Forbidden Touches in the Dark

Isabella's POV

The drive home from brunch felt longer than usual. I pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and just sat there gripping the wheel until my knuckles ached.

The mansion looked innocent from outside. White stone, climbing roses, the whole postcard fantasy.

Inside was a different building entirely. I walked in through the side door.

The kitchen was empty. Maria must’ve been upstairs. I grabbed a glass of water, drank it all in one gulp, and then I heard voices coming from the living room, low and intimate, the kind of tone people use when they think no one else is listening.

I froze.

Camilla’s laugh was throaty, the one she used when she was winning something.

I moved closer to the doorway. She was on the sofa, legs tucked under her, backing Richard.

“You’re so busy lately, darling,” she murmured. “Let me help.”

Richard’s voice came out rougher than usual. “I’m fine.”

“No, you're not.” She reached up, caught one of his hands, and brought his knuckles to her lips. Kissed them once. Then again. “You’ve been distracted since last night.”

He exhaled hard. “It’s nothing.”

Camilla turned her head just enough to look up at him.

“Was it good?” she asked, voice velvet. “The distraction.”

Richard went rigid.

She smiled. “Relax, I’m not angry. I’m say... curious.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand slid down over her collarbone to the front of her silk blouse, fingers slipping beneath the fabric until he cupped her boobs.

She sighed softly. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Did she taste as sweet as she looks?”

Richard’s thumb brushed over her nipple through the bra. “She’s twenty-one,” he muttered. “Young. Eager.”

Camilla laughed again. This time, it sounded dangerous. “Eager is good. I like eager.” She shrugged.

She turned fully on the sofa and rose to her knees so she was eye-level with his belt. Her fingers worked the buckle open slowly.

Richard’s hand fisted in her hair. Not gentle, like the way he handled Lila.

Camilla looked up at him through her lashes. “Show me how eager she made you.”

She pulled his zipper down. Freed him. He was already half-hard. She wrapped her hand around him, stroked once, twice.

Richard groaned.

Again. I should have run upstairs and locked myself in my room and pretended I heard nothing. But I stayed rooted.

Watching Camilla’s red lips part, watching her take my Dad's dick into her mouth inch by inch, watching his head tip back, eyes closed but never in prayer cause he's a fucking sinner, hips rocking forward just enough to push deeper.

Camilla moaned around him. One hand stayed on his dick the other slipped between her own thighs, under the hem of her skirt.

Richard’s grip tightened in her hair. “Fuck, Camilla…”

She pulled off just long enough to speak. “Tell me her name when you come.”

He grumbled something inaudible. She took him deep again, deeper, her nose brushing his abdomen.

Richard’s hips jerked. Once. Twice. Then he was coming down her throat with a choked curse, body shuddering.

Camilla swallowed. Every fucking drop, like a whore.

When she finally pulled away she licked her lips, slow and satisfied.

Richard was breathing like he just ran a marathon.

She stood up, kissed him once deep, letting him taste himself.

She was turning towards my direction. I bolted away, glad she didn't see me.

I spent the rest of my day pretending I was normal. I didn’t leave my room after running upstairs. I didn’t join dinner.

I told Maria through the door that I had a headache and just needed quiet.

She left a tray outside, it contained soup, crackers, and Milkshake, like I was five years old again. I didn’t touch any, I had seen enough to feed my appetite for some days.

I replied Claire's texts about cake flavors( vanilla, lemon chiffon or strawberry. Which one I thought worked better).

The twin’s group chat blowing up my phone with miss you memes and “How I never check on them in campus? they'll be home soon” messages I ignored. I scrolled I*******m watching some silly reels until my eyes burned. I even tried reading a book.

None of it worked.

Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Lila’s whisper again: “Your secret’s safe with me.”

I even felt my supposed stepmom's foot brush under the breakfast table like a promise.

She was even aware of Lila and Dad.

I was trying to put the pieces together. Gosh, my thoughts were driving me insane. I couldn't stay in my room another second.

My phone lit up.

A text from Lila.

*Door’s open if you want to talk. Or not talk. No pressure. Just saying.*

I stared at the message for a full minute.

I set the phone face-down on the nightstand. Took a deep breath. Everything about this house and the people in it was crazy.

I waited until the house went quiet. Dad's office light went off around eleven. Camilla’s bedroom door clicked shut. And Maria had gone home since.

Perfect.

I put on a hoodie over my tank top and sleep shorts, slipped out of my room barefoot, and took the service stairs down to the valley.

The side door to the backyard was unlocked. I stepped outside. The path to the garage was dark except for the motion light that turned on when I got close.

I climbed the narrow wooden stairs to Lila’s room above the garage. Each step creaked like it was telling on me.

The door was open, warm light spilled out. Soft slow music drifted into the hallway.

I pushed the door wider.

Lila was sitting on the edge of her bed in black lace panties and a cropped tank, legs crossed, hair loose. She looked up when I stepped inside and smiled, like she was expecting me all along.

Such a witch. I scoffed.

“Hi,” she said softly.

I didn’t move from the doorway. “Hi.”

She patted the bed beside her.

“You came.”

“I didn't know where else to go,” I admitted. My voice sounded small raw.

Lila titted her head.

“Rough day, huh?”

“Tell me about it.” I rolled my eyes.

She stood up slowly and walked towards me. She stopped just close enough that I could smell her, was it vanilla , a little sweet, and little sex.

She reached out and brushed a strand of hair off my cheek. Her fingers lingered.

“You saw me with your dad last night,” she said quietly. Stating fact, not a question.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

“And you watched.”

I didn’t deny it.

Her thumb traced my lower lip. “Didn’t it turn you on?”

Okay, busted. “I don't know.”

“Liar,” she whispered. And did the unthinkable.

She kissed me soft at first, just her lips brushing mine.

I don't know why, but I didn’t pull away.

She deepened it, coaxing, her tongue slipping past my lips like she had all the time in the world. I made a small sound I didn’t see coming.

Her hand slid under my hoodie, palms warm against my bare waist. She tugged me forward until our bodies glued together.

“You taste like coffee and some nerves,” she murmured against my mouth. I like it.

She walked me backwards until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I sat, she followed, straddling my lap without breaking the kiss. I was kissing the same lips that kissed my Dad. Just great, Isabella.

Her fingers found the hem of my tank top and pulled it up slowly, giving me time to stop her. I didn’t.

She pulled it off and tossed it somewhere. Then her mouth was on my neck, sucking lightly, finding that spot that made my hips jerk up against her.

“You're shaking,” she said, smiling against my skin.

“I know.” I didn't have an excuse for that.

“You scared?””

“Yeah… a little.”

“Turned on?”

I laughed a bit shaky and breathless. “Alot.”

She kissed me again, deeper this time. Her hand slipped between us, went inside my shorts, her fingers finding me wet and ready.

She moaned into my mouth. “Fuck Isabella…”

Two fingers slid inside me, curling. My head fell back. A whimper escaped before I could stop it.

She worked me in rhythm, thumb circling my clit, fingers stroking that spot inside that made me reach cloud 9.

“Look at me,” she whispered.

I opened my eyes. She was watching my face, hungry, intense and triumphant.

“Come for me sweetheart,” she said softly. “Let me feel it.”

Fuck it. I did. Arching my back, locking her hand between my, a loud cry tearing out of me as I came hard around her fingers.

She kept moving gentle now, until the aftershocks faded.

Then she kissed me again, almost tender and sweet. I see why Dad couldn't stop himself.

She pulled back and lickes her fingers clean still holding eye contact. “Still scared?” she asked.

I laughed weakly. “A little.’ I was no longer mad at her.

She grinned. “Good, because things keep getting interesting.” I don't know what that meant, but it sounds creepy.

Then her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She glanced at it and smirked, like she was expecting a message and it arrived at the right time.

“Camilla,” she said. “Asking if you’re here.”

“Camilla… me, why. What for?” I stuttered.

She ignored me and typed back quickly.

She set the phone down, then looked at me, eyes dark, playful and dangerous.

“Your stepmom wants to know if you’re coming back downstairs tonight,” she said.

“Or if you prefer to stay here… and maybe invite her up later.”

I stared at her in shock.

She pouted, leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth.

“Your choice, Isabella,” she whispered.

“But you should know… Camilla doesn’t ask twice.”