Her Step-daddy's Sweet Sin: Steamy Shorts

The house sounded too quiet tonight.

I stood barefooted in the kitchen, the only light coming from the open fridge door that painted my bare legs in a soft white glow.

My tank top barely covered the curve of my soft ass, and I knew it. I also knew he was still awake. I could feel his presence before I heard his footsteps.

"Couldn't sleep again, Mia?" His voice was low, rough from hours of silence. I didn't turn around. I kept my hands on the cold shelf, pretending to look for something I didn't need.

“I needed to get something real quick," I said.

I heard him pulled closer, he was only wearing sweatpants, that curled low on his hips. My stepfather. The man who had been in this house for three years. The man I had spent every night fucking in my head.

"You should put something on," he said, but his voice didn't sound like he meant it.

I closed the fridge door. The kitchen went dark except for the moonlight coming through the window. I turned to face him. My nipples were fucking hard against the thin fabric. I didn't try to hide them.

"Maybe I don't want to."

We were close enough now that I could smell his skin, clean from the shower he took before bed. Close enough that I could see the way his eyes dropped to my mouth, then lower.

"This is dangerous," he said.

"I know."

I didn't move when his hand came up. His fingers brushed my cheek, then slid down to my throat. He didn't squeeze. He just held me there, thumb resting on my pulse. My heart was hammering so hard I knew he could feel it.

"You've been walking around like this for weeks," he said. "Wearing almost nothing. Looking at me like you want me to do something about it."

"Maybe I do." I grunted, waiting to see what he'd do.

His other hand found my waist. He pulled me forward until my body pressed against his. I felt how hard he was through the thin cotton of his pants. My breath caught.

"Tell me to stop," he said.

No i moaned through my throat feeling every touch.

Instead I reached down and slid my hand over the front of his sweatpants. He was thick and hot under my palm. I squeezed once, slow, and watched his eyes go dark.

"Fuck," he breathed. He lifted me onto the counter in one motion. My ass hitting the cold marble. My legs opened automatically and he stepped between them. His hands pushed my tank top up, exposing my breasts.

He didn't ask. He just leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me gasp.

My fingers went into his hair. I pulled him closer. He switched to the other breast, biting just enough to sting, then soothing with his tongue. My pussy was already wet, slick against the counter.

He pulled back and looked at me. His mouth was shiny.

"This is wrong," he said.

"Then why are you still touching me?"

He didn't answer with words. He dropped to his knees on the kitchen floor and yanked my panties down my legs. I lifted my hips to help him. The moment the fabric was gone he spread my thighs wider and buried his face between them.

His tongue was hot and relentless. He licked from my entrance to my clit in one long stroke, then did it again. I grabbed the edge of the counter. My head fell back against the cabinet.

"Oh my god," I whispered.

He didn't tease. He ate me like he was starving. His tongue pushed inside me, fucking me shallowly while his nose rubbed my clit. One hand held my thigh open. The other slid up my stomach and pinched my nipple again.

I was shaking. My hips rolled against his mouth without permission. Every time I tried to close my legs he pushed them wider. He sucked my clit between his lips and flicked it fast with his tongue until my vision went white.

"I'm gonna come," I warned him.

He pulled back just enough to speak against my pussy.

"Do it. Come on my tongue."

I came hard, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the counter. He didn't stop. He kept licking through it, drawing it out until I was whimpering and trying to push his head away.

When he finally stood, his mouth and chin were wet. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and looked at me like he was deciding something.

Then he shoved his sweatpants down.

His cock sprang free, thick and flushed dark at the tip. He wrapped his hand around it and stroked once, slow, while he watched my face.

"Last chance," he said.

I reached for him.

He stepped forward and rubbed the head of his cock through my soaked folds. Up and down. Coating himself. Teasing my entrance without pushing in. I tried to tilt my hips to take him but he held me still with one hand on my stomach.

"Please," I said.

"Say it."

"Fuck me." He thrust in hard.

The stretch burned. He was bigger than I expected, thicker than anything I'd taken before. My mouth fell open but no sound came out.

He didn't give me time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a brutal pace from the first stroke.

The counter shook under me. My back hit the cabinet with every thrust. He fucked me like he hated how much he wanted me. Like he was punishing both of us for crossing the line.

"Tight," he grunted. "So fucking tight."

I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on. Every time he bottomed out I felt it in my stomach. The wet sound of him sliding in and out filled the dark kitchen.

He grabbed my throat again, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to hold me in place while he fucked me. His eyes stayed locked on mine.

"You wanted this," he said. "Walking around half-naked. Making me hard every fucking day."

"Yes," I gasped.

"Say it."

"I wanted you to fuck me."

He groaned and slammed in deeper. One hand dropped between us and his thumb found my clit. He rubbed tight circles while he kept thrusting, never slowing down.

I came again, harder than the first time. My whole body locked up. My pussy clenched around him in rhythmic pulses. He fucked me through it, chasing his own release now.

"Gonna come inside you," he warned.

"Do it," I begged.

He buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken sound. I felt every pulse of it, hot and thick, filling me until it leaked out around his cock.

We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine.

Then he pulled out slowly. Cum dripped down my thighs onto the counter. He watched it happen, eyes dark.

"We can't do this again," he said.

But we both knew that was a lie.

I slid off the counter on shaky legs. My tank top was still pushed up above my breasts. I didn't bother fixing it.

"Goodnight, Daddy," I whispered. His jaw clenched.

I walked out of the kitchen and left him standing there with his cock still half-hard and my cum and his mixed on the floor.