A Forbidden Taste with My Stepfather (Steamy Short Stories)

<A Sinful Taste of My Stepfather>

Introduction:

Without any word, my arms looped around his neck and my cheek settled against the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat. I could feel the vibration when he swallowed and the faint rasp of stubble grazing my temple as he adjusted his hold.We were so close, his hips were cradling mine and my bare thighs were against the soft waistband of his pajama pants.

***

"Get down here already!" My mother's voice cut through the bathroom, cold and impatient as if it was my fault why our house was now covered in darkness.

"I'm coming", I responded then tilted my head back under the dead shower, water was already gone and foam was now drying uselessly on my skin. If she had remembered to pay the electricity bill, we wouldn't be in a blackout on the coldest winter night of the year!

And I wouldn't be half-frozen, blinking into nothing. And now she wanted me downstairs, like she'd forgotten, again, that I had night blindness.

Which came from years of being overlooked, missed meals when she worked late, skipped doctor visits, a childhood spent learning how to be quiet and careful so I wouldn't be a burden.

Dad left when I was little, tired of the chaos and the neglect. Mom stayed busy, always rushing, always working, never really seeing what was right in front of her then later got my step father.

When my stepfather came into our lives, things changed but not my mother. She didn't. She was still distant, distracted and emotionally absent.

I wiped my hands on the towel and sighed. In this house, forgetting was normal. So was expecting me to adapt.

Towel clutched tightly to my chest, I took blind steps forward, to go to my mom. The hallway was full of darkness and endless ahead. Just as I walked my foot out of the sudden caught on something hard. I guessed it's Mom's damn hairdryer, left right in the middle of the floor like always and gravity yanked me down.

I screamed as I fell but before I could strong hands caught me mid-fall.

One thick forearm locked around my waist, hauling me against a hard chest and the other curled across my shoulders, cradling my head.

"Easy, easy, sweetheart," a voice murmured, low and steady. "I've got you."

Damien. My stepfather.

His voice was too close. Before I even realized it, I shifted in his arms— I swear I didn't mean to— and my stupid towel slipped off. Dangerously low and I froze.

I had no panties and no bra, just slick, soapy skin pressed to him. Every inch where my body  touched his was now burning.

I almost lost my breath.

"You alright? I heard the crash, thought you'd really hurt yourself." He asked, his voice steady and clear as if he hadn't noticed anything at all. I pushed my dirty thoughts back and shook my head.

Shame and want twisting together until I couldn't tell them apart. It was totally wrong to have fantasies about him. He is my mother's husband although she barely touches him.

"I… tripped," I whispered finally. "Mom left her stuff all over the floor again." I added.

He let out a short, frustrated breath that wasn't aimed at me.

"Yeah, she does. Too damn busy to notice." His grip eased just enough to shift me higher against him, protectively. "Hold on to me. We're getting you downstairs to the candles, no more falling tonight, okay?"

It seemed he was the only person in this house who still remembered that I had night blindness. The darkness and the blur of my vision made me nervous, yet it sharpened my other senses. I could clearly feel one of his arms wrapped tightly around my waist.  With every step on the stairs, the skin where we touched brushed lightly against each other.

It felt like it was about to burn.

Finally, I felt him lowered me gently onto the sofa, his palms lingering at my sides for a second as he made sure I was steady before pulling away. The towel had twisted awkwardly during the descent. I tugged it down over my thighs quickly before my mom could see me.

"Romantic huh?" Mom's voice came from the armchair across us. She giggled like this blackout was the best thing that had ever happened to us. "See? This is kind of nice," she said brightly.

"She almost ate the floor thanks to your curling iron, Claire." Damien snorted.

"Oh come on, it's not that bad." Mom waved a hand. "No phones, no TV, no distractions, just us, a family cozy in the dark. We should have blackouts more often".

Mom was going on and on about the "benefits" of the power outage, as if we were supposed to be grateful to her for forgetting to pay the electricity bill. But I barely heard her. My attention was all fixed on my stepfather since he sat beside me on the sofa. He was close enough that his body brushed my bare arm.

I can feel he leaned forward to adjust the candle on the coffee table, and the firelight traced the strong line of his shoulders. Even in my blur vision, he looked unfairly handsome.

I'd spent years collecting small details about him in secret, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at one of my dumb jokes, the low timbre of his voice when he asked how my day was and the careful way he'd once bandaged my scraped knee without making a fuss.

Those moments had built into something deeper, something I never let myself name aloud. Not desire but a quiet yearning. I imagined him looking at me the way I looked at him, not as the girl he'd raised since she was fourteen, but as someone who's mature enough to be treated as a woman.

He answered mom's boring question, turning his head just enough to catch me staring. I turned my head sharply, and it made him chuckle. "Ohhhh...What's with the look, kiddo?"

"You peeking at me in the dark?"

"I wasn't!"  God. I blurted too fast and too loud. "I mean, no. I was just… zoning out. The flames. They're… distracting." I stammered.

"Sure you were." He exchanged a glance with Mom and chuckled more. I hated the way they shared that unspoken look, as if it were a reminder that he belonged to her, and I was just… a child.

I ducked my head, pulled my knees up under the towel. Everything about this was wrong but sitting there in the dark with him beside me was even making me tremble.

"God she's freezing," Damien glanced at me and frowned when he noticed the way my body was shaking. "We need to get her something warmer."

Mom waved a lazy hand, still sipping her wine.

"I washed all the thick stuff yesterday, sweaters, hoodies, everything. They're still in the dryer, probably damp. Don't worry, it's not that cold." She laughed lightly, as if it were charming.

But I shivered harder, teeth chattering softly. The towel felt useless now, damp and inadequate against the dropping temperature.

"Claire."He frowned in disapproval.

Mom looked at me then later looked at my step father. "Then just pick her up, honey. Wrap her in your bathrobe, she'll warm up that way. Come on, it's no big deal." Her tone was casual as usual.

He hesitated only a second, then stood and reached for me. "Come here, baby girl." He spoke. I let him lift me easily, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his large hands settled under my hips to support me.

The towel immediately twisted into a useless knot between us, the thin terrycloth barely clinging to my front, leaving most of my bare stomach and the undersides of my breasts pressed directly to the hot, smooth plane of his torso.

He later pulled the heavy folds of his bathrobe around my back and shoulders, enveloping us in thick, soft terry that still held the faint residual heat of his body. I buried my face in the fabric smelled like him.

Without any word, my arms looped around his neck and my cheek settled against the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat. I could feel the vibration when he swallowed and the faint rasp of stubble grazing my temple as he adjusted his hold. We were so close, his hips were cradling mine and my bare thighs were against the soft waistband of his pajama pants.

Mom smiled after staring at us like this was perfectly normal. "There. Better already, right?"

I couldn't answer.