She wants me like this. She likes it rough. And I’m so wrapped up in this I’m seconds away from pulling my dick out and giving it to her in an alley.

But this shouldn’t happen like this.

This shouldn’t happen at all.

I stare down at the woman panting in my arms and admire the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the strength in her thigh as she keeps that damn leg hitched up, holding me to her.

I know what she wants. I know what I want.

I could justify this in a million ways if I just let it happen.

But then I see his face.

The sad, lonely boy who looks just like me. My brother, who isn’t getting better, and who doesn’t need another reason to prolong his heartache.

It doesn’t matter if he never found out.

I would know. And it would kill me.

In this world where we only have each other to rely on…

I can’t sully the version of myself he loves—the version of me he needs—to scratch an itch or satisfy an urge.

I’ll choose his happiness over mine every time because there’s just so little left in this world that makes him happy.

I groan my frustration, the magic of the moment dissipating into the warm night air as I force myself to pull back and put a stop to this.

“This can’t happen,” I lament as I drag in a breath and try to slow my breathing. I pull back from her as best I can in the tight space, then gently unhook her leg from around my thigh. I lower it to the ground in slow motion, taking a knee and bowing my head in shame for how far I let things go tonight.

She brushes a hand against my forehead and smooths her thumb over my brows, but she says nothing, and I don’t dare look up. Instead, I lean forward, caress down her pant leg in the dark, and place a kiss on her thigh through one of the holes in her jeans.

I rise to my feet, regret rolling off me in waves. There’s none of the anger or hostility of last week coursing between us now. It’s as if she finally gets it.

This isn’t rejection. It’s acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I look over her head and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I can’t bear to look her in the eye.

She closes her eyes and huffs out a breath, the warm air tickling my neck and tempting me all over again.

“It’s because of them, isn’t it?”

Her question catches me off guard, but I quickly school my expression at the reminder of them—of him.