Book 1: Chapter 3 Fingering her

My clit throbbed hardly before he even touched it, like it knew what was coming and couldn't wait.

The ache radiated outward, hot and heavy, making my thighs quiver where they straddled his lap. He didn't rush.

"You sure?" he asked and I nodded immediately. "Please, daddy. Help your little girl." His middle finger traced the length of my slit slowly, pad flat and firm, parting me just enough to spread the slickness he found there. The wetness coated his skin instantly.

That slippery little sound, soft and wet slipped into the air between us, barely audible, but I heard it and I inwardly prayed that mom doesn't notice it.

He paused at my entrance, circling once, twice, letting me feel the blunt pressure without giving me more. My hips twitched forward on instinct and he rewarded me with the slightest dip, just the tip of his finger slipping inside, enough to make my walls flutter around him in greedy little pulses.

 I pressed my knees together just enough to trap his wrist, not to stop him.

His finger dipped more lower, sliding inside me with no resistance at all. I was so wet that it glided in easily, the stretch warm and perfect. My walls fluttered around him right away, greedy, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep me from whimpering.

He added a second finger, curling them just the way he knew would wreck me. His thumb settled back on my clit, rubbing small, steady circles while his fingers pumped in short, controlled strokes, silent, hidden and relentless. Every time he pushed in, I felt that deep ache build, coiling tighter.

His fingers were pressing against that spot inside that always made my toes curl.

 The dual sensation built fast, pressure low in my belly, heat spreading outward until my scalp tingled and my nipples ached against his chest. Sweat beaded at the small of my back, trickling down under my towel. My breathing turned shallow, careful and every exhale felt too loud.

My hips wanted to rock forward, but I forced them still. I gripped the cushion edge until my knuckles ached.

Mom glanced over at me. "You woke up, honey? You look a little flushed."

I nodded quickly. "Yeah, it's so hot under the bathrobe."

"She's probably just restless," he said to Mom, casual as anything but his fingers flexed inside me at the same time, pressing hard against that spot again. "Been sitting still too long."

He didn't stop talking to her and he didn't  look at me.

He kept his eyes on Mom, nodding at whatever she was saying about her weekend plans, voice steady as if he weren't knuckle-deep inside his stepdaughter, slowly fucking her open right there on the living-room couch.

Every time I thought I could handle it, he changed the angle just enough to make my inner walls flutter hard around him.

His fingers sped up, enough to push me right to the edge. I felt it hit me all at once, the heat exploding low in my belly, my walls fluttering hard around his fingers, thighs clamping down on his hand as quietly as I could manage. I arched my back the tiniest bit, like I was stretching and let my eyes flutter shut for half a second before forcing them open again. No sound escaped because i bit my lip so hard.

He didn't pull out right away. He kept the pressure light, drawing out the aftershocks until my body finally went slack, trembling under the bathrobe.

When he finally withdrew, his fingers were drenched; I felt the cool air hit the wet spot he left behind. He wiped them discreetly on the inside of the fleece, then let his hand rest innocently on the back of the couch.

As soon as everything was done, I slipped off him slowly, carefully, biting my lip against the wet, obscene sound between my thighs.

"Let me go and get some water", I adjusted the towel quickly as I pushed up from the couch on trembling legs, afraid that the cum might trickle down my thighs.

 "Okay, sweetie. Grab me one too when coming back." I heard my mother's voice but I didn't turn to look at her. I couldn't, my face was burning so badly I was sure it glowed in the dim living-room light.

My stepfather said nothing but I felt his eyes follow me the whole way across the room.

The hallway felt longer than it should. My bare feet whispered against the hardwood, each step sending tiny aftershocks through my still-sensitive core. By the time I reached the kitchen doorway, my breathing was shallow again.

I opened the fridge, let the cold air wash over my flushed skin and pretended to search for the filtered pitcher. I stood there for some good minutes until when the door open behind me.

I didn't jump. I already knew who it was.

He didn't speak at first. Just stepped in close enough that I felt the heat of him at my back, then his hand immediately found my hip under the loose fabric. His fingers splayed wide, higher, until they found the mess he'd left between my legs. He dragged two fingers through the slickness there, gathering it, spreading it, then stroking once along the sensitive clit.

"You're still shaking," he murmured, lips so close to my ear I felt the words more than heard them.

I swallowed and nodded. I couldn't find words yet.

"Be quiet."

Two words. That was all then pushed them inside me again in one smooth, silent glide. 

I sucked in a breath, sharp and soundless, body clenching hard around the intrusion.

My knees buckled and I gripped the fridge handle harder.

His other hand slid around to my front, slipping beneath the shirt without hesitation. No preamble. Just two fingers gliding through the mess he'd already made, gathering wetness, spreading it higher until he could circle my clit again—slow, feather-light, almost soothing after the violence of before.

A tiny, broken sound escaped me.

"Your mom is still drinking alcohol," he said quietly. "She won't come looking for at least ten minutes. Maybe fifteen if she gets completely drunk."

His fingers dipped lower, teasing my entrance, not pushing in—just resting there, letting me feel how open and ready I still was.

"Tell me what you want," he breathed against the side of my neck. "Quick. Before she wonders why the water's taking so long."

"I want… your mouth." My voice came out wrecked, barely a whisper.

"Good girl."A low, approving hum vibrated against my skin.

He turned me slowly and carefully so my back was to the counter. Then he dropped to one knee right there on the kitchen tile, shoved my towel up to my waist with both hands, and hooked one of my legs over his shoulder without a second of hesitation.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow collecting every drop he'd left behind like he was savoring it.

My head fell back against the cabinet with a soft thunk. One hand flew to my mouth to muffle the moan that tried to escape.

He didn't rush. He licked in long, lazy strokes up through my folds, around my clit, back down again then sealed his lips over the swollen clit and sucked gently, steadily, while two fingers slid back inside me, curling immediately to that same devastating spot.

My hips jerked forward on instinct. He let me ride his face for a few desperate seconds before pinning me to the counter with his forearm across my lower belly, holding me still so he could take his time.

Every sound was wet and filthy. The soft suck of his mouth, the slick glide of his fingers and my own ragged breathing echoing off the tile.

I was already climbing again, too soon and too fast because he knew exactly how to touch me now, knew the exact pressure, the exact rhythm that made my thighs quake.

His eyes flicked up to mine in the dim light. Dark , hungry and completely focused.

He pulled back just long enough to whisper against my soaked skin:

"Come on my tongue. Quietly. Or I'll stop."

Then he buried his face again deeper, harder and I shattered for the second time that night with my fist pressed to my mouth, legs shaking, vision blurring, while ten feet away my mother.

He didn't stop licking until the last tremor left me.

When he finally stood, lips shiny, chin wet, he kissed me once slow and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue then stepped back like nothing had happened.

"Better get that water," he said, voice perfectly even. "She's waiting."

"I want to taste you", I whispered

Mom could walk in any second.

We both knew it but I wanted him.