Step Stalker
“Never been a Daddy before, but I was yours the second I stepped off the plane, wasn’t I? You knew it. And so did this pretty virgin cunt.” He pushes his middle finger inside my drenched entrance, both of us gasping, the sound of damp flesh barely drowned out by the sound of the movie. “And what does that make you, my too-tight princess?”
The answer is somehow obvious. “L-little girl. Your little girl.”
How do I know this? No idea. It’s instinctive. Like slipping on a new, second layer of skin that is infinitely more comfortable than the first.
“That’s right,” he rasps into my neck, his hips starting to roll beneath me. Quickly. Desperately. “They want to slack off on parenting duties? Fine. I’m stepping in. I’m the one who gives permission and advice and buys your clothes now. Vale is Daddy. Say you understand.”
We’re getting too loud. Our breathing is out of control, the rasp of our clothing seems magnified in my ears. I can hear every slick stroke of his fingers through my sopping wet flesh. So I nod, instead of answering, tipping my head back so he can see the affirmation in my eyes. And whatever he sees in my expression riles him up, brings his mouth down on mine, kissing me over my shoulder. Now I’m being ridden in his lap, his middle finger pumping in and out of my previously untouched channel, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with ownership.
My orgasm sinks its teeth into me, and I whimper into the kiss, struggling through the tumult of sensations, my butt grinding down into his lap, my womanhood clenching and pulsating around his finger. Oh God. Oh God. This is far more intense than the release he gave me upstairs in the shower, because I’m being pumped full—and because he’s coming, too, this time. I’m still at the apex of my climax when Vale twists to the right and throws me face down on the couch, his hips jackhammering mine through my panties and his sweatpants. The springs of the couch creak underneath us and the blanket has been discarded on the floor. If our parents opened their eyes right now, they would see my stepbrother on top of me, humping me violently on the couch—and I still don’t think we’d be able to stop.
“Do you have any idea how fucking hot this lush, round ass makes me? Those big, juicy tits? Jesus Christ.” He thrusts against me even harder, his fingers burying in my hair, twisting the strands. “You were built for me. Built to get it rough. Built to take Daddy’s pounding.”
My mouth is open in pleasure, in sensual overload on the couch cushions. A moan works its way up my throat, but I turn my head at the last second to bury the sound. And that’s when my panties are yanked down, great, glopping wetness striping across my cheeks. My stepbrother’s spend lands audibly in the still, dark room, his strangled groans muffled in my neck, big, huge body jerking and jerking, over and over again on top of me until his release runs down the split of my bottom, all the way to my sated sex, mixing with the proof of my own pleasure. Only then does Vale collapse on top of me.
Almost instantaneously, there’s a shift across the room, my mother changing positions on the couch. With a frustrated curse, Vale eases off me and adjusts his sweatpants, wiping me clean with a sweep of his T-shirt and tugging my panties back up into place quickly. We’re in the process of sitting up, both of us still catching our breath, when my mother yawns loudly.
“Oh my goodness, don’t tell me I fell asleep just like your father.”
Neither Vale nor I have the wherewithal to answer. I can barely think straight, let alone speak. I just hooked up with my stepbrother. On the couch. Mere feet from our parents.
Was it a one-time thing?
It didn’t sound like it. It sounded like Vale was claiming me…permanently.
But it’s hard to trust that when I’ve been conditioned to be insecure. What if he was just saying words in the heat of the moment? Santana and Jess are always complaining about guys who make promises in the dark but ghost them the next morning. Is it fair to hold Vale to anything he said to me? Maybe things will be clearer in the night of day?
Again, my mother yawns. “Lula, you’re leaving early for camping, right? Maybe you should head upstairs and get a good night’s sleep.”
A muscle flexes in Vale’s cheek and I get the distinct impression his willpower is the only thing keeping him from pinning me down again. His blue gaze is fastened on my mouth, even more intense than I’ve seen it since he arrived. Those big fists are bunched on his thighs, that upper lip on the verge of peeling back. What does his demeanor mean? Does he want to touch me again or—even more likely—is he annoyed at himself for getting carried away?