Chapter Three — Whispers in the Dark

Elara's POV

The footsteps faded down the hall, leaving me breathless in the silence of my room. My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild rhythm that matched the throb between my legs from where Damien had rubbed me through my jeans just minutes ago. 

God, his fingers—firm, insistent, like he owned every inch of me. "Tight little virgin, clenching around me like you were born for it." His words echoed in my head, dirty and possessive, making my panties slick all over again. 

I pressed my thighs together, hating how my body craved more of that dark dominance, even as dread clawed at my chest. He was my stepbrother, for fuck's sake. Dangerous, with those shadows in his eyes hinting at secrets that could shatter this fragile family. 

I locked the door tighter, but sleep came in fits, dreams twisted with his gray stare devouring me, his cock thrusting deep until I woke gasping, fingers slipping inside myself to chase the ghost of him.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, pulling me from the haze. Sunday over, Monday hit like a slap—school day, final year bullshit waiting. I dressed quick: plaid skirt, white blouse, nothing too revealing, but the fabric brushed my sensitive skin, reminding me of his bites hidden under concealer. 

Downstairs, the kitchen buzzed. Mom hummed over coffee, Victor scanned his tablet, barking orders into his phone about some deal. 

Damien sat at the island, suited up like the CEO he was—crisp shirt hugging his broad shoulders, tie knotted perfect, exuding that controlled power that made my stomach flip. His eyes flicked to me, dark and knowing, tracing my legs under the skirt. Heat rushed to my face; I remembered begging him in that booth, my virginity spilling out in moans.

"Morning," I muttered, grabbing a mug, avoiding his gaze.

Mom smiled brightly. "Elara, sweetie, Victor has meetings all day, and I'm running errands. Damien offered to drop you at school on his way to the office. Isn't that nice?"

My cup clattered. "What? No, I can take the bus."

"Nonsense," Victor cut in, not looking up. "He's heading downtown anyway. Family helps family."

Damien's lips curved slightly, that cold politeness masking the predator. "No trouble at all." His voice was smooth, but under the table, his shoe nudged my ankle—a deliberate tease, sending sparks up my thigh.

I swallowed hard, trapped. The drive loomed like a threat. Breakfast blurred; I picked at my toast, mind spiraling. 

Does he plan to pull over, pin me in the car, and fuck me right there? Dread mixed with filthy want—his dominance calling to that bold slut he'd awakened. 

Denial screamed no, but my nipples hardened against my bra.

We left soon after, his sleek black car purring in the driveway. I slid into the passenger seat, skirt riding up slightly. He started the engine, pulling out smoothly, the city blurring by. Silence hung heavy, thick with tension. His cologne filled the space—spice and sin, the same from that night. 

My core clenched, aching empty.

"You were bold last night," he said finally, voice low, eyes on the road. "Shoving me away, but your pussy wept for it."

I gasped, cheeks burning. "Shut up. That was a mistake."

He chuckled dark, hand shifting gears, knuckles brushing my knee accidentally-like. "Mistake? You came undone on my fingers in minutes. Imagine what my cock would do now, step sis." The word, twisted filthy, forbidden.

"You're sick." But my voice shook, thighs pressing together. School loomed ahead, but the drive felt endless. He turned a corner sharp, pulling into a quiet side street, engine idling.

"What are you—" I started, panic rising.

He leaned over, hand gripping my thigh, sliding up under the skirt. "Testing if you're still wet for me." Fingers found my panties, damp already. He groaned low. "Fucking soaked. Your body's honest, even if you deny it."

I whimpered, grabbing his wrist, but didn't pull away. His thumb circled my clit through the fabric, slow torture. Pleasure spiked, dark and addictive. "Stop... someone might see."

"That's the thrill." He pushed the panties aside, one finger dipping in shallow, teasing my entrance. "Tight as ever. Remember how I broke you in? Your first cock, stretching that virgin cunt until you screamed."

Emotions crashed: shame, want, fear. He was CEO now, power personified, but here he reduced me to this—panting, hips bucking for more. Boldness surged; I spread my legs wider, hating myself. "Harder," I whispered, dirty minded like him.

He added another finger, pumping deep, thumb relentless on my clit. "Good girl. Beg for your stepbrother's touch." His free hand fisted my hair, pulling my head back, mouth claiming mine in a brutal kiss—tongue invading, tasting my surrender.

I moaned into him, building fast, coil tightening. School forgotten; just his dominance, the risk of getting caught. But a car horn blared nearby, jolting us. He pulled back, fingers slipping out slick, leaving me throbbing on the edge.

"Time for class," he said, smirking cold, licking his fingers clean. "Think of me while you sit there, aching."

I stumbled out, legs shaky, fixing my skirt. School gates loomed; I rushed in, late bell ringing. Classes dragged—math, history, all blur. My mind filthy: flashbacks of his fingers, his cock in my dreams. 

At lunch, my friends chattered, but I zoned, thighs clenched under the table. A text buzzed: Unknown number. "Can't wait to finish what I started. -D"

Dread hit—how'd he get my number? Dangerous, yes. What secrets did he hide? Victor's whispers echoed. I texted a classmate, Jake, flirting harmless to distract— "Hey, study later?" His reply was quick, making me smile faintly.

Afternoon classes were worse; PE had me sweating, body hyperaware. Home finally, the mansion quiet. Mom out, Victor at work. Damien's car in the drive—early from the office? I crept in, but he waited in the kitchen, loosening his tie.

"Welcome home," he said, voice velvet threat.

I froze. "What do you want?"

His eyes narrowed at my phone buzzing—Jake's text. "Flirting with boys? After I had you first?" Jealousy flashed dark, possessive. He cornered me against the counter, body hard against mine. "You're mine now."

His hand slid up my skirt again, fingers finding me wetter. "This pussy remembers." He rubbed rough, edging me cruel. I gasped, clawing his shirt, the dominance intoxicating.

But footsteps—Mom's car in the drive. He stepped back, leaving me panting, denied.

Upstairs later, I snuck into his room, curiosity burning. Drawers open slightly; a file peeked—Blackwood Enterprises, notes on "rival syndicate," "leverage on Victor." Ties to danger? My heart raced.

A note on his bed: "Midnight. Pool house. Or I will come for you."

Fear gripped, but so did filthy anticipation. What game was this? The clock ticked toward ruin.