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AVERY POV

The silence in the kitchen pressed against my skin like a living thing.

I stood there barefoot on the cold tile, heart slamming against my ribs, staring up at Marcus. He hadn’t turned on any lights. Only the weak glow from the microwave clock painted faint blue edges across his bare chest and the sharp line of his jaw. Those gray sweatpants rode low enough that I could see the deep V of his hips, and the heavy bulge that had grown since he’d caught me in my room.

My panties were already damp again. I could feel the slickness every time I shifted my weight.

Marcus didn’t move closer. He just leaned back against the island counter, arms braced on either side of him, watching me with that same intense, unreadable stare he’d had upstairs. Like he was still deciding whether I was really going to go through with this.

I swallowed hard. My mouth felt too dry and too wet at the same time.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, even as I took another small step toward him. “If Mom wakes up…”

“She won’t,” he said, voice low and rough. “She took one of her sleeping pills. You know how she is.”

That should have made me feel better. It didn’t. It only made the wrongness of this sharper, hotter. My stepfather. My mother’s husband. And I was standing in front of him in nothing but a thin tank top and panties, nipples tight against the fabric, thighs pressed together to ease the throbbing ache between them.

Marcus tilted his head slightly. “You followed me down here, Avery. Tell me why.”

My cheeks burned. I looked down at the floor, then forced my gaze back up to his. “Because… I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me. When you saw me touching myself.”

His jaw flexed. I saw his fingers tighten on the edge of the counter.

“You were so wet,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Fingers buried deep, hips moving like you were imagining someone fucking you.”

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. My blood. Shame and lust twisted together inside me until I couldn’t tell them apart.

“I was imagining you,” I admitted, the words barely louder than a breath.

Something shifted in his expression. The careful control cracked just a little. He straightened, closing the last bit of distance between us until I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. One of his hands came up, fingers threading gently through my hair at the nape of my neck.

“Then show me what you wanted to do to me in that fantasy,” he said softly.

My knees nearly buckled.

I sank down slowly, the tile cold against my skin as I knelt in front of him. My hands shook as I reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. He didn’t stop me. He just watched, breathing steady but deeper now, as I tugged the fabric down.

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already hard and curving slightly upward. The head was flushed dark, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. He was bigger than I’d imagined in my guilty fantasies—long, veined, intimidating. My mouth watered.

I wrapped my fingers around the base, marveling at how hot he felt, how thick. Marcus let out a low hiss through his teeth.

“Avery…” There was a warning in his voice, but also hunger.

I leaned forward and dragged my tongue slowly up the underside, from base to tip, tasting the salty skin. His hips jerked once. Encouraged, I swirled my tongue around the head, licking away the precum before taking him into my mouth.

He filled me immediately. I had to stretch my lips wide, relaxing my throat as I sank down as far as I could. The weight of him on my tongue, the musky scent of him, the quiet groan he tried to hold back—it made me dizzy with need. I could feel my pussy clenching around nothing, dripping down my inner thighs.

I started to move, bobbing my head in a slow, wet rhythm. One hand stroked what I couldn’t fit in my mouth while the other braced on his strong thigh. Marcus’s hand tightened in my hair, not forcing me, but guiding, holding me there as I sucked him deeper.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, voice strained. “Just like that. You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

The praise sent a fresh rush of heat through me. I moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. I took him deeper, gagging softly when he hit the back of my throat, but I didn’t pull back. I wanted this. Wanted to feel him lose control because of me.

Marcus’s breathing grew ragged. His free hand gripped the counter so hard his knuckles whitened. I looked up at him through my lashes, eyes watering, lips stretched obscenely around his thick length. The sight of him staring down at me like I was the filthiest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen made me ache even more.

I sucked harder, faster, hollowing my cheeks, tongue working the underside with every stroke. Saliva dripped down my chin, onto my tank top, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the way his cock throbbed against my tongue, the quiet grunts he couldn’t quite suppress, the way his hips started to rock gently, fucking my mouth in shallow thrusts.

“Avery… shit… I’m close,” he warned, voice tight.

I didn’t pull off. I wanted it. I wanted to taste him, to swallow every drop like the dirty secret we were becoming.

His grip in my hair tightened. His cock swelled against my tongue.

With a low, guttural groan, Marcus came.

Hot, thick pulses flooded my mouth. I swallowed greedily, moaning softly around him as I milked every last drop, my throat working until he was spent and twitching.

When I finally pulled back, gasping for air, a thin string of saliva and cum connected my swollen lips to the head of his cock before it broke.

Marcus looked down at me, chest heaving, eyes blazing with something dark and possessive.

He reached down, thumb brushing across my lower lip, wiping away the mess.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

I was still kneeling there, soaked and trembling, when we both heard the faint creak of floorboards upstairs.

Mom.