LS Phoenix's Blog, page 22

When Loyalty Clashes With Love - The Ultimate Dilemma

 

Loyalty.

It’s what keeps him from giving in.

It’s what makes her hesitate before crossing the line.

It’s what makes every stolen glance, every forbidden touch, feel like a betrayal.

When a romance is off-limits, it’s never just about what they want—it’s about what’s at stake.

🔥 Will it ruin their friendship? Is he willing to lose his best friend over this?

🔥 Will they have to keep it a secret? Because sneaking around only makes the tension worse.

🔥 Is the risk worth the reward? Because once they cross that line… there’s no going back.

The more impossible the choice, the more powerful the moment when they choose each other anyway.

📖 What’s your favorite forbidden romance where the stakes made it even hotter?

Off-Limits - Short Story

Sometimes, a short story isn’t enough. Sometimes, characters demand more.

That might just be the case with this one.

I originally wrote Off-Limits as a short, forbidden, brother’s best friend romance, but something about these two won’t let go. Their chemistry, their tension, their history—it feels bigger than this moment.

So while this story stands on its own, don’t be surprised if Nathan and his very off-limits best friends sister, Callie get their own full-length novella… or maybe even a novel. 👀🔥

For now, enjoy their story—but don’t get too comfortable. This might just be the beginning.

……………………………………………………………………….

Off-Limits

I knew it was wrong.

Didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself. How many times I forced myself to look away, to pretend like he was just another guy.

He wasn’t.

He was Nathan Carter. My brother’s best friend. Off-limits in every possible way.

And right now, he was sitting on my couch, wearing a tight black T-shirt and jeans that hugged his thighs in a way that had my brain short-circuiting. One muscular arm was draped over the back of the couch, and when he leaned forward to grab his beer off the coffee table, the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders.

I swallowed, gripping my own drink tighter.

“Something on your mind, Half-Pint?”

I nearly choked. “What?”

Nathan smirked, eyes locked onto mine like he knew exactly what I’d been thinking. “You’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes.”

My pulse hammered in my throat. I wanted to lie, to pretend I hadn’t been openly admiring him, but what was the point? He wasn’t stupid. He’d always known how I felt.

But he never acted on it. Never crossed the line.

Until tonight.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t crack some joke or divert the conversation to something safe. Instead, he stretched, shifting closer, and suddenly the air between us felt too thick, too charged.

I wet my lips. “I wasn’t staring.”

Nathan’s gaze dipped to my mouth. “Yeah?”

I nodded, even though my voice was weak when I said, “Yeah.”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, and then he did something he’d never done before.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the bare skin of my knee.

I sucked in a breath, barely resisting the shiver that shot down my spine. His touch was light, barely there, but it set off an entire chain reaction inside me.

Nathan tilted his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were waiting for me to make a move.”

I should shut this down. Should tell him that yes, I’d had a stupid crush on him since I was sixteen, but it didn’t matter because he was my brother’s best friend, and there were rules. And I’m not sixteen anymore.

But then his fingers moved higher, just an inch, and all coherent thoughts disappeared.

“I—”

I never got the words out.

Nathan leaned in, his scent, clean soap, dark spice, and something uniquely him, flooding my senses. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Tell me to stop, Half-Pint. Tell me this is a mistake.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Because I can’t tell him it’s a mistake.

Not when I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. Not since I’m already shifting closer, my thighs pressing together as heat pools deep in my stomach.

His fingers flex, tightening just slightly on my skin. “Didn’t think so.”

And then he kisses me.

The moment his lips touch mine, the tension that has been simmering for years finally snaps. His mouth is demanding, hot, and every bit as consuming as I imagined. I fist his shirt, pulling him closer, and that is all the permission he needs.

Nathan growls against my lips, his hands gripping my thighs as he hauls me onto his lap. The feel of his body beneath mine, solid and warm, sends a desperate ache through me. I rock against him, and he groans, dragging his mouth down to my throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters against my skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

My head falls back, a moan escaping before I can stop it. “Then why did you wait?”

Nathan’s teeth scrape my pulse point, sending a delicious shiver through me. “Because your brother would kill me.”

I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him back to my lips. “Then I guess we’ll have to be real quiet, won’t we?”

The fire in his eyes is the only warning I get before he flips me beneath him, pinning me to the couch. One big hand wraps around my thigh, hitching it higher around his waist as his hips roll into mine.

“That,” he murmurs against my mouth, “is a challenge I’m more than willing to take.”

A shiver races down my spine as Nathan’s lips brush mine again, this time slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. The heat in his eyes is something I’ve never seen before. Something dark and hungry.

I barely get a breath in before his mouth is on mine again, harder this time, more possessive. His fingers tighten on my thigh, keeping me locked beneath him as his hips press into mine, his weight pinning me to the couch.

“This is a bad idea,” I whisper against his lips, even as my fingers dig into his back, dragging him closer.

His chuckle is low, almost wicked. “You’re the one pulling me in, Half-Pint.”

The nickname, something he’s called me since I was a teenager, used to annoy the hell out of me. Now? The way it rumbles from his chest, rough with desire, kills me in the best way.

“You’re the one touching me,” I shoot back, just to keep from completely losing my head.

Nathan’s hand slides higher, fingers brushing beneath the hem of my shirt. “You’re not stopping me.”

I don’t. I can’t.

Because now that I’ve felt him like this, his hands on me, his body flush against mine, the full weight of his want pressing into me, there’s no turning back.

I gasp as his fingers slip beneath my shirt, skimming over my ribs, up to the underside of my breast. My back arches, my body betraying every single warning going off in my head.

“We shouldn’t,” I breathe.

Nathan groans, burying his face in my neck. “Fucking hell.” His lips press against my throat, soft, teasing, then rougher as his teeth graze my skin. “I tried to stay away, you know.”

My breath stutters. “You;re doing a shit job.”

His laughter is dark and full of heat. “Yeah?” His palm cups my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple through the thin lace of my bra, and a whimper slips from my throat.

He groans at the sound. “I think I’m doing just fine...”

My nails dig into his shoulders. “So now what?”

Nathan pulls back just enough to look at me, his gaze dropping to my parted lips, then lower, to where my thighs have instinctively wrapped around his hips, keeping him there. He rocks into me, and I feel him, thick, hard, and completely unashamed of it.

His lips brush mine as he murmurs, “Now? We make this mistake… real fucking quietly.”

And then he’s kissing me again, deep and filthy, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he owns it. His hands slide down to my waist, gripping tight as he grinds against me, and I swear, I forget how to breathe.

I should tell him to stop.

I should remind him this is forbidden, dangerous, a complete disaster waiting to happen.

But the second his fingers hook into my shorts and start tugging them down, the only thing I manage to say is… “Don’t stop.”

Nathan freezes for a half-second, like he needs to hear it again. Needs to be sure I actually said it. But I don’t take it back. I can’t. Not when my body is burning up beneath him, not when his body is pressing into me exactly where I need him.

His eyes flick to mine, dark and searching. “You sure?”

I don’t answer with words. Instead, I lift my hips, helping him slide my shorts down the curve of my thighs.

That’s all the answer he needs.

He swears under his breath, his hands moving faster, pushing the fabric away like it’s been torturing him. The second I’m bare, his fingers slide up the inside of my thigh, and my breath catches.

“Fuck, Callie,” he murmurs, voice rough. “You been sitting here this whole time like this? No panties?”

Heat flares in my cheeks, but I don’t have time to answer before his fingers graze between my thighs, parting me.

A shudder racks my body.

His smirk is pure sin. “You really are trouble.”

My fingers tangle in his shirt, yanking him down. “Then stop talking and do something about it.”

Nathan groans, his mouth slamming against mine as his fingers slip lower, stroking through the slick heat between my thighs. The first slow, teasing pass has me gasping, my back arching.

He feels it. He knows.

The bastard chuckles, pressing his forehead to mine. “Is this what you’ve been thinking about all these years?”

I bite back a whimper as his fingers circle exactly where I need them, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of answering. Instead, I rock against his hand, chasing the friction, daring him to stop teasing me.

Nathan’s jaw clenches, his free hand gripping my hip to still me. “Be careful, Half-Pint.” His voice is a warning, a promise, dripping with control. “You’re playing with fire.”

I meet his gaze, holding it. “Then burn me.”

His restraint snaps.

Nathan slides two fingers inside me, slow and deep, swallowing the sharp cry that escapes me with another punishing kiss. His thumb presses, rubbing in a way that makes my whole body tighten.

I cling to him, breath coming in ragged gasps. “Oh my God!”

He groans, pressing his forehead to mine as he pumps his fingers deeper, faster. “You feel so fucking good,” he mutters. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

I barely hear him over the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears. Every stroke is perfect, every movement calculated, every inch of him pressed against me, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

I’m close. So close it’s embarrassing.

I fist his shirt, desperate, needy, my nails digging into his skin. “Nathan…,”

“Say my name like that again,” he rasps, pressing his lips to my neck, “and I swear I’ll make you come so hard you’ll never look at me the same way again.”

The heat snaps inside me, pleasure crashing through my body. My fingers dig into his back, my lips parting on a strangled moan as I shatter beneath his touch.

Nathan doesn’t let up. He works me through it, every stroke dragging out the pleasure until I’m trembling, breathless, completely wrecked beneath him.

When I finally collapse against the couch, spent and shaking, he watches me with something almost possessive in his gaze. Like he’s memorizing me like this.

Then, slowly, he lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

Holy. Fuck. He. Licks. Them. CLEAN.

I stare, still struggling to breathe.

Nathan smirks, leaning in until our lips almost brush. “Like I said, Half-Pint.” His voice is all rough edges and dark promises. “You’re playing with fire.”

And I’m so, so willing to burn.

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: March 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix

How to Write That Moment When He Finally Breaks the Rules

 

He’s resisted for as long as he could.

He’s told himself it’s wrong, that she’s off-limits.

And then… he breaks.

That moment—when the tension that’s been simmering finally snaps—is everything. It’s the second the hero stops fighting himself, stops caring about the rules, and just takes what he wants.

So what makes that moment unforgettable?

🔥 A slow, inevitable build-up. It has to simmer before it can explode.

🔥 A breaking point. One look. One touch. One moment where he just can’t stop himself.

🔥 Hunger in the way he touches her. Rougher hands. Desperate kisses. A muttered “Tell me to stop” when he knows damn well she won’t.

🔥 The realization that there’s no going back. He knows he’s ruined. She knows it too.

There’s nothing more satisfying than a hero who finally snaps—because when he does, it’s not just about lust. It’s about everything he’s been holding back.

😏 What’s your favorite “he finally snaps” scene in romance?

Writing Tension When Two Characters Know They Shouldn’t

 

They know better.

They know the rules.

And yet, they still can’t stay away.

That’s what makes off-limits romance so damn addicting. The tension isn’t just about attraction—it’s about restraint. It’s the almosts that build the ache, the stolen glances that linger too long, the accidental touches that burn more than they should.

So how do you write that kind of tension—the kind that makes readers hold their breath?

🔥 Give them history. Their connection should feel deep, even if it’s always been platonic—until it isn’t.

🔥 Make them fight it. Attraction is easy. Denial? That’s where the tension lives.

🔥 Stolen moments > big confessions. A touch that lingers, a hand grazing bare skin, a single glance that says everything.

🔥 Let the tension snap. When they finally break? It should feel inevitable.

Tension isn’t just about what they say—it’s about what they don’t.

👀 What’s your favorite moment in an off-limits romance when the tension finally snaps?

The Best Brother’s Best Friend Romances

There’s something about the brother’s best friend trope that just hits different. Maybe it’s the forbidden temptation, the fact that he’s always been right there but just out of reach. Maybe it’s the built-in tension—the secret glances, the shared history, the knowledge that crossing the line means risking everything.

Whatever the reason, this trope is irresistible, and some of the best romances bring that delicious slow-burn, off-limits energy we crave.

Here are some of my favorite brother’s best friend romances that absolutely deliver:

1. Twisted Games by Ana Huang

🔥 This one isn’t just brother’s best friend—it’s bodyguard romance, too. Rhys is forbidden, protective, and brooding, and the tension between him and Bridget simmers until it explodes.

2. The Off-Limits Rule by Sarah Adams

🔥 Lighthearted but packed with tension! Lucy falls for her brother’s best friend, Cooper, but her brother explicitly tells him to stay away. Sweet, swoony, and addictive.

3. The Deal by Elle Kennedy

🔥 Garrett might be her brother’s hockey teammate, but that doesn’t stop the slow-burn attraction between him and Hannah from turning scorching hot. Flirty, fun, and full of chemistry.

4. Consider Me by Becka Mack

🔥 Carter Beckett is a cocky, flirty hockey player who falls hard for his best friend’s little sister but she’s not making it easy. Playful banter, insane chemistry, and all the tension.

5. The Sweetest Oblivion by Danielle Lori

🔥 Mafia + Brother’s Best Friend = Deadly tension. Nico is dark, dominant, and completely off-limits, but Elena? She cannot stay away. Possessive hero, high stakes, and pure angst.

6. Summer’s Last Kiss by LS Phoenix

🔥 This one delivers achingly slow-burn tension, keeping you on edge as the heroine fights her feelings for her brother’s best friend. Every glance, every near-touch builds the anticipation until the moment they finally give in—and when they do, it’s utterly explosive. A forbidden romance that makes you hold your breath, knowing once they cross the line, there’s no turning back. 

From long-time crushes finally breaking the rules to unexpected heat that neither of them saw coming, this trope never lets us down.

📖 What’s your favorite brother’s best friend romance? Drop it in the comments!

Why the “Off-Limits Romance” Trope Is So Addictive?

There’s something utterly irresistible about an off-limits romance. The kind that’s drenched in tension, full of stolen glances and unspoken desires, where the stakes are sky-high because giving in means breaking the rules.

Maybe it’s your brother’s best friend.

Maybe it’s your best friend’s ex.

Maybe it’s your boss.

Maybe it’s someone society says you shouldn’t want—but do.

No matter the setup, off-limits romance pulls us in for one reason: the undeniable thrill of wanting what you can’t have… until you finally do.

The Forbidden Tension That Keeps Us Hooked

The best kind of off-limits romance is one that simmers. Every touch is charged. Every conversation is layered with what can’t be said. The couple isn’t just battling their feelings—they’re battling the rules, the consequences, and the very idea that they shouldn’t want this person.

It’s the electric moment when the lines blur.

When looking isn’t enough.

When they stop holding back and one of them finally snaps.

And we eat it up every single time.

The Moment They Finally Break the Rules

There’s something about the first kiss in an off-limits romance that hits harder than any other trope. It’s not just about the attraction—it’s about the build-up, the restraint, the nights spent thinking about how wrong it is… and how good it would feel to stop fighting it.

When the hero murmurs, “Tell me to stop.”

When the heroine doesn’t.

When their hands shake—not from nerves, but from the weight of finally giving in.

That’s the moment we crave. The one where everything changes, where there’s no turning back—only falling deeper.

The Ultimate Temptation: Will They Risk Everything?

Part of what makes an off-limits romance so addictive is the internal battle between what they want and what’s at stake.

• Will they lose a friendship over this?

• Will their family find out?

• Will the guilt outweigh the pleasure?

• Or is it worth every risk—because this is the kind of love that doesn’t come twice?

We keep turning the pages because we need to know: Will they take the leap? And when they do… will it be the best decision they ever made—or the biggest mistake of their lives?

Why We Keep Coming Back for More

At its core, an off-limits romance is high stakes, high tension, and high reward. It’s about the ache of longing, the thrill of secrecy, and the intensity of a love that feels too dangerous, too complicated, too inevitable.

And honestly?

That’s what makes it so damn good.

Want more of that forbidden tension? Stay tuned for my upcoming short story where a girl’s long-time crush on her brother’s best friend turns into something she never saw coming… and neither of them can afford the fallout. 

Why Strong, Soft-Hearted Men Make the Best Heroes

 

There’s something about a man who is both strong and soft—who can stand his ground in a storm but still pull you close when you need comfort. The best romance heroes aren’t just dominant and protective; they know when to be gentle, when to step back, and when to just be there.

A strong man isn’t afraid to be vulnerable. He isn’t threatened by a strong woman—he admires her. He isn’t interested in control; he’s interested in partnership. And when he loves, he loves completely.

The best heroes aren’t just alpha—they’re safe, steady, and unshakable in their devotion. And that? That’s the kind of love that lasts.

What’s your favorite trait in a romance hero?

Fictional Men Who Set the Standard

 

Not all book boyfriends are created equal. Some are fun, some are thrilling—but a rare few set the standard. These are the men who aren’t just sexy and confident, but dependable, protective, and deeply devoted.

These are the men who love hard and without hesitation, who take care of their people without question. They don’t just say you’re mine—they prove it through action.

A few book heroes that stand out:

• Wrath from Gild by Raven Kennedy – Possessive, but willing to burn down the world for the woman he loves.

• Knox from Things We Never Got Over by Lucy Score – Grumpy, protective, and secretly the softest under it all.

• Connor Cobalt from Fuel the Fire by Krista & Becca Ritchie – Brilliant, fiercely loyal, and devoted to only one woman.

Who’s a fictional man that ruined you for all others?

The Measure of a Man - Short Story

The Measure of a Man: A Story Straight from the Heart

Some stories come to you all at once, like a lightning strike, and others build slowly, shaped by memories, emotions, and the people who have left an imprint on your heart. The Measure of a Man is one of those stories.

This short story was inspired by the song Half the Man by Jennifer Hart—a song that beautifully captures the kind of love that feels steady, unwavering, and true. It’s about a father who set the bar high, not with grand gestures, but with the way he showed up every single day. The way he loved. The way he led by example.

I grew up believing that strength isn’t just about what a man can build with his hands but about the way he treats the people he loves. It’s about keeping your word. About making the hard days easier and the good days even better. About being a man of quiet confidence, unwavering love, and undeniable presence.

This story is for the daughters who were raised by men like that. The ones who knew, from a young age, that love should feel safe and certain. That the right man won’t just say the right things—he’ll prove it in the small, everyday moments.

It’s also for the women who spent years searching for someone who could measure up. For the ones who had to learn the hard way what love shouldn’t feel like before they found the man who made them feel cherished.

The Measure of a Man is a story of love, legacy, and the kind of men who set the standard without even realizing it. I hope it resonates with you, and I can’t wait to hear what you think.

You can read the full story here: [insert link]

Let me know in the comments—who’s the man in your life who set the bar high?

 The Measure of a Man

Sitting here on the wraparound porch of my parents' house, sipping a cup of coffee, I let my mind wander back to a time when life felt simple. When love was something I saw in the small moments. Mama’s laughter in the kitchen, Daddy’s hands always fixing something, the quiet steadiness of a man who never had to raise his voice to command respect.

I close my eyes and remember one conversation in particular. I must have been about five years old. It was summer, hot and sticky, and Daddy was in the garage working on his old truck, the one with the big bench seat in the front that Mama always complained about. It smelled like motor oil and sawdust, and I can still picture his legs sticking out from under the truck as he lay on one of those rolling things mechanics use, though I never did know what they were called.

I had marched right up to him, standing by his worn jeans, and announced, "One of these days, I'm going to marry a man just like you, Daddy!"

His deep chuckle carried out from under the truck. "Is that right, pumpkin? And why's that?"

I huffed like the answer should have been obvious. "Because you fix things!" I said, crossing my arms. "You fix the truck, the sink in the kitchen that Mama’s always yelling about, and even my bike when the chain falls off." I tapped my little fingers against my chin, thinking. "But mostly, because you make Mama smile. She has a really pretty smile, and I like that."

Daddy rolled out from under the truck, wiping his hands on a rag as he looked up at me with the same gentle eyes I had come to trust more than anything. "Well, baby girl, I like making your Mama smile."

Before I could respond, I heard a giggle behind me. I turned to see Mama leaning against the doorframe, a knowing look on her face. She had flour on her hands, probably from rolling out biscuits, and her apron was dusted in white.

She stepped forward, shaking her head at Daddy. "You do make me smile, Mr. Walker."

Daddy grinned, standing to his full height, wiping his hands one more time before reaching for her. "And I always will."

She moved to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, but he wasn’t having that. He tugged her close, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips, and even though my five-year-old self thought it was a little gross, I couldn't help but giggle. Because Mama was smiling, her cheeks flushed the way they always got when Daddy looked at her like that.

Mama took my hand in hers, giving it a small squeeze. "Come on, sweet girl. It’s time to wash up for dinner."

I followed her into the house, glancing back to see Daddy watching us, his expression warm, full of something I didn't quite understand then—but I do now.

The years have passed, but that memory stayed with me. Through every failed crush, every heartbreak, every time I met a man who didn’t quite measure up to the standard my daddy set.

I dated the ones who were charming but empty, the ones who promised forever but didn’t understand what forever really meant. And then, I met him.

It wasn’t fireworks at first sight. There was no dramatic moment where the world stopped spinning. It was simple, like the way the sun rises each morning. Steady. Natural. Easy.

He was strong in a way that had nothing to do with muscles. He kept his word, worked hard, and knew exactly who he was. There was a quiet confidence about him, the kind that didn’t demand attention but still commanded it.

The first time I brought him home, Daddy eyed him carefully, the way a man does when he knows the worth of his daughter. He didn’t say much, just watched, listened. And then, after dinner, when Mama had gone inside and I had run in to help with dishes, Daddy and him sat on the porch, two men speaking without needing many words.

Later that night, Daddy kissed my forehead and simply said, "He’s a good man."

And that was that.

On our wedding day, as Daddy walked me down the aisle, he whispered, "You found him, baby girl. The one who’ll make you smile."

Tears blurred my vision, but I smiled. Because I knew I had found a man who was strong with his hands but gentle with his touch. A man of few words, but one who led with quiet strength. A man who loved me without hesitation, who made me feel safe in a world that often wasn’t.

A man who was, in every way that mattered, half the man my daddy was. And that? That was more than enough.

Now, sitting here on the same porch I grew up on, coffee warm in my hands, I watch as my own daughter runs up to my husband while he’s working under the hood of his truck.

She tugs on his sleeve, eyes full of wonder. "Daddy, when I grow up, I’m gonna marry someone just like you."

I smile as my husband glances over at me, his gaze soft, knowing. And I realize the measure of a man isn’t in grand gestures or loud declarations. It’s in the way he shows up, the way he keeps his promises, the way he loves without condition.

And as my husband wipes his hands on a rag, kneeling down to look our little girl in the eye, I hear the echo of my past in his voice as he says "Is that right, pumpkin?"

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Small Moments That Mean the Most in Love

It’s not always the big, cinematic gestures that make a love story unforgettable. More often, it’s the quiet, everyday moments that stick with us the most.

It’s him remembering how you take your coffee. The way he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeping you safe without thinking twice. The way he pulls you closer in his sleep, even when he’s half-awake.

Love isn’t just in the words—it’s in the details. The steady presence, the thoughtfulness, the way he knows exactly how to calm your worries without even asking. Those are the things that matter. Those are the moments that last.

What’s a small moment in love that has meant the most to you?