I Wanted One Stepbrother, So All Three Claimed Me novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Laundry Room
Kenji is caught at midnight with Leif's flannel at his mouth and will not apologize, and Leif's hand finishes what Kenji started before Leif calls it a mistake and walks away, and Erik on the stairs says it was a record.
Kenji had Leif's flannel shirt pressed to his mouth and his hand down the front of his sweatpants when the laundry room light came on.
He froze.
The shirt was gray and soft from a hundred washes, and it smelled like cedar soap and sawdust and Leif.
He had pulled it warm from the dryer ten minutes ago, with the whole house asleep.
He had told himself he was only going to fold it.
"Kenji," Leif said.
He stood in the doorway in his work jacket with a tool bag still hanging off one shoulder.
Midnight call-outs were part of his job, and he had come in through the mudroom without a sound.
Kenji did not take his hand out of his pants.
He could have.
He looked at Leif's face instead, which was tired and stunned and not the least bit angry.
"I'm not sorry," Kenji said into the flannel.
Leif set the tool bag down on the floor without a sound.
Then he shut the door behind him and turned the lock.
The click was small.
Kenji felt it in the base of his spine.
"How long?" Leif asked.
"Since the night I moved in."
"That's eleven weeks."
"You carried my boxes up three flights and didn't say a word about the weight," Kenji said. "You made me toast at two in the morning because I couldn't sleep. I've been wanting you since the toast."
Leif crossed the room in three steps.
He put a hand on either side of Kenji's hips, flat on the lid of the washing machine.
Kenji realized he was sitting there with his legs open and his sweatpants pushed low on his stomach.
Leif did not look down.
He looked at Kenji's mouth, and stayed there.
"I'm your stepbrother," Leif said, low.
"I know what you are."
"Your mother is married to my father."
"My mother is in Norway," Kenji said. "And you're standing between my knees."
A muscle jumped in Leif's jaw, under the short sandy beard.
His hands closed on the metal until his knuckles went white.
"This is a mistake," he said.
"Then stop me."
Leif did not move.
Kenji dropped the shirt on the floor and took his hand out of his pants, slowly, and put it on Leif's wrist instead.
The wrist was thick and warm and ridged with old burn scars from live wires.
He guided Leif's hand off the washer and down.
"Kenji," Leif said, rough. "Look at me."
He looked.
Leif's eyes were a deep, serious blue, and they were not tired anymore.
"Say stop, and see if I can," Leif said. "Right now. Say it."
"Don't stop."
Leif made a sound in his throat that was close to pain.
His palm slid under the waistband and closed around Kenji's cock, and Kenji's head hit the cabinet behind him with a thump.
"Oh, God."
"Quiet," Leif murmured. "Tilda sleeps right above us."
"Then be quick."
"No," Leif said.
He stroked him once, slow, from base to tip, with a rough calloused hand that dragged just enough to hurt in the best way.
Kenji's hips jerked.
He was already hard and leaking, and he had been for ten minutes.
The wet slide of Leif's thumb over the head made his whole body go tight.
"Weeks of you in my house in those shorts," Leif said, to himself.
"You noticed the shorts."
"I noticed everything."
He pulled Kenji's sweatpants down to his thighs with his free hand and took his time looking this time.
Kenji's face burned, but he did not cover himself.
"Pretty," Leif said, hoarse. "God, you're pretty."
He worked him with long, firm strokes, thumb circling under the crown on every upstroke.
Kenji's breath came out in short wet gasps against his shoulder.
Kenji grabbed the front of his jacket and hung on.
The jacket smelled like cold air and copper wire.
"Leif. Leif, I'm going to..."
"Not yet," Leif said.
"I can't..."
"You can," Leif said. "You've been so good. Give me one more minute."
It was the voice he used on the kids when he was in charge of them, calm and low and absolutely certain.
Kenji's knees went weak.
Leif's other hand came up and cupped his jaw.
His thumb pressed against Kenji's bottom lip and Kenji opened to it without thinking, and Leif's face changed.
"Fuck," Leif breathed.
He kissed him.
It was not gentle.
It was a big, hungry kiss, his beard rough on Kenji's chin and his tongue sliding into Kenji's mouth while his fist moved faster.
Kenji whimpered into it.
He kicked his heel against the washer door, once, twice.
Then the heat went through him from the base of his spine, and he came hard in Leif's hand.
It came in long hot pulses that streaked over his own stomach and the front of the flannel jacket.
Leif kept stroking until he was done, until he shook.
Then he stopped, and put his forehead against Kenji's.
They stayed there, breathing.
The dryer ticked as it cooled.
Leif picked the gray flannel shirt up off the floor, and used it to wipe Kenji's stomach and thighs with careful, steady hands.
He pulled the sweatpants back up for him.
He did not meet his eyes.
"This was a mistake," he said. "It doesn't happen again."
"Leif."
"Go to bed, Kenji."
He took the tool bag and the shirt and unlocked the door.
Kenji sat on the washer with his legs shaking and his heart going and the taste of Leif still in his mouth.
His boots crossed the kitchen, and went up the first flight of stairs, and stopped.
Somebody was sitting in the dark on the landing.
"Eleven weeks," said Erik's voice, dry and amused, and wide awake. "That's a record, Leif. Soren owes me forty bucks."
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