Next in the Forbidden Goals series…

Man On: Idiom. An outcry warning a teammate of an approaching opponent, usually from the rear.

Stepbrothers. Rivals. Lovers?

Noah Milner is everything Lane is not: outgoing, confident, and completely secure with who he is. He"s also temptation personified - something Lane"s sheltered upbringing didn"t properly prepare him for.

Lane Blakely's quiet nature and perfectionism get under Noah's skin. There's something about him that makes Noah want to challenge his easily flustered new stepbrother at every turn.

Their conflicting personalities and competitive natures ignite a rivalry that burns almost as hot as their hidden attraction for one another. When they both accept scholarships to play soccer at the same university, they find themselves not only playing for the same team, but living under the same roof.

What happens when they are unable to avoid each other or the mounting tension between them and boundaries blur?

I can"t sleep.

The darkness is closing in on me, making our room feel claustrophobic. I"m lying here under just the sheet, missing the weight of the blanked, but it"s too hot. It"s too hot for even the sheet, but not having some kind of cover makes me feel too exposed.

I"m too exposed as it is. Always too exposed.

The silence in the cabin is loud. I"ve been trying to focus on Noah"s soft, even breaths. But instead of lulling me to sleep like it normally does, it just makes me too aware of him. His presence is like an itch crawling beneath my skin, one I can"t reach without peeling back layers of myself, probably bleeding out in the process.

His breaths are the only sounds in the room, drowning out everything else. I strain my ears to hear anything but him, anything but the memories of his harsh pants and the way he cried out in the shower. I could hear him through the door.

I wish I hadn"t come back when I did. I should have stayed with Maci. Let her kiss me some more. But I lost my nerve after Noah left.

All I could do is compare them, anyway. They"re my only two experiences with kissing, and so drastically different from each other. Maci's kiss was gentle and hopeful, but her lips were both too soft and too sticky with lip gloss that tasted like candy. It made me remember the taste of skittles on Noah"s mouth, the harsher push and pull of his mouth coaxing mine to open. Maci didn"t slip me any tongue the way Noah did, and I"m both grateful and disappointed.

I"m honestly afraid that I felt nothing when she kissed me. Because when Noah kissed me, I felt everything.

It"s too quiet. Too hot. Too everything. The cabin doesn"t so much as creek or settle; the wind doesn"t blow. Even the crickets and owls and other sounds of being in a cabin in the woods have abandoned me to my torment. All I can hear is him. And with each heavy breath, he draws out more of the air in the room. He breathes it in, makes it his own before breathing out again, sending it over to me so I"m forced to exist on something else he"s recycled. I try to breathe less, to hold my breath, but then I"m just forced to take in a deeper lungful when I can"t hold it any longer.

I"m hyper aware of his presence, his smell. My lungs ache, and that persistent itch of awareness under my skin infiltrates my airflow. He"s under my skin and in my lungs. It"s too much.

Even asleep, he"s ruining my life. Making me think things that I don"t want to think about.

The problem I"ve been trying to ignore for the past hour isn"t helping anything. The more I try to focus on anything else, the worse it gets. Even remembering my grandfather and what he would say about it does nothing to make it better. It just gets worse.

It"s normal. It"s natural. It"s just part of growing. That"s what mom says, but what does she know?

It"s not what grandfather said. He said it"s the devil trying to get inside me. And the more I think of that, the more it makes sense. Because I can feel Noah"s tainted air trying to suffocate me, trying to get inside my brain. It"s making me dizzy. Each inhale of the stupid boy on the other side of the room passes toxicity into my system. It"s infecting my bloodstream that seems only able to travel in one direction tonight.

It"s starting to hurt.

I press my palm against the bulge that"s tenting my boxers and the sheet, nearly groaning with relief at the slight touch. I move my hand quickly away, not wanting to tempt myself farther.

"Don"t stop on my account."

I nearly lurch off my bed, hitting my head on the metal headboard so hard there will probably be a lump. My hand flies farther away from my erection to touch the tender spot.

"I said, don"t stop."

His voice is gravelly with sleep, sounding irritated to have been woken. My eyes fly across the room, finding Noah propped up on one arm, staring at me intensely. A beam of moonlight lays across the bed, perfectly highlighting all the features that make his usually smiling features look menacing. His hooded eyes look darker than ever, with the eerie way the shadows fall across his face. He looks sinister. Evil even. Like the devil that will most certainly swallow my blackened soul.

After over an hour of listening to his even breaths, overthinking every exhale, I somehow missed that he woke up. Or was he awake this entire time? Just watching me squirm and panic internally over sharing space with him?

My voice sounds rough and strangled even to my ears as I stutter and struggle to ignore his words. "I th-thought you w-were asleep."

"How can I sleep when you"re over there tossing and turning, breathing all weird? Just fucking jerk it already so we can both get some sleep."

I wince at his language and the force in his tone, biting back without thinking. "Like you were in the shower?"

I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. Now he knows I heard him. It incriminates me more than it does him, because I was listening and now he knows it.

Noah chuckles darkly. "You liked that, didn"t you? Knowing I was in there touch?—"

"No!" I spit out the words before he can do any farther. "I didn"t."

Really, I didn"t. I tried not to listen, tried not to hear. Because I didn"t want to hear. I didn"t want to think of him, in there, like that.

They"re the wrong thoughts. The wrong thing. The wrong feelings.

It"s all wrong.

"I didn"t?—"

"Did you touch yourself while you listened? Show me now, Lane."

My eyes feel like they might pop out of their sockets at his words. I blink rapidly, processing what he"s asking me to do. No, not asking. Commanding.

The bulge in my boxers twitches, and I have to look away from the grin that slowly spreads across his face. It"s like he can see inside my thoughts.

"N-No."

"Why not?"

"I don"t want to."

"Liar."

The audacity of this punk astounds me, and I turn away from the intensity of his glare. He"s still facing me, leaning toward me.

"I don"t do that."

He scoffs. "Everyone does it."

"N-no they don"t. I don"t. It"s wr?—"

"Put your hand on it."

When I don"t move, I hear him shift, and I flinch, worried he"ll come over here. I peek over my shoulder to find him leaning towards me. He looks me right in the eye, the contact scorching my retinas. It makes my brain feel hot, and I expect there should be steam coming out of my ears like an old cartoon. When I don"t move to obey him, he stands, taking a few menacing steps toward me.

"Do it, Lane."

I don"t like hearing him say my name. The name I gave myself, to make myself new. I was supposed to start over, and he ruined me the first chance he got.

"Fuck off," I snap, surprising myself by using the curse without stuttering. "You can"t make me do anything."

"Wanna bet?" he threatens, crossing his arms over his chest. When I still don"t move to obey him, he jerks forward, and my hand instinctively flies to my crotch to block him.

"Don"t touch me!" I say quickly, my voice cracking. Please don"t touch me. I wouldn"t be able to stand it.

His eyebrows raise, and once again I have the distinct impression that he knows what I"m thinking. That he knows why I don"t want to do this. With him of all people.

Noah nods toward my hand, and I realize with dismay that I"m squeezing myself through my boxers and the sheet. His chin lifts, silently commanding me to keep going. With my eyes locked on his, I press down on my erection and slowly stroke myself.

"Feels good, right?" he asks, his voice husky.

Even through my boxers and the sheet, the pressure does feel good, but I fight to keep my features neutral. I refuse to react, to give him anything to use against me. His lips smooth out into a soft, knowing grin. It makes him look even more dangerous.

Reaching forward, he pinches the edge of the sheet and pulls it off me before I can grab hold of it, and I"m left in nothing but my boxer shorts. My sleep pants, t-shirt, and socks are all balled at the bottom of the bed, discarded in the effort to cool my overheated body.

All of my exposed skin burns, as if Noah were a bonfire and I"m sitting too close. But there"s nowhere to go to get more space. I"m pressed against the wall, as far from him as I can go, pretending that I"m not a moth drawn to the flames.

Noah takes a small step back, and I relax a little. When he doesn"t relax, not moving his hard stare from me, I slowly return my hand to the massive erection I couldn"t avoid even if I wanted to.

With every tentative squeeze and stroke, I fall deeper into temptation. I"m Eve, biting into the apple, promised all the knowledge in the world. Noah is nothing more than the serpent, with his hot glare pinning me to the bed.

"Take it out," he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

"Noah—"

"Take. It. Out."

Pressure builds up behind my eyes, but the heat of my body evaporates any tears before they fall. Or at least that"s how I imagine it happening. I refuse to let anyone see me cry, much less him. I refuse to let him know he affects me at all.

"Need some help?" he taunts. "I bet you"d like that, wouldn"t you?"

"No!" the flush of heat that overtakes my already feverish body is concerning. My boxers strain to keep me inside as my erection grows impossibly harder.

"Do it, or I"ll do it for you," he says, his voice barely above a growl.

My throat struggles to swallow the saliva that has built up in my mouth. Trembling, my hand slips into the front of my boxers, fisting my erection. My abs contract with the contact, drawing Noah"s attention. His gaze runs the length of my body before he raises his eyes back to mine with an impatient expression.

He"s not going to give in. He"s like a dog with a new squeaky toy. He"s going to hold me in his jaws and shake me until he"s punctured me. Until there"s nothing left.

I should get up, push him out of my way, and leave. I"m bigger than him. I"m physically stronger. I could beat him up easily.

But I won"t, and he knows it. Because I"d have to explain to someone, somewhere, why I can"t sleep in my own cabin. Because I"d have to stand up in front of him, get closer to the flame.

…Because I don"t really want to stop, and using the excuse of not having a choice feels like the safest way to satiate this curiosity inside me.

His eyes trap me with the weight of his searing glare. I can"t look away from him. Part of me wants to look away and pretend this isn"t happening. Another part of me—a broken, vile, tainted part of me—is exhilarated by his attention. How much hotter would my skin burn if his eyes left mine, and he turned his heated stare on my body, watching me as I comply with his demands.

It"s that broken part of me that wins. I let the devil overtake my better sense, and give into temptation. Visions of Noah doing exactly what he threatened flood my brain, so vividly I"m left with no doubts that he is truly the devil"s tool.

"Stroke it," he whispers.

My eyes flutter as I do what he says. Seconds or minutes or hours pass. It feels like I"ve been here forever and yet it all happens so fast. Once I"ve started, I don"t need his coaxing to keep going. Shivers of pleasure race up my spine, and my breath catches. I stare so intently back at Noah that the pools of darkness in his eyes feel fathomless. My vision blurs with pleasure as release builds, and the darkness seems to overtake the white of his eyes.

"You"re the devil," I mutter breathily. Noah"s tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

My body explodes with a force that I can"t comprehend. I"ve done it before. Masturbated. I know it"s wrong, and I hate myself more every time I let temptation get the better of me. Recently I"ve done it more days that not, simply for the fact that I can"t keep it down otherwise. Because he"s always here. Too close. Crowding me with the way he smells and the way he makes my brain feel so overstimulated. I can"t go out into the camp and pretend like there isn"t an entire appendage of my body pointing me to where I need to go. Hell, I can"t walk sometimes, it"s so bad. And I certainly can"t be around Noah like that.

I never feel like I have a choice, but then chastise myself when I realize I"ve fallen for the trick of temptation again.

But it"s never felt like this. Never once have I doubled my efforts and moaned out loud from the force of the pleasure that tears me in half.

And never once have I looked into the eyes of a demon while I did it.