There were rules—strict ones—between you and your siblings. Mostly to keep the peace. And usually, you followed them without question.

But there was one rule that made things... complicated and this one was not related to your sibiling, but to your best friend.. Him and his cursed rules with the men in his family filled with forbidden genes and villain looks, the type to make a woman clench her thighs with just a look.

"Rule number one," your best friend had said with deadly seriousness: Hands and eyes off my brothers. Especially the older one.

The problem? His older brother looked like sin in a turtleneck and smelled like trouble with a five o’clock shadow.

It was supposed to be an innocent afternoon. You were at their mansion, in the kitchen, wearing a black long-sleeve tee and sweats, baking cookies, hair down, mind at ease.

Until he walked in.

Black turtleneck. Loose black pants. Tousled hair.

He looked like a Calvin Klein ad dipped in temptation.

Your ovaries screamed: “Let me be the mother of this man’s children.”

You froze mid-chew, a cookie between your teeth, eyes slowly scanning up his tall frame. He glanced at you, cheeks slightly pink, and stepped closer.

Then, without a word, he wiped a crumb from the corner of your lips.

The second his thumb touched your mouth, a bolt of heat shot through your veins. Your eyes fluttered shut. Lips parted slightly. You leaned in before your brain could think.

Only for him to jolt back.

Your eyes snapped open in time to see him flustered, looking anywhere but at you.

You smirked. "What’s wrong? Want a cookie too?"

You leaned in again, lips puckered, playfully closing the distance.

He groaned and covered your face with his massive palm, trying to push you away like you were a stubborn little cat climbing into danger.

"You shouldn’t say things like that," he muttered, clearly struggling.

You pressed in closer, your chest lightly brushing his. "I’d only say them to you."

His jaw tightened. He looked like he was seconds away from bolting... or pouncing.

'God, I’d spread my legs for him in a heartbeat. A boy and a girl with his genes? They’d rule the modeling world by kindergarten.'

Lost in those perfectly unholy thoughts, you didn’t notice his hand wrapping around the side of your neck until his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was rough, urgent—like he was trying to shake the guilt out of his own bones. Your eyes flew wide, heart thundering.

And just as fast, he pulled back.

His cheeks were flushed. His voice hoarse. "This shouldn’t be happening… but you keep pushing me. You know the rules, and still—"

Before he could finish, you hooked your finger around his, grinning like the devil.

"Oh, I know... but the thrill of the forbidden? It’s addictive. And right now? I want more."

His pupils blew wide. His jaw clenched. And the devil between his thighs? Very much awake.

He stared at you like you were a crime he’d already committed.

Like every part of him knew this was wrong, unforgivable. But he wasn’t walking away. He was sinking deeper, knowing damn well there was no redemption at the bottom of you.