Stepdad's Pet; His Son's Plaything

A'S

ling of the old house. It was the smack. A sharp, wet sound of palm me

against my ribs. For a split second, I thought someone was b

tate of absolute, shattering undoing. And the man makin

hitches. I was twenty-one now, back from university for the holidays,

t with a grace that was almost saintly. He was the man who had tied my shoes, the man who

s laughed it off, but deep down, the word 'Daddy' had sta

ac

Please!" my m

c rumble. It wasn't the voice he used at the breakfast table. This was d

tless thudding-vibrated through the floorboards. I fe

t she was the one under him, feeling the weight of that powerful body, hearing those filthy com

I shoved my silk nightgown up to my waist, my skin tingling in the cool air. I was already so

rdan growled th

apable hands-the ones that had patted my head and signed my report cards-clutching my hair

s losing myself in the fantasy, the boundary between "stepdaughter" and "woman" di

ess, my breath hitching in a series of broken

gone, whispering "Jordan... pl

y spilled across the carp

mm

of the bloodline. I froze. My hand was still buried between my legs,

e retreat. He watched me, his chest rising and falling in a jagged r

, the name soundi

ver that wasn't just shame-it was residual heat from the sounds of

a sudden, predatory speed, kicking the door sh

highs down. His hands, calloused and large-so much like his father's-grabbed my

went straight for th

ress as he devoured me. He was aggressive, his teeth grazing my sensitive skin, making me sob as he forced my body to respond t

fingers were already winding into

g, the thudding from the other room still vibrating through the house. Thump. Thump. Thump. My mother's cries we

ack. He stripped his jeans off in one fluid motion, th

, Emma," he

fingers digging into my flesh, and drove

ade my head snap back against the headboard. He started a brutal, rhythmic pace

Smack

. I closed my eyes tight, the sweat dripping from Reign's forehead onto my chest

rm mouth. I was about to scream when he stuffed my night into m

were larger. I felt the weight of him, but I imagined the sc

d, my voice a broken

aking me from behind-the exact position I knew Jordan was using on my mother just a few minutes ag

max, I was screaming for the father. I imagined Jordan's hand wrapped

lf into me, his weight crushing me into the mattress. For a few sec

a word about his father. He didn't ask why I was touching myself to the sound of th

s fighting was in my bed, his scent marking my sheets. But as I listened to the silence from the ha

n. But it was the fathe