Guilt

Alexa’s POV

“I want to stay,” I whispered, my voice barely louder than the beating of my own heart.

Dominic’s eyes searched mine for a long moment, then he pulled me back into his arms, kissing me like he was claiming something that had always belonged to him. We didn’t make it back to the bed right away. He took me against the wall instead, slow and deep, murmuring how perfect I felt, how he’d waited for this. When we finally collapsed together afterward, the room smelled of sex and his cologne, and I let myself drift in the warmth of his chest.

But sleep didn’t last. I woke before dawn, tangled in his sheets, staring at the ceiling while guilt clawed its way up my throat. This was his bed. My mother’s bed too, even if she rarely slept in it. I had let my stepfather fuck me—twice last night, again this morning—and I had begged for more. My body still ached in the best way, but my mind wouldn’t shut up.

I slipped out of his arms carefully and padded to my own room. The house was silent. I showered until the water ran cold, scrubbing at my skin like I could wash away what we’d done. It didn’t work. Every bruise from his fingers, every tender spot between my legs reminded me. I pulled on loose clothes and went downstairs, needing space to breathe.

Dominic found me in the kitchen an hour later, pouring coffee with shaking hands. He came up behind me, arms sliding around my waist, lips brushing my neck.

“Morning,” he said, voice still rough from sleep. “You left.”

“I needed a minute.” I set the mug down harder than I meant to. “This… last night, this morning. It’s a lot.”

He turned me to face him, hands gentle on my hips. “Regretting it now?”

“No.” The answer came too fast. “Yes. I don’t know. You’re married to my mom, Dominic. I grew up calling you Dad in front of people. And I let you—”

“I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want.” His tone stayed calm, but his eyes darkened. “You could have told me to stop at any point. You didn’t.”

That was the worst part. I hadn’t. I had spread my legs and moaned his name like it was the only word I knew.

“I know,” I said, looking away. “But it doesn’t make it right.”

He cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Right and wrong don’t feel the same when it’s us. You felt it too. Still do.”

My body betrayed me with a shiver at his touch. He noticed, of course. A small smirk tugged at his lips.

“See?” he murmured. “Your mouth says one thing, but the rest of you knows the truth.”

I pushed his chest lightly, but there was no force behind it. “Stop. Ethan texted again last night. I told him it’s over, but what if he shows up? What if Mom calls and hears something in my voice?”

“Let me worry about that.” He leaned in, kissing me softly at first, then deeper until my hands fisted in his shirt. When he pulled back, I was breathing harder. “No one’s going to find out unless we slip. And we won’t slip.”

The confidence in his voice should have scared me. Instead it settled something restless inside me. He made breakfast again—eggs and toast this time—while I sat at the island watching him. Every movement was sure, controlled. He wasn’t panicking. Why was I?

We ate in near silence until my phone buzzed. Ethan again. Please, Alexa. Just talk to me. I fucked up but I love you.

I showed Dominic the message without thinking. His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed even.

“Block him.”

“I can’t just—”

“You can.” He reached over and took the phone from my hand, thumb moving across the screen. A second later he handed it back. “Done. He doesn’t get to keep bothering you.”

I stared at the blocked contact, a mix of relief and unease twisting in my gut. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” His hand covered mine on the counter. “No one hurts you. Not even with words. Not anymore.”

The possessiveness should have felt suffocating. It didn’t. It felt safe. Addictive. I hated how much I liked it.

The day stretched on with stolen moments. We watched a movie on the couch, but his hand kept drifting under my shirt, teasing until I was squirming. I tried to focus on the guilt, on how wrong this was, but every time his fingers brushed my skin the thoughts scattered. By afternoon we were back in his bed, clothes scattered on the floor.

This time I rode him, slow and deliberate, watching his face the whole time. His hands gripped my hips, guiding but never forcing. When I came, whispering his name, the guilt hit harder than ever—right alongside the rush of pleasure.

Afterward, I lay with my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.

“I keep thinking about Mom,” I said quietly. “What if she comes home early from this trip? What if she looks at us and just knows?”

Dominic’s fingers stroked through my hair. “She won’t. She’s too busy building her empire to notice what’s happening under her own roof. And if she does come back, we act normal. You’re my stepdaughter. I’m the supportive husband who’s always been there for you.”

The casual way he said it made my stomach flip. Like he’d already thought this through. Like he had plans.

“You make it sound easy,” I muttered.

“It can be.” He tilted my chin up. “Unless you want to stop. Say the word right now and we never touch again.”

I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead I kissed him, hard, like I could silence the guilt with his taste. He rolled us over, pinning me gently beneath him, and took control again. By the time we finished, I was boneless and floating, guilt pushed to the edges once more.

Evening brought another text—this one from Mom. How was the birthday, sweetheart? Sorry I missed it. Dominic taking good care of you?

I read it aloud, voice tight. Dominic glanced over from where he was pouring wine.

“Tell her yes,” he said simply. “Tell her I’m taking very good care of you.”

My fingers hovered over the screen. I typed: It was okay. Dominic picked me up when Ethan flaked. He’s been great, as always.

Sent. The reply came quickly: Good. Love you both. Home in two weeks.

Two weeks. Plenty of time to keep drowning in this secret. Plenty of time to get addicted.

I set the phone down and looked at Dominic. He was watching me with that steady, intense gaze that made me feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

“What if I can’t stop wanting this?” I asked.

He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms, lips brushing my ear.

“Then don’t stop,” he whispered. “You’re mine now, Alexa. And I take care of what’s mine.”

The words sent a thrill straight through me, dark and sweet. Guilt still lingered in the background, whispering that this would destroy everything. But wrapped in his arms, with his scent surrounding me and his hands promising safety and pleasure, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away.

Not tonight.