Chapter 1-Bad Thoughts
The October rain hammered against the Steele Mansion like it had a personal grudge, sheets of water streaking the tall windows in uneven, relentless rhythms. Dean sprawled across the downstairs lounge couch, a half-finished beer dangling loosely between his fingers, the condensation sliding down the glass to drip onto his grey sweats. The television flickered with a muted late-night football game, the commentators’ voices nothing but low, indistinct murmurs beneath the storm.
He wasn’t watching.
His attention was fixed upstairs—on the sound of Scarlett Thorne laughing.
That laugh. Soft, warm, and far too pretty for its own good. It slipped under his skin every single time, warm and teasing, like fingers trailing down his spine. His jaw tightened.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Dude,” Erik called from the recliner across the room, “you’re doing the creepy staring-at-the-ceiling thing again.”
Dean didn’t look away from the dark wooden beams overhead.
“She coming down here?” he asked flatly. Too quickly.
Erik barked out a laugh. “You are unbelievably pathetic.”
Dean slowly turned his head, blue eyes cold. “Careful.”
Erik only grinned wider. Unlike everyone else in town, Erik Steele wasn’t intimidated by his older brother—mostly because he knew him too well. Especially where Scarlett was concerned.
Scarlett Thorne had been part of their lives forever. The girl next door. Erik’s best friend. The quiet girl who always had a book tucked against her chest and a sharp, hidden sarcasm behind those innocent green eyes. Dean had spent years pretending she annoyed him. Meanwhile, every year she got older, prettier, curvier, and significantly more dangerous to his self-control.
At sixteen she’d started wearing oversized sweaters that slipped off one shoulder. At seventeen she’d begun rolling her eyes at him like she knew exactly what she was doing. At eighteen she’d gotten a boyfriend.
Will Carter. Football star. Campus golden boy. Too charming for his own good. Dean had hated him on sight—not just because Will was dating Scarlett, though the thought alone made violence itch beneath his skin. Boys like Will always had a hidden agenda, and Scarlett—sweet, trusting Scarlett—still looked at people like they carried goodness inside them.
Footsteps echoed overhead. The lounge door opened.
Dean looked up automatically.
And there she was.
Scarlett stepped carefully down the stairs, two textbooks clutched to her chest, auburn hair falling in soft, rain-damp waves around her shoulders. Her piercing green eyes peeked over the top of black-rimmed glasses. Dean felt the impact of seeing her like a physical blow to the ribs—every fucking time.
Her cream-colored sweater hung loose over tiny black shorts that barely covered the soft, bare, tanned length of her legs. Legs Dean absolutely should not have noticed immediately.
Too late.
His brain betrayed him in an instant.
He imagined those legs wrapped around his head, her soft thighs trembling against his ears while he pinned her hips down and buried his tongue deep in her dripping pussy, licking and sucking until she came hard all over his face, moaning his name like the filthy little slut she was for him. He pictured her full, pouty lips stretched wide around his thick cock, her throat bulging as he gripped her hair and fucked her mouth in slow, deliberate strokes—controlling every sloppy, gagging thrust while spit ran down her chin. He saw himself yanking off that oversized sweater, exposing her perfect tits and tight little body, her chest heaving as he shoved her legs apart, lined his cock up with her soaked cunt, and slammed inside without warning, pounding her raw until she was creaming all over him.
“DEAN!”
Erik’s shout snapped him out of the fantasy.
Dean clenched his jaw hard enough to crack a tooth and shot Erik a death glare.
“Get a grip,” Erik muttered sarcastically.
Scarlett smiled the moment she noticed him. “Hi, Dean.”
Two words. That was all it took for him to shift on the couch, angling his body to hide the sudden, heavy bulge rising in his grey sweats. He didn’t hide the way his gaze raked over her—dark, possessive, leaving no doubt who was in charge of the tension in the room.
Dean forced himself to look unimpressed. “You always this loud?”
Scarlett rolled her eyes instantly. “There’s the Dean Steele welcome I know and love.”
Christ. That sarcasm on her should’ve been illegal. He wanted to wipe it off her mouth with his own.
Erik snorted. “Ignore him. He’s been in a mood all day.”
Scarlett glanced between them before padding over to the couch and curling up at the opposite end, legs tucked beneath her as she opened one of her books. Dean made the mistake of looking down.
Bare thighs. Tiny shorts riding up to reveal the soft curve of her ass. Smooth, warm-looking skin.
Fuck.
He dragged a hand over his mouth slowly, eyes never leaving her.
Scarlett noticed immediately. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Because I’m going to bend you over the arm of this couch, hold you there by the back of the neck, and bury my face between your legs until you’re dripping down my chin and begging to be fucked. Because I’m going to rip those slutty little shorts off and stuff you full of my cock until you forget anyone else exists.
Dean leaned back instead, expression flat but voice low and edged with command. “Because those shorts are criminal. And you’re testing my patience wearing them around me.”
Silence fell.
Scarlett blinked. Erik choked on his drink. Dean internally contemplated smashing his own head through the marble fireplace—then decided he’d rather smash something else.
Scarlett’s cheeks flushed pink almost instantly. “Well,” she mumbled, tugging her sweater lower, “that was rude.”
Regret didn’t hit him this time. She needed to understand the effect she had. Dean Steele didn’t apologize for taking what he wanted.
Erik stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “You are so socially broken.”
Dean ignored him.
Scarlett focused on her textbook again, though he noticed the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she got nervous. He noticed everything about her. Always had. That was the problem—and the opportunity.
“So,” Erik said casually, clearly trying to salvage the atmosphere, “Scarlett’s going to that lake party Friday with Will.”
Dean went completely still, his gaze locking onto her with dark intensity.
Scarlett didn’t seem to notice. “He said some guys from the football team rented a cabin,” she explained softly, flipping a page. “It sounds fun.”
Dean stared at her. A cabin. Drunk football players. Will Carter. Something dark twisted low in his chest—possessive, territorial.
“You’re not going.”
Scarlett looked up immediately. “Why?”
Because men are disgusting. Because half those guys already look at you like prey. Because your boyfriend won’t protect you the way I would—by keeping you where you belong. Because if anyone touches you wrong, I’ll end up in prison, and it’ll be worth it.
Dean took a slow sip of beer instead, voice dropping into something darker. “Those parties are trashy. And you’re better than that. Stay here.”
Scarlett’s expression shifted—smaller, guarded. Like his words embarrassed her. But this time Dean didn’t hate himself. He liked the flush on her skin. He liked the way she was listening.
Then she quietly said, “Well… Will wants me there.”
Dean laughed under his breath. Not amused. Just angry. Dominant.
Scarlett frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dean’s eyes slid over her face slowly, voice low and commanding. “You always do whatever he wants? Or do you need someone to tell you what you actually need?”
The tension sharpened instantly.
Scarlett straightened. “No.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Her cheeks flushed again—this time with irritation. Dean knew he should stop. Knew jealousy was making him cruel. But then Scarlett crossed her legs, shifting unconsciously, and her sweater rode higher, exposing the smooth swell of her hip. Every decent thought left his body.
He imagined pulling her into his lap, gripping those hips hard enough to leave marks, finally touching the girl he’d spent years wanting with enough force to make her submit. To make her understand she was his to claim—his to fuck, to own, to use until she was shaking and filled with his cum.
Dean stood abruptly. Scarlett startled. Erik sighed. “And there he goes.”
Dean grabbed his black hoodie from the nearby chair, his presence dominating the room.
“Where are you going?” Scarlett asked softly. The concern in her voice nearly destroyed him.
Dean looked at her for one long second. Rain hammered against the windows. His eyes were dark, unyielding.
“You’re staying away from Carter’s party,” he said quietly—more command than suggestion. “That’s not a request.”
Then he walked upstairs before he did something unforgivable… or exactly what they both needed.
