Claimed By My Stepbrother novel Chapter 112

Chapter 112

Camila POV

My palm pressed against the hard line straining beneath his jeans, and I swear to every celestial being above, I could feel his dick throb through his pants.

My brain short–circuited but I didn’t pull away.

I couldn’t.

I was too busy turning fifty shades of what–the–actual–fuck.

He leaned in. Close enough that his breath brushed the shell of my ear. My knees went weak.

“She’s not the one who gets me like this, Camila,” he whispered. “You are.”

I felt his lips ghost along the edge of my ear, soft, hot, teasing. I couldn’t breathe.

“You turn me on just watching you vent,” he murmured, and the way his voice wrapped around those words–My God.

“You’re Camila,” he said. “Mine.”

And then, silence.

I stood there, still clutching him, my heart pounding like I’d just run a marathon. My thoughts were spinning, my whole body trembling with something I couldn’t name. Desire? Embarrassment? Fury? All three?

I snatched my hand away so fast you’d think it’d been burned.

“I–I need air,” I stuttered, stumbling away from him and out of the kitchen.

Not the most graceful exit, but whatever. I was pretty sure my face was glowing red like a damn stoplight, and I needed to put distance between me and that infuriating werewolf.

I made it out the back door and into the yard, the cool breeze slapping me awake. I bent over, hands on my knees, sucking in breath like I’d just survived a natural disaster. Which, I guess, I kinda had.

What the hell just happened?

Why was he so good at getting under my skin?

And why, why did I like it?

I hated how much I liked it.

I stayed outside until my heartbeat slowed down and my face stopped radiating heat. And then I stayed a little longer because I had no clue what the hell I’d do or say if I walked back inside and had to look Ethan in the eye.

And the worst part of it all.

I felt like I was falling. Or spiraling. Or both.

And Ethan? He was waiting with open arms and a damn smirk, like he knew it was only a matter of time.

Camila, why are you getting attracted to him?” I mumbled under my breath, scrunching my face in frustration as I dragged my fingers.

Chapter 112

through my hair. “Are you insane?”

I plopped myself down onto the grass, the blades cool against my legs through the fabric of my sweats. My hoodie was bunched around my hips, my heart still racing from the whole… incident. My hand still tingled like it remembered exactly where it had been.

“He’s crazy,” I hissed, flicking a piece of grass off my leg. “He’s literally crazy, Camila. And let’s not forget–he’s your goddamn stepbrother

I flopped backward onto the ground with a groan, staring up at the too–blue sky, the sun mocking me with how normal it was, Birds chirped somewhere in the trees. The air smelled like wet grass and leaves. The world had no idea it was falling apart–my world was falling apart–and it just kept on spinning like everything was fine.

“Guess his craziness is rubbing off on me,” I muttered, one arm thrown over my eyes.

Seriously. What the hell was wrong with me?

This was the same guy who smiled with blood on his face. Who talked about murder like it was a hobby. Who stalked me. Who made jokes about people trying to kill me like we were chatting about the weather. And yet, my brain–the traitorous, mushy mess that it was–couldn’t stop playing that moment over and over again.

His hand on my cheek.

His voice in my ear.

His body under my hand.

I groaned louder and dragged both hands over my face. “Jesus Christ, Camila, get a grip.”

I could still feel the heat creeping up my neck just thinking about it. The way he looked at me like I was something precious. Like I wasn’t a walking disaster with too much emotional baggage and a scent that apparently made assassins line up at the door like it was Black Friday.

It wasn’t just attraction–it was that connection. That pull. I hated it. I hated how it made me feel… seen. Known. Like I didn’t have to explain myself because he already knew. Because he sensed it.

Stupid werewolf mate bond or whatever the hell it was. I never asked for that.

And still… there was something about Ethan. Something I couldn’t shake.

He made me feel safe in the most unhinged way possible. Like, sure, he could–and probably would–rip someone’s throat out for me, but he’d also open doors for me and remember how I liked my coffee and stare at me like I hung the moon.

Was it really so bad to want that?

Yes! Yes, it absolutely was!

“God, I need therapy,” I groaned into the grass.

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