ON THE BRUTAL BILLIONAIRE'S BED

LANA

Can my life get any more miserable? 

I stared at the cake that Granny Hart, my kind neighbor, had given me. I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting on the floor, lost in thought. She had taken pity on me, having witnessed countless birthdays go by without a single song or celebration. 

Damn it!

Is my life really this messed up? 

Once again, my mom had deceived me, promising she would be home early to wish me a happy birthday. But here I was, all alone on what was supposed to be a special day—the day I turned eighteen. 

As I wallowed in my disappointment, the front door creaked open, the bell jingling softly. When I saw who it was, a wave of anger surged through me. My stepfather stood in the doorway, and he was no better than my mother. 

“Honey,” he called out, his smile unsettling. 

Hearing him say that made my heart race. He had never used that tone with me before. He was always strict and unreasonable, even resorting to violence. Just a few days ago, he had beaten up a boy from the next street for simply saying hello to me, forcing us all to hide indoors for days to avoid his gangster brother seeking revenge.

I forced a smile and replied, “Dad, you’re back.”

He walked over to the table, picked up the knife, and sliced into the cake before taking a big bite, completely oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside me.

After savoring a slice of cake, he smiled and said, "Happy birthday, Lana. Do you remember what I told you last year?"

Of course, I did.

Screw you, Bernardo!

He had come home last year, drunk out of his mind, and slurred something about "one year left" before staggering off without even wishing me a happy birthday. Just thinking about it made me want to lash out, but I knew all too well that if I crossed him, he could easily turn violent. So I forced a sheepish smile and replied, "I can’t remember."

That was the worst mistake of my life.

He settled beside me, taking my hand in his warm grip. He locked his gaze onto mine. Despite his many flaws, there was no denying that my stepfather was handsome—strikingly so.

"Lana," he began, "you see how your mother is always drunk and doesn’t care about us..." I nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. But what did that have to do with me?

Before I could process his intentions, his hand slid onto my lap. My mind buzzed. I had never been this close to a man before, but that didn’t mean I was naïve. 

I lived in a part of New York where infidelity was rampant. Just last week, the entire block had gossiped about a married woman caught in a car with another man right in front of her deadbeat husband’s house.

"I've fallen in love with you, Lana. I know you feel the same. But I haven't had sex in weeks because your mom is always passed out drunk, and I'm feeling desperate. Do you want me to go out and bring someone home? You know she’ll kick you and your mom out, and do you really want to end up living in the streets again like before?"

My heart raced, and I shook my head vigorously. 

That was my greatest fear. The memories of wandering the streets with my mom were still haunting me, and they wouldn’t fade away anytime soon.

As I was lost in those painful thoughts, I felt his warm breath against my neck, a tingling sensation that jolted me back to reality.

"Relax, you’ll enjoy it," he whispered urgently, his voice thick with desire.

Before I could grasp what he meant, I felt his fingers glide over my clit, igniting sensations I had never experienced before.

"What are you doing?" I asked, surprised by how alien my voice sounded to my own ears.

Instead of answering, he pressed his warm lips against mine, and I felt a finger slip inside me.

My thoughts faded away.

Everything was happening too fast, and I was already losing myself in the moment.

I realized I had wrapped my arms around him, though I couldn't recall when. I found myself whispering, "Don't stop, umh... yes, that feels good."

"You’re so wet, Lana," Bernardo murmured, his voice low and intense.

Before I knew it, he lifted me off the floor. My birthday cake remained on the table as I clung to his neck, my gaze lingering on it while he carried me away, each of his steps pulling me further from reality.

As he opened the door, I remembered our one-bedroom apartment. I often slept in the sitting room while he shared the bedroom with my mom.

When my feet touched the floor, his arms still held me close. He locked eyes with me and promised, "Lana, I’ll make you a woman."

I wanted to ask how he planned to do that, but before I could, his lips were on mine again—urgent, demanding, and thrilling.

In a blink, he had removed my shirt, and my skirt and panties lay forgotten on the floor. His warm palm cupped my breast, and a moan escaped my lips, "Umh..."

Then he guided my hand to where his hard cock pressed against my palm. My fingers wrapped around it, and he groaned in delight, instructing, "Stroke it."

I obeyed, lost in the moment.

Before long, we landed on the bed, with him hovering above me.