But Stepfamily shouldn’t know, How you taste like

Lily P O V

I’d been hearing it for months—ever since I turned eighteen.

Every night, when the house went quiet and Mom was either asleep or out with my stepfather, I’d catch the low, rough groans coming from Ethan’s room.

My stepbrother.

He’d moan my name like a prayer and a curse all at once. “Fuck… Lily…”

At first I thought he was possessed or having nightmares. Then I realized what it really was.

He was jerking off to my name.

The thought should have disgusted me.

Instead, it made my panties stick to my skin and my clit throb so hard I had to bite my pillow to stay silent.

Some nights the sounds were soft, almost desperate, like he was trying to hold himself back.

Other nights they were raw and unrestrained, the bedframe creaking just loud enough that I could picture him sprawled across the sheets, fist working hard, head tipped back against the pillow.

I started timing it without meaning to. Ten minutes after the house settled. Sometimes longer if Mom stayed up watching TV downstairs. I’d lie there in the dark, thighs pressed together, listening, hating how wet I got from something so wrong.

*

Well…

Today Mom needed a ride to the office for an early meeting, and Ethan volunteered to drive her….

The second the front door clicked shut behind them, I slipped out of my room like a thief. The hallway felt longer than usual. Every soft creak of the floorboards under my bare feet sounded deafening. I kept glancing toward the stairs, half-expecting the door to open again and catch me mid-step.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I pushed open the door to his bedroom. It smelled like him—woodsy cologne, clean sweat, and something darker that made my mouth water.

The bed was unmade, sheets twisted like he’d slept restless.

A half-empty water bottle sat on the nightstand beside a phone charger. His black hoodie was draped over the desk chair. Everything about the space felt intimate in a way that made my skin prickle.

*

I went straight for the desk drawer.

I’ve seen him hide things there before—once when he thought no one was watching, sliding something small and black into the back.

My fingers shook as I pulled it open. Notebooks, chargers, a couple of spare cables… and a sleek black flash drive tucked at the back beneath a folded receipt.

I snatched it, my pulse was racing.

I should have left.

Instead, curiosity and the constant ache between my legs won.

I plugged it into his laptop, praying it wasn’t password-protected.

And it wasn’t.

The screen lit up with the familiar desktop background—some dark mountain landscape he’d had for years. The folder opened almost immediately once the drive mounted.

Then my stomach flipped when I saw the amount of sick videos he had in it…

*Stepsis Takes Stepbrother’s Cock. Forbidden Creampie. Stepsister Begs for More. Accidental Creampie with Sis. Sharing a Bed with Stepsister.*

Dozens of videos. Titles stacked one after another in neat rows, some with thumbnails that made my breath catch. Girls with long dark hair. Soft mouths. Bodies that looked too familiar for comfort.

All of them featuring girls who looked suspiciously like me—same long dark hair, same curvy hips, same innocent face getting ruined.

I clicked one.

The girl was on her knees, moaning exactly like I sounded in my own fantasies. The camera angle was close enough to catch the way her lips stretched, the wet sounds, the way her eyes fluttered. The guy behind her was pounding deep, growling, “Take it, little sis…” His hand was in her hair, holding her steady while he drove into her. She gasped his name between broken sounds that made my stomach tighten.

Heat flooded my core.

My pussy clenched so hard I whimpered. I was soaked. The fabric of my shorts clung uncomfortably between my legs. I shifted my weight, thighs pressing together, but it only made the ache worse.

Without thinking, I shoved my hand down my shorts, my fingers sliding through my slick folds.

I was dripping.

I circled my swollen clit, biting my lip as the girl on screen took every inch. The wet sounds from the laptop mixed with the quieter, wetter sounds of my own fingers. My breath came shorter. I braced one hand on the edge of the desk so I wouldn’t sway. My knees felt unsteady.

“Oh god…” I whispered, my legs trembling.

*

My fingers moved faster. I slipped two inside just to feel the stretch, then dragged them back up to my clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles. The pressure built too quickly. I was already close, and I’d only been in the room a few minutes.

I imagined it was Ethan’s thick cock stretching me instead of my own hand. I pictured him calling my name while he fucked me raw—the same low, rough voice I’d heard through the wall so many nights. The same way he said “Lily” like it hurt him to want it.

The fantasy came too easily. His hands on my hips. The weight of him. The way he’d probably look down at me if he ever caught me like this—flushed, messy, touching myself to the exact kind of videos he kept hidden.

Footsteps.

I heard them.

Heavy, quick footsteps coming down the hallway.

Shit.

Ethan was back already.

Panic exploded in my chest. My hand jerked free from my shorts. I nearly knocked the laptop sideways in my rush.

I yanked the flash drive out, slammed the laptop shut, and dropped to the floor. The drive was still warm in my fist. I didn’t even think about putting it back. There wasn’t time.

There was barely enough space, but I crawled under his bed, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he’d hear it if he listened carefully. The carpet was rough against my palms and knees. Dust tickled my nose. I had to turn my head sideways to fit, my cheek pressed near the floor.

I clutched the stolen flash drive in my sweaty palm like it was evidence of a crime.

The bedroom door swung open.

I held my breath.

From my hiding spot I could see his sneakers stop right beside the bed.

He stood there for a long second, like he was scanning the room and asking himself a lot of questions.

Did I close the drawer all the way? Did I leave the laptop at the wrong angle? Was the chair pushed in the way he’d left it?

I could hear the soft click of the door shutting behind him.

My lungs burned from holding still. A strand of hair had fallen across my face, and I didn’t dare to brush it away.

The mattress above me dipped as he sat down.

The whole frame shifted with his weight. I stared at the wooden slats above me and tried not to breathe too loudly.

I could hear him breathing—slow, heavy. Then the unmistakable sound of his zipper.

A soft, wet sound followed a moment later, rhythmic and deliberate.

“Lily…” he muttered under his breath, almost a groan.

My pussy fluttered again even as terror spiked through me. Heat flooded back between my legs so fast it almost made me dizzy. I was still soaked from before, shorts damp, and now I was trapped under the bed listening to the exact thing that had been driving me crazy for months.

I was hiding under my stepbrother’s bed while he was busy stroking himself, saying my name like he always did.

One wrong move and he’d find me here, flushed and dripping, with his secret flash drive still burning in my hand.

His breathing grew heavier. The mattress shifted again as he leaned back. I heard the soft slap of skin and the low, broken sounds he made whenever he got closer. He said my name again, quieter this time, like he was tasting it.

I squeezed my eyes shut. My free hand curled into a fist against the carpet. Every nerve in my body felt too awake. I could smell his cologne even more strongly from this close, mixed with the faint scent of arousal that made my stomach twist.

The springs above me creaked in a slow, steady rhythm. He wasn’t rushing. I’d learned that from listening through the wall. Tonight I was hearing it from underneath him, close enough that if he shifted the wrong way his foot might brush my shoulder.

My mind raced through every possible outcome. If he finished and left, I could wait until the house was quiet again and sneak out.

If he decided to look under the bed for some reason—if he dropped something, if he reached for a shoe—it would all be over in a second.

He groaned my name one more time, longer this time, the sound rough enough that my thighs pressed together on pure instinct. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper.

The ache between my legs had gone from insistent to almost painful. I hated how much I wanted to push my hand back into my shorts. I hated even more that part of me wanted him to find me.

The rhythm above me stuttered. His breathing turned sharp. I heard him mutter something too low to catch, then a longer, shuddering exhale. The mattress shifted heavily as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees maybe, catching his breath.

Silence settled again, broken only by the soft sound of him fixing his clothes and zipping up.

*

I stayed frozen.