Omega's Stepbrother

father’s study, then their mom’s sewing room. Grandma might’ve been around somewhere, but Wyatt hadn’t smelled her bitter-lemon scent yet.
Behind a third oak door, Penny’s voice rang out—she was in a conversation with someone.
Raph’s strides lengthened. Wyatt’s heart thumped.
“This can’t be happening,” he said.
“We’re gonna talk. That’s all.”
Raph didn’t smell that way, though. A coil of musk rolled off his skin, and his hot gaze drifted down Wyatt’s body. Maybe they’d finish what they couldn’t, back in the piano room. Wyatt’s cock throbbed; he hoped like hell their sister didn’t step out of her room. Unlike the butler, she knew them too well. “Penny—”
“None of her business.”
They paused in front of Wyatt’s old bedroom. Relief fluttered down Wyatt’s nerves. Almost there. Raph grabbed the door handle, guided Wyatt through the doorway first. Then, when Wyatt was enveloped in the shadows of the room, he breathed out, the tension in his body easing.
Raph closed the door behind them. Locked it.
Wyatt’s hole grew damp.
The room smelled faintly like lilac, like it had been cleaned even though he hadn’t slept over in years. The shirt and pants he’d worn to the party lay strewn at the foot of the bed. Raph strode past the footboard, pausing at the windows. Faint light from the party traced his roguish, handsome features.
Wyatt’s breath caught. What could they talk about? He wasn’t in a mood to talk.
Raph drew the curtains shut, casting them in darkness for a second. Then he touched the metal edge of a lamp, and a golden glow burst through the room, lighting them both. The bedroom had been cleaned up since his teenage years, but the heavy blue curtains remained, and so did the carved wooden closet, and the queen-sized bed.
Wyatt pulled his towel tighter around him, keenly aware of his dripping trunks, his bare feet. The hunger in his body.
Raph’s hair was plastered to his head, his shirt translucent, his taut nipples straining against thin fabric. The hard line in his jeans was still there. Thicker than Wyatt had imagined, bigger.
He imagined it pressed up against him, and groaned.
Raph’s gaze cut to his. “I haven’t seen you in nine years.”
What was new? “No, you haven’t.”
His body humming, Wyatt glanced at his abandoned clothes. He should leave the mansion. Get out before he did something completely stupid. Before he succumbed to the scent of Raph’s rut, the dark gaze that lingered on him.
“I’m sorry,” Raph said.
Wyatt dragged his gaze back up. “Sorry about what?”
“Everything. Grandma. Max. That bastard—”
“I’m not talking about Max right now,” Wyatt said, dragging the towel over his head. He dried his hair roughly, turning toward his clothes. How in all hells had Raph found out about Max? Max was ancient history.
Raph hissed. In the space of a breath, he was behind Wyatt, his warm hand sliding around Wyatt’s arm, his warm fingers trailing down Wyatt’s spine, to the small of his back.
“The fuck is this?” Raph growled in his ear.
The tattoo...? Why would Raph get angry over a tattoo? Because it said Drive In? Because he thought Wy was a slut, or something?
A stream of hot anger bubbled up through Wyatt’s chest. Why should Raph’s opinion matter? Raph hadn’t been around when things happened. He had no say on what Wyatt chose. Especially not a tattoo that Wyatt had been so proud of, back when the drive-in had crossed its three-year birthday.
Wyatt tried shaking him off, but Raph held on, his body broad behind Wyatt, strong and inviting.
“That’s none of your business.” Wyatt scrubbed harder at his hair. Then threw the towel on the bed, so it wasn’t separating them.
“You’re my brother. It’s every bit my business.” Raph’s palm burned against his back, right over Wyatt’s ink. His lips brushed Wyatt’s ear, his breath damp. “You showed this at the party. Were you asking every alpha there to ‘drive in’?”
Wyatt’s heart pounded. This could go either way—he could say something scathing, and Raph would leave. Or he could give in to his heat, and the months and years he’d thought about Raph, wishing they’d never been brothers.
“How does it read to you?” Wyatt asked, his voice so quiet he wasn’t sure if Raph heard.
Raph drew a shaky breath, gripping Wyatt’s arm so tight it almost hurt. “It reads as an invitation.”
“And would you—” Wyatt swallowed “—would you accept it?”
Raph groaned, his fingers brushing down the tattoo, catching along Wyatt’s waistband. “We’re goddamn brothers, Wyatt.”
“Stepbrothers. We aren’t related by blood.”
Except everyone outside this room would condemn them if they did. There was Penny, and their parents, and their grandmother. The people at the party. Wyatt’s insides squirmed; they shouldn’t do this.
And yet his body ached. If no one found out... “Just once, Raph. Please.”
Raph’s breath rushed out of him. He pressed his forehead to Wyatt’s shoulder, his fingertips trailing down Wyatt’s back, over the curve of his ass. “How many other people saw this tattoo?”
“Plenty,” Wyatt said. But that wasn’t what Raph was asking. Raph meant How many people have you seduced with it? and Wyatt would answer that. He wasn’t eighteen anymore. He had regretted the times they’d danced around each other an age ago, waiting for Raph to respond. Waiting until it was too late. “But I haven’t slept with anyone since I got it. Two years ago.”
“Fuck.” Raph pressed his palm against Wyatt’s ass, squeezed his cheek. Spread him open through his trunks. “I swear it’s just my rut.”
“I need to know, Raph,” Wyatt said, his voice cracking. “I need to feel your cock.”
Raph swore. He slipped his arm around Wyatt’s waist, hauled him backward. Wyatt bumped into the fly of his jeans, shoving back against that thick length, his body aching. He reached behind, fumbled with Raph’s belt until Raph released him and tugged it off. It landed on the carpet with a thud.
Wyatt’s fingers were already on Raph’s fly, dragging the zipper down. Then he shoved his hand into Raph’s drenched boxers, and Raph’s cock jerked against his fingers, hot and hard.
Wyatt’s breath rushed out