Caught My Step Dad Moaning My Name 2

~Nastya

My instincts took over before my brain could process his expression. Panic flashed through me, and I spun on my heel, bolting down the hallway as fast as my bare feet could carry me.

The cold floorboards slapped against my soles as I practically threw myself into my bedroom, shutting the door and locking it with a trembling hand.

I collapsed against the door, my chest heaving, my heart slamming violently against my ribs.

He saw me. He knows.

My pulse was racing so fast I could barely breathe, but beneath the sheer shock, that filthy, addictive heat was still throbbing between my legs.

He had screamed my name while painting his desk with his cum. And he caught me watching him do it.

Downstairs, my mother’s impatient voice echoed up the stairwell again. "Nastya! George! What is taking you two so long? The food is getting cold!"

"Coming, Mum!" I called out, my voice cracking slightly.

I rushed over to my vanity, desperately trying to pull myself together. I adjusted my nightgown, wiped the flush from my cheeks, and smoothed down my hair, staring at my wide, dark eyes in the mirror.

There was no hiding out up here. If I didn't go down to dinner right now, my mother would come looking for both of us and that would be a complete disaster.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I unlocked my door and walked slowly down the stairs toward the dining room.

When I stepped into the dining area, my mother was already sitting at the head of the long table, spooning salad onto her plate with a tired frown on her face.

And then I saw him.

George was sitting directly across from my usual seat. He looked completely immaculate, his hair neatly styled back, wearing a fresh charcoal polo shirt that stretched over his broad chest.

If I hadn't seen him five minutes ago with his shorts at his knees and baby oil on his hands, I would have thought he was the picture of an innocent, disciplined husband.

His eyes lifted the second I walked into the room.

The air instantly left my lungs. There was no shame in his dark, intense gaze. No apology. Only a heavy, simmering heat that made my knees weak all over again.

"There you are, sweetie," my mother said, barely looking up from her plate. "I swear, your stepdad was so distracted in his study I had to wait forever for him to come down too. Sit down and eat."

I swallowed hard, pulling out my chair directly across from George.

As I sat down, George took a slow sip of his water, his dark eyes never leaving my face.

The corners of his sharp mouth twitched into a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk.

My mother’s voice droned on from the head of the table, floating over the clinking of silverware and the quiet hum of the air conditioner.

"So George's son, your step brother, Julian, will be arriving by the weekend. I told George we’d clear out the guest room right next to yours, Nastya. You’ll need to move those stacks of clothes and boxes out of there tomorrow morning, okay? He's staying for the entire semester, so I want the floor scrubbed and..."

Blah, blah, blah.

I wasn't listening. I couldn't hear a damn word she was saying. My brain was completely fried, buzzing with a dark, chaotic static that centered entirely on the man sitting directly across from me.

George looked completely unbothered. He was casually cutting into his steak, chewing slowly, taking calm sips of his red wine like he hadn't just covered his desk in baby oil and cum five minutes ago.

He looked cool, relaxed, and thoroughly satisfied, like a predator enjoying a heavy meal after a successful hunt.

Every time his fork touched his lips, my throat went dry. An endless loop of what ifs began racing through my head, so fast and filthy it made my chest heave.

What if he comes to my room tonight?

What if he corners me in the hallway, pins my wrists above my head, and presses that massive body against mine until I can't breathe?

What if he actually fucks me?

My breath hitched as a sudden, sharp memory of his thick, oil-slicked cock flashed behind my eyes. Can I even take all of him?

The sheer thought of him stretching me open, filling me up completely while my mother slept right down the hall, sent a violent, scorching wave of wetness straight through my underwear.

I gripped my glass so tight my knuckles turned white, staring blankly at my plate while my mind spiraled out of control.

"Nastya!" A sharp, impatient hand snapped in front of my face.

I flinched, my head snapping up. My mother was glaring at me from the head of the table, her fork suspended halfway to her mouth, her brows furrowed in annoyance.

"Are you even listening to me?" she demanded, "I've said your name three times. What is wrong with you tonight? You're completely spaced out."

My heart slammed into my throat. "I…"

Before I could construct a lie, a low, smooth rumble echoed from across the table.

"Leave her be, honey," George said easily, leaning back in his chair. He wiped the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin, his dark, heavy eyes sliding over to me with a look so sharp, so dirty, it felt like a physical touch.

"She looks a little... overwhelmed."

"Why don't you just head upstairs and get some rest, Nastya?" my mother sighed, rubbing her forehead as she gathered her plate. "You look exhausted."

"Yeah... okay," I blurted out, stepping back from the table so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor.

I didn't dare look at George again, but I could feel his heavy, dark stare tracking my every move as I turned and practically ran up the stairs.

The moment I stepped inside my bedroom, I shut the door but I didn't turn the lock. My heart was slamming against my ribs like a trapped wild animal.

I stood there in the dark room, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I left the door unlocked on purpose. It was an open invitation, a silent, dangerous invitation for him to finish what he started on his desk.

Or maybe I was just foolish to think he would come.

I kicked off my shoes and threw myself onto the bed, staring at the gap beneath the door where the hallway light seeped through.

Every tiny noise in the house made my skin prickle. A creak in the floorboards? It's him. The distant hum of the AC? He's coming. My pulse thrummed heavily between my legs, my body warm, restless, and completely desperate for the sound of my doorknob turning.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. Then forty five.

I rolled over onto my stomach, digging my nails into the sheets. The agonizing anticipation slowly wore me down, replacing the white hot adrenaline with a heavy, intoxicating exhaustion.

My eyes grew heavy, then my eyelids fluttered shut, pulling me under into a deep, frustrated sleep.