This completeness with her, this fullness… I’ve never felt it, not even with what people would perceive was the best of the best families.

Her thighs are hot as they wrap around me. We fall onto the bed in a clumsy, kiss-fueled fury of lust, want, desire, and need. Had I said that out loud, I would have slapped myself in the face.

But I’m living it, experiencing it.

“Needed you,” I say between kisses. Her mouth is hot, her tongue so smooth as it slides against mine like she’s testing how deep she can go and wants to devour me but is taking it easy on me when really, I just want it rough and hard, and now.

Belle flips off her shirt, tosses it onto the ground, then reaches for my head, pulling me down again for another heated kiss.

I pull away. “Knew it was a good idea to cross that hall.”

“Knew it was a good idea to open my door.” She laughs.

I’m completely wrapped up in her, in the moment, so I don’t hear the creak of the stairway; I forget that her door is still open, and we aren’t being quiet.

I forget everything but the taste of her mouth and the way she feels pressed up against me.

And then I hear a throat clear, followed by, “What the hell are you two doing?”

Belle jerks away from me, her eyes wide with fear.

I slowly turn and see my dad standing there, face pale, eyes barely containing his fury.

“Ambrose. Downstairs. Now.” He shakes his head at Mary-Belle like he’s disappointed, which I know is going to break her heart, and then gives me a light tug toward the door and down the stairs.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper.

“No,” Dad says. “He won’t.”

Tears fill her eyes as I look at her one last time before my dad shuts her door and points to the stairway as if I’m eight.

I thought they were sleeping. Don’t most adults go to bed at like eight? Even mine are in bed early. Plus, with my practice, I just assumed he wouldn’t still be up.

The walk feels slow, and embarrassing, and daunting. We make it to his lavish office that overlooks the backyard and pool. Torches are still lit around the pond, and my dad has whiskey in a short crystal glass—his favorite and the only glass he’ll drink whiskey out of.

Paperwork is spread across his modern metal desk, along with folders. His laptop is open, showing the reflection of the windows behind him, and he looks tired.

Very tired.

“I don’t know what to say.” Dad finally breaks the silence and turns away from me. “Do you understand how important everything you do is for your future? People’s perception is everything! On top of that, it’s in the early morning, and you have a practice and a scholarship at risk, and you’re…” He pauses like he almost can’t say it. “You’re in your foster sister’s room taking her clothes off?”