He hadn’t wanted anything to do with Olivier, anyway. Olivier had hurt him first.
Years and years ago, Eric’s mom had married Olivier’s dad. Olivier hadn’t wanted to speak to Eric, until Eric convinced Olivier to teach him the Beta Fish game. Over time, Olivier had snuggled under the sheets with Eric, and they’d read storybooks with a flashlight, way past bedtime.
When Eric was twelve and Olivier presented as omega, Eric had sniffed at him. Ollie had smelled like carnations, and somehow, Eric had gotten it into his head that Olivier would be his omega when they grew up.
On Olivier’s eighteenth birthday, Eric had presented as alpha. He’d thought Olivier would want him. Gods knew Olivier had trembled when Eric kissed him, he’d moaned when Eric touched him, and musk had rolled off Olivier’s skin.
Eric had wanted to mark him that night, with the traffic beneath them and the fire escape rails cool against his palm. Olivier had stared up at him, his pupils blown wide.
I love you, Eric had said.
I don’t love you, Olivier had answered.
Then Olivier had walked away, shattering Eric’s heart.
Eric had sworn never to speak to his stepbrother again. He’d left for the boarding school in Highton, he’d graduated from his pre-college program, majoring in business in college. Then he’d met Alice, and gotten married.
He’d never forgotten Olivier, though. Never forgotten the love, and the lung-crushing pain.
So Eric had built his life around that—keeping his heart sheltered, marrying an omega he’d befriended, but refused to truly love.
Alice had still gotten the better of him, anyway. Even though Eric hadn’t loved her like he’d loved Olivier, she’d still become a close friend. And so her death had hurt, and Eric had sworn a second time that he wasn’t looking for an omega.
It was dangerous, allowing people into his heart.
Eric hesitated next to the door of Olivier’s Strings, knowing he should leave. He should return to his parents’ place, where he’d left Jenn. He’d already fucked up by calling Olivier once.
Ten minutes ago, he’d held his phone, expecting to say I’m back in town, you fucker. Except Olivier’s voice had been soft, tired, and Eric... couldn’t do it.
He hesitated next to his car, thinking about leaving.
Except... he’d also screwed over Olivier’s shop, big time.
I should say sorry. And then I’ll get outta here.
It wasn’t as though he owed Olivier anything. Olivier had betrayed him. Olivier had lied, and he was a damn bastard. For years, Eric had been furious with him.
He held on to a thread of that old anger. Strode up to the door, pushing it open.
The bells jingled. Inside, the shop smelled like the woodsy scents of alphas, the grassy scents of betas, and the flowery scents of omegas. Past that, Eric smelled wood and polish, and jasmine and carnation.
Even though he didn’t want to, he stopped, breathing in deeper, chasing that carnation scent.
It had been so long. And Olivier’s scent was... comforting. Familiar. It eased the grief in Eric’s chest.
Olivier stood at the counter, frozen, his eyes wide.
Eric read the fear on his face. There was something else in Olivier’s expression that he didn’t understand, but Olivier never once looked away. His knuckles were white, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.
Eric faltered. Are you afraid of me?
“Hey, Ollie?” the omega next to Olivier said. The omega was young, with thick glasses. “It’s nine. I’m clocking out.”
“Yeah, okay,” Olivier croaked.
There was something off about his voice. The omega noticed it too, narrowing his eyes. “Do you want me to stay?”
The employee stepped close to Olivier, staring shrewdly at Eric.
“I’m his brother,” Eric muttered, offended. “I’m not gonna rob him, okay?”
Olivier’s breath hitched, loud in the silence of the shop. “I’m fine. Go home, Levi.”
Levi looked warily at Olivier, then backed away. “If you say so, Ollie.”
Ollie.
The name resonated in Eric’s mind, unfurling memories along with it.
Once upon a time, Eric had called Olivier Ollie, and Olivier had smiled. He’d held Eric’s hand, and they’d drawn their names into the playground dirt. Then they’d crept home, hid in the pantry and nibbled on cookies, and they’d grinned when Dad never once noticed they’d stayed out past bedtime.
They’d tangled their toes under the homework table, they’d cuddled up in bed to sleep. They’d shared their gifts at Christmas, and Eric remembered Olivier’s smile, the way his entire face had lit up over a teddy bear. Eric’s heart had said, Mine.
Now... this was where they were. Two different people, older, jaded, on different sides of everything.
Eric waited until Levi left the shop. Traffic rumbled outside, muffled by the glass. Inside, the radiator clanged, but it was otherwise silent.
Olivier squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving.
This close, Eric saw the way Olivier had aged. At eighteen, Olivier had been Eric’s height, his face younger. Now, Eric was a full head taller than him, and there were faint lines by Olivier’s mouth, a few strands of white in his dark hair. He was still pretty, like he’d always been.
Olivier was twenty-eight. But he looked stressed, like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while.
What’s wrong? Eric wanted to ask.
Olivier’s lips were chapped, his shoulders thin. His clothes fitted snug against his body, showing off his slender limbs, his narrow hips. So different from Eric’s bulky frame. So... huggable. Attractive.
Somehow, despite everything, Eric knew that Olivier would fit perfectly against him.
He shouldn’t be thinking about that.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Olivier said, glancing uneasily at the front door. “And... the store’s closed. I’ll need you to leave so I can lock up.”
Eric wanted to be angry. Instead, disappointment swelled in his chest. “You want me to leave?”
Olivier hesitated. Then his gaze dragged heavily down Eric’s body, down his shoulders and chest and hips, to his feet. He was interested. In Eric’s body, at least.
Eric swallowed hard. Ten years ago, Olivier had gasped against him. He’d arched, his ravenous body trembling. Eric had felt him come. He’d wanted to press Olivier up against the wall, fuck him, claim him. But Olivier had left.
Eric forced that memory out of his mind.
They were stepbrothers. Olivier had hurt Eric, and he would do it again.
And now Eric was bitter, remembering the pain from those days. Remembering Olivier kissing him back, then turning around and saying I don’t love you.
After all the times he’d smiled at Eric, after the times he’d held Eric’s hand... what the fuck had he meant by that? Had he been lying when he said Eric had been his best friend?
Eric clenched his teeth. He remembered the feeling of betrayal, the sight of Olivier leaving through the fire escape window, never once looking back. As though Eric had meant nothing to him.
“You left,” Eric muttered, stepping closer to the counter. “I trusted you.”
Olivier glanced away, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “I did leave.”
And now it was easier to ignore the attraction that ran between them, Olivier’s gaze on him, the musk coiling off his skin.
Eric wanted to say something, return the hurt that Olivier had inflicted on him. He wanted to say, Did you know how betrayed I felt? He wanted to say, I loved you. He wanted to say, I thought you loved me, too.
Instead, he said, “I spent so long hating you.”
Olivier flinched, paling. He turned and fished a set of keys out of the register. Then he headed for the front door, his gaze downcast, his shoulders hunched.
“That’s okay,” Olivier said quietly. “I understand.”
Eric growled. He had hurt Olivier back.
It didn’t feel right, though. Not when Olivier looked small and out-of-place in his own shop, not when his voice had cracked over the phone, when Eric called him earlier.
Eric took a step toward him. Olivier paused at the glass door, pushing it open. Then he held it there, looking at his feet. Waiting for Eric to leave.
Eric was tempted to. He didn’t want anything to do with Olivier anymore. So he followed his brother to the exit, glancing out at the quiet streets, the few people left on the sidewalk.
At the doorway, just paces from Olivier, Eric stopped. He looked again at his brother, trying to pick apart the mess of emotions he felt. He couldn’t. Because seeing Olivier again... it made his chest squeeze, made his heart thump.
Who are you now? How much more have you changed?
He thought about going home, leaving Olivier in his floundering shop, and never returning. Then he realized that Olivier looked miserable. That he’d never once smiled when Eric was here.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asked in spite of himself.
Olivier’s lips moved. Then he looked up, his gaze uncertain, and there was such... resignation in his eyes, that Eric’s breath snagged. Did I cause that?
“I—I have to close the shop,” Olivier said shakily, waving at the door. “For... for tonight. Please leave.”
But he needed someone. Olivier needed a hug—Eric could see that now, could see the way Ollie clutched at his own arms, like he would fall apart if he were alone long enough. And that shifted something in Eric’s chest, made him pause.
“Ollie,” Eric murmured, reaching out.
Olivier’s eyes widened with surprise. He glanced up. Eric caught his arm, feeling the coldness of his skin past the thin shirt. Olivier was too thin, and the shop was too cold.
“You should be heating the shop,” Eric muttered. “It’s the middle of winter.”
Then he yanked Olivier against himself, wrapping his arms around his brother. Olivier was trembling all over, goosebumps on his skin. He was small against Eric, fragile.
Olivier gave a muffled cry, yanking himself out of Eric’s arms. “Don’t—don’t...”
He looked at the door, scared and upset. Eric’s chest squeezed. What happened to you? “Okay. I won’t do that again,” Eric said. “But I’m not leaving.”
Olivier looked as though he wanted to protest. Instead, he let the door swing shut, locking it. Then he turned away. “You’ll have to leave by the back door,” he said quietly.
“Fine by me.”
Eric followed him to the counter, staying on the other side of the glass. Olivier paused at the cash register, his face falling further.
“Business doing okay?” Eric asked, hating himself for it.
Olivier shook his head. Eric wanted to tell him the truth. Wanted to say, I’ve been causing that. But it didn’t feel right, not when Olivier was already suffering. So Eric reached across the counter, catching Olivier’s wrist. It was thin in his hand, warm.
Olivier froze. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” Eric said. That felt right.
“What are you sorry for?” Olivier squirmed. “I mean, I...”
Eric rubbed his thumb over the scent gland at Olivier’s wrist, feeling the thump of his pulse. Olivier gasped. His carnation scent filled Eric’s nose, and when Eric pressed down on that sensitive spot, Olivier tensed, shock and arousal in his eyes. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t jerking away in revulsion.
And that was the crux of things, wasn’t it? Olivier still wanted him.
Eric ran the possibilities through his mind. How could Olivier still desire him, ten years later?
“I thought you didn’t care about me,” Eric said, looking shrewdly at Olivier. What if... what if Olivier had been lying about something else entirely? “You were lying when you said you didn’t love me.”
It was a wild guess.
Olivier’s mouth fell open; he stared at Eric, his eyes wide and afraid.
Seriously? That’s what you were lying about? Eric felt stupid, then. How could he have been so blind? Because Olivier had been lying, but he’d been lying about something else. Eric had been too angry to see it until now.
Olivier had loved Eric. He just hadn’t wanted Eric to know.
“Fuck, Ollie,” Eric muttered, pulling him closer across the glass counter. To think he’d spent years thinking Olivier couldn’t care less about him. To think he’d spent all that time blaming Olivier. “You—you... I should’ve been there.”
Olivier shrugged, regret heavy in his eyes.
There was a silvery scar on Olivier’s neck, a bonding mark. Was he already taken? But Olivier only smelled like carnation—there was no woodsy alpha scent on him.
“Where’s your alpha?” Eric asked, his heart pattering with hope.
Olivier shook his head, tugging his wrist out of Eric’s grasp. “You shouldn’t,” he whispered.
It was too much to process, Olivier still loving him. Eric didn’t know what he felt. All he knew was that Olivier smelled good, he smelled like someone Eric wanted beneath him.
“Do you still love me?” Eric asked.
Olivier gulped, looking away. “I c-can’t answer that.”
It wasn’t a hard no.
“You’re lying again,” Eric said.
Olivier whined, closing his eyes. “You need to leave.”
“Why?”
Olivier locked the cash register with shaking hands, flicking the store lights off. Then he hurried into a back room, where the lights were dimmer.
Eric strode around the counter after him, finding his stepbrother at a desk stacked high with paperwork.
“Ollie,” Eric said, the name rolling off his tongue better than Olivier did. “Stop running away.”
Olivier’s shoulders hunched further. He crammed things into a worn messenger bag, clipping it shut.
Eric stepped forward. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. He had a daughter to return home to, and he had to work early tomorrow morning.
Instead, he stepped up close behind Olivier, wrapping his arms around Olivier’s waist. Then he pulled Olivier snug against his own chest, running his palm up Olivier’s front, following the expanse of his midriff, the faint dip of his chest. This, too, felt good. Natural.
“Eric,” Olivier wheezed, his heart thumping against Eric’s hand. “You can’t—”
“I can’t what?”
It wasn’t like Eric had an omega now. Alice was dead. He’d loved her, but before that... it had always been Ollie. Despite all Eric had done to erase what he felt for his brother, something remained. Something that kept him here, something that made Olivier’s weight in his arms feel so tempting.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” Eric murmured in Olivier’s ear, dragging his lips along it.
Olivier shivered. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“But you want me.”
Olivier groaned, sagging against Eric. His breaths came shakily, and he tipped his head back, leaning into Eric’s chest. “I’m in heat.”
“Where’s your alpha?”
Olivier paused for the longest time. “I don’t have one,” he said eventually.
He was in heat, and he had no one to sate it with. Eric growled, pressing his nose in Olivier’s hair. Olivier’s carnation scent made something settle in his chest, made his grief ease further. “Let me be your alpha. Just for tonight.”
Olivier whimpered, stuttering. “We’re—we’re brothers.”
“Stepbrothers.” Eric’s desire swelled through him, tightening his pants. “We aren’t related by blood, Ollie.”
Olivier squirmed against him, musk coiling off his skin. “We still can’t—”
“Didn’t stop you the last time, did it?” Eric whispered, reaching down. He cupped Olivier between the legs, and Olivier’s breath hitched, his hips bucking up. His cock grew thick behind his pants, hungry. It made Eric want to growl.
“Eric—”
The way Olivier moaned his name... His vo
ice was smooth, mellow. Exquisite.
“Want me to stop?” Eric murmured, squeezing Olivier’s cock ever so lightly.
Olivier whimpered, pushing into Eric’s hand. His hunger was heady, tantalizing. And something yanked behind Eric’s stomach, razing down his body, lighting up his nerves. His cock grew so hard it fucking hurt; Eric panted.
All he could see now was Olivier. The dark, gleaming locks of his hair, the slope of his shoulders. All he could feel was the heat of Olivier’s body, all he could smell was Olivier’s scent, and his musk.
“Fuck, Ollie,” Eric gasped, rocking his hips against Olivier, so hints of pleasure jolted through his body. “Think—think I’m in a rut.”
3
Olivier
Eric was touching him. Olivier held still, barely able to believe it. After years of thinking about Eric, after all his hopeless daydreams...
Olivier’s stepbrother was here. And he was cradling Olivier gently in his arms, his breath hot on Olivier’s jaw, his cock a thick line behind his jeans.
Maybe this was a fever dream. But Ollie had been hungry too long to question anything good like this, especially when Eric was in a rut. Just the mere thought of Eric’s cock, the possibility that Olivier could touch it, could have it inside him... It was big. It would feel delicious.
Musk billowed off Olivier’s skin, giving all his secrets away.
Eric growled, his hands tightening around Olivier’s hips. Then he rocked his cock against Olivier’s ass, and Olivier trembled, his throat dry.
He wanted more. Wanted Eric stripping him, wanted Eric pinning him open, touching his bare, sensitive skin. He wanted to know what it would feel like, Eric’s hand on his cock, Eric seeing his most intimate parts.
Olivier’s face burned. He shouldn’t. Eric was his brother.
“I’ve never been in a rut,” Eric muttered, his breath puffing into Olivier’s hair.
That surprised Olivier.
“How?” he breathed, his heart pounding too fast. “I thought—I thought you were married.”
“Never with Alice.” Eric pressed his face against Olivier’s shoulder, reaching around him. With quick, decisive tugs, Eric pulled Olivier’s belt open. “It was never the same.”
Stepbrother's Secret Page 2
