Files of pleasure (an intimate compilation)

~Nina

I woke up to the smell of pancakes. 

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, my chest tightening. My mom was at the stove, and Mason had his arm wrapped tight around her waist. 

He was kissing her neck while she flipped breakfast, looking like the perfect couple. I hated it. We’d only moved into his place a week ago—right on my eighteenth birthday.

Mason wasn't like the idiots at my school. He was young, handsome, and built like he spent every morning in the gym. He was smart, too. He had this quiet, intense energy that made the air feel heavy.

The floorboard creaked under my feet. Mason was the first one to notice me. He didn't take his hand off my mom’s waist; he just watched me.

"Look who’s awake," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "How’d you sleep, Nina?"

I stood there, feeling small under his gaze, wondering why my heart was suddenly racing.

"Won't you come give mummy a hug?" Mom asked, her smile sweet and oblivious. "I decided to cook something really yummy for you before I go."

That was the thing about Mom—she was never actually home. It’s the reason Dad divorced her in the first place; she was married to her career as a Senior International Consultant. If she wasn't in London, she was in Tokyo or Dubai.

She turned to Mason, kissing him hard on the mouth. "I'll miss you," she whispered against his lips. Then she slid a plate of pancakes and syrup in front of me, kissing my cheek. "I’ll miss you too, sweetie."

Outside, a car horn blared. The driver was waiting.

"Well, that’s me," she laughed sheepishly, grabbing her bags. She looked at me one last time. "Be good, okay?"

I just nodded, my throat feeling tight.

"Don't worry," Mason said, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer to me. "I'll handle this one."

Mom waved and disappeared out the door, the sound of the car fading as they pulled away. The house went dead silent, except for the sound of my own breathing.

My heart fluttered. Handle me? What the hell did that mean? I looked down at my plate, but I wasn't thinking about food. I felt a sudden, traitorous dampness between my legs.

My body was a traitor. Every thought crossing my mind was depraved, nasty, and completely wrong. I wasn't this person—I was the daughter, the student, the girl who stayed out of trouble. But the ache between my legs didn't care about labels.

I shoved the pancakes down my throat, barely tasting them, and bolted for the stairs. I needed to get to my room before I lost it. Once the door was shut, I fumbled for my laptop with shaking hands. My breath was coming in short, jagged bursts as I typed "step-dad and daughter" into the search bar of an adult site.

The first video that popped up had no sound, but I didn't have the patience to find another one. I was too far gone. I kicked off my shorts and slid my hand down, my fingers finding the damp heat of my panties.

I applied pressure to my clit, massaging it in small, frantic circles. Over and over. My head hit the pillow and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus on the screen, but the pixels blurred. 

Instead, Mason’s face burned behind my eyelids. I pictured those strong, muscular arms that had been around my mother’s waist just minutes ago. I imagined those hands on me instead.

I was chasing a peak I shouldn't want, moaning into the empty room as I moved faster. My heart hammered against my ribs. 

I was so focused that I almost didn't hear the door swing open. 

The room wasn't quiet anymore. The sound from the video—the loud moans and the heavy breathing—hit me all at once. It was blasting at 100% volume.

My heart nearly stopped. I froze, my hand still tucked inside my panties. Mason was standing right there in the doorway. He wasn't looking at the screen; he was looking straight at me. In his hand, he held my Bluetooth speaker. Now I know why there was no sound. 

The dirty sounds filled the room, making my face burn with shame. I couldn't move. I was caught doing exactly what I wasn't supposed to be doing.

Mason didn't look mad. He just leaned against the door, his dark eyes trailing over my body.

"You left your Bluetooth on, Nina," he said. His voice was calm and deep, cutting right through the noise of the p**n. He walked closer until he was standing over my bed. "And you have very... interesting taste in movies."

He set the speaker down on my nightstand. It vibrated against the wood, making the loud moans feel even more real.

"So," he whispered, stepping

even closer. "Were you going to finish, or should I help?"