Chapter Two — Meet the New Family

Elara's POV

I woke with sunlight streaming through the curtains, my body a map of last night's sins. Between my legs, that tender ache pulsed—a filthy reminder of how he'd claimed my virginity, his thick cock splitting me open, stretching my innocent walls until I was dripping and begging for more. His fingers had been relentless, curling deep to hit that spot that made me shatter, but it was the moment he realized I was untouched that burned hottest in my memory. 

His eyes darkening with possession, slowing just enough to make the pain twist into dark pleasure, whispering, "Mine now, virgin." I shifted under the sheets, my hand slipping down instinctively, fingers circling my clit as I replayed it. Wet already. God, he was a stranger then, but the way he dominated me—careful thrusts turning rough, his cum filling me hot and deep—left me craving like a slut. Shame heated my cheeks, but so did want. I came quick, biting the pillow to muffle my moan, then dragged myself to the shower, washing away the evidence but not the hunger.

Downstairs, Mom was all smiles, flipping pancakes like life was perfect. "Morning, sweetie! Big day—the marriage papers are signed and sealed. Victor and I are officially hitched." She waved the documents like a trophy, her ring catching the light.

Victor nodded from his newspaper, his face etched with that perpetual calculation. "And Damien lands this weekend. Fresh degree in hand, ready to CEO the new branch. The boy's got edge; he'll shake things up."

My coffee cup paused mid-air. Stepbrother. Some entitled prick stepping into this gilded cage. 

I'd caught Victor's mutter last night, sneaking in sore and satisfied: 

"If Damien uncovers that buried shit, we're fucked." What shit? Embezzlement? Worse? Dread nibbled at me, but I shoved it down, focusing on the burn of hot liquid. 

Last night felt surreal now—his gray eyes devouring me as he pounded in, calling me greedy, my first orgasm crashing like a wave. Heat bloomed low again. Focus, Elara.

The days blurred: school drudgery, friends teasing about my "glow," but my mind was filthy, replaying his dominance. Fingers in the dark, imagining his cock instead. 

By Saturday, the mansion hummed with tension. Mom fussed over dinner—roast, wine, the works. I dressed casual, jeans hugging my ass, a top that dipped just enough. Victor paced. 

"He's here any minute."

The door opened. Footsteps. Then him.

Gray eyes. Dark hair. The man who'd fucked my virginity away in a haze of lust and recklessness. Standing in the foyer, luggage in hand, looking like sin wrapped in casual clothes. Our gazes locked—silent, electric. His bored into me, stripping me bare, promising more darkness. 

The air thickened, my breath stuck. Panic exploded: heart slamming, knees weak. Him? Damien? The one who'd groaned when he felt my barrier give, who'd slowed to savor ruining me, then thrust harder like he owned my purity. Memories assaulted: his thumb on my clit, my walls clenching his spill. Now family? Forbidden. Wrong.

He snapped out of it first. Cool as frost. "Dad." Hug. "Good to see you." Mom next, charming smile. Polite, distant—no hint of the beast who'd bent me over.

Mom beamed. "Elara, meet Damien, your new stepbrother."

His hand extended. "Hi." Grip firm, thumb brushing my pulse point deliberate, sending jolts to my core. I yanked away, mumbling hello, collapsing into a chair.

Dinner was torture. Damien spun tales of abroad—classes, deals—voice smooth, Victor proud, Mom enchanted. But I spiraled: Does he remember? Every filthy detail, judging by that foot grazing my ankle under the table. 

Ashamed Of deflowering his stepsis-to-be? Or dangerous—here to unearth Victor's secrets, using our night as leverage? Dread choked me, but my nipples peaked, thighs slick. Denial screamed: Not real. He was a one-off, "never again." Not this cold predator across from me.

"You seem quiet, Elara," Mom noted, passing dessert.

"Just... adjusting." Lie. My mind screamed filth.

After plates cleared, Mom turned to me. "Elara, why don't you show Damien around the house? Help him settle in. The place is huge; he might get lost."

My stomach dropped. "Sure," I croaked, avoiding his eyes. Victor nodded approval, heading to his study with Mom.

We walked silent, halls echoing. Pool room first—glass walls, water shimmering. "Nice," he said, voice neutral. But his gaze lingered on me, heavy.

Library next—bookshelves towering. I pointed out features, voice shaky. Then the upstairs wing, his room at the end. "This is yours." I turned to leave.

He grabbed my wrist, pulling me inside, door clicking shut. Cornered me against the wall, body caging mine—hard chest, heat radiating. "We need to talk," he murmured, breath hot on my neck.

Panic surged, mixed with dark thrill. "Let go." But my voice trembled, body betraying with a rush of wetness.

His gray eyes darkened, that possessive glint from the lounge. "You think I don't remember? Taking your cherry in that booth, how you begged for my cock?" 

His hand slid up my thigh, fingers brushing my jeans' seam. "Tight little virgin, clenching around me like you were born for it."

I gasped, shoving at him, but weak. "You're my stepbrother. This is sick."

He chuckled low, filthy. "Sick? You dripped for a stranger. Now imagine what I'll do knowing you're family." His fingers pressed harder, rubbing my clit through fabric. Pleasure spiked, unwanted but fierce. "Deny it. Tell me you're not wet right now."

Dread coiled—dangerous, yes. What if he exposed us? Ruined everything? But his dominance called to that bold slut he'd awakened. I whimpered, hips bucking traitorous.

A knock. Victor's voice. "Everything good?"

Damien stepped back, cool again. "Just getting the tour." Door opened, innocent smile.