grabbed his shirt instead, pulling him down. Their kiss was angry, desperate—teeth and tongues and months of buried want. He lifted her onto the counter, hands rough under her sweater, palming her breasts as she gasped into his mouth.

“Quiet,” she hissed, even as she spread her legs for him. “Ryan’s upstairs.”

“Camille’s in the shower.” He yanked her leggings down just enough, freeing himself. His cock was already hard, thick, leaking. He rubbed the head through her folds—still slick from earlier, from him—and thrust in deep.

Zara bit his shoulder to muffle her cry. He fucked her right there in the kitchen, hard and fast, one hand over her mouth, the other gripping her ass. The counter creaked. Her legs locked around him. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot, building heat and shame and unbearable pleasure.

“You feel that?” he growled against her ear. “Still so full of me from last night. Taking my cock while your boyfriend’s right upstairs.”

“Shut up,” she moaned, but her hips met every stroke, greedy. She came hard, clenching around him, vision whiting out. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep and spilling again, marking her while their partners moved around the house.

They stayed locked together, breathing ragged. He kissed her slow this time—tender, almost broken. “We’re so fucked, Zara.”

“Yeah.” She touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Footsteps on the stairs. Ryan’s voice calling her name.

Damon pulled out quickly, helping her fix her clothes. Cum trickled down her thigh as she jumped down. She wiped it hastily with a paper towel, heart racing.

Ryan appeared in the doorway. “There you are. Everything okay? You look flushed.”

“Fine,” Zara said, voice too bright. “Just helping Damon with… dishes.”

Damon nodded, turning to the sink. “Yeah. Loads of them.”

Ryan smiled, none the wiser. “Come sit with me? I want to plan that Portugal trip you mentioned.”

She followed him out, legs shaky, Damon’s release still warm inside her. Halfway to the living room her phone buzzed.

Unknown number again.

“You’re playing with fire. Marcus just pulled up.”

Zara’s blood ran cold. She looked out the front window. Sure enough, her brother’s truck was coming up the snowy drive, headlights cutting through the melting slush.

Marcus was back. And the secrets were about to get a whole lot harder to keep.

What happens when the one person who can destroy everything walks through the door?