Chapter 4: Ouchhh Step-Daddy

Emily’s POV

My mouth went dry. Completely, utterly dry, like I'd swallowed a fistful of cotton. Daniel's cock hung there, impossibly thick, the skin taut and already darkening with a flush of blood that made it twitch—actually fucking twitch—under my gaze.

I couldn't look away.

"Emily." His voice was gravel. A warning. Or maybe an invitation. I still couldn't tell.

My nipples stabbed against the lace of my bra, so hard they ached. Between my thighs, my thin string panties were already sticking to my slit, the fabric growing damp and clingy.

"Say something," Daniel breathed, his fingers still digging into my hipbones. He hadn't moved to cover himself. Not an inch.

I lifted my chin. Met his eyes. Those dark, hooded eyes that had been haunting my fantasies since I was eighteen years old."

Three years. Three years of stolen glances across dinner tables. Three years of squeezing my thighs together under the table while he talked about his day. Three years of pressing my vibrator against my clit in the dead of night, biting my pillow to muffle his name.

And now he was naked in front of me. Hard. Getting harder by the second.

"Fuck it," I whispered.

I grabbed the back of his wet neck and pulled his mouth down to mine.

The kiss was desperate. Clumsy. My lips crashed against his with zero finesse, all teeth and hunger and two years of pent-up wanting. For one terrifying heartbeat, Daniel froze against me—his whole body going rigid, his hands clamping down on my waist like he was about to shove me away.

Then he groaned.

Low and wrecked and vibrating straight from his chest into mine, and his mouth opened under mine, and his tongue slid hot and wet against my lips, and holy shit, he was kissing me back.

"Emily," he growled into my mouth, and it wasn't a warning anymore. It was a surrender.

His hands slid from my hips to my ass, grabbing two handfuls through the thin lace of my panties and yanking me flush against him. His cock pressed against my belly, hot and rigid, and I whimpered at the sheer size of it.

"You have no idea," he panted between kisses, backing me toward the hallway wall, "how many times I've stopped myself."

"Don't stop," I gasped, arching into him. "Don't you dare fucking stop."

His mouth found my throat. Sucked hard. His teeth grazed my pulse point, and my knees actually buckled.

"My room," I managed. "Now. My room. Before—"

He didn't let me finish. Just grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the hallway, both of us stumbling and tangled and desperate, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood while I tripped along in just my bra and panties. He had removed my thin silk top and shorts while we were making out.

We burst through my bedroom door. Daniel kicked it shut behind us, and then his hands were everywhere—my back, my ass, my thighs, sliding under the clasp of my bra and snapping it open with one practiced flick.

"Three years," he muttered, yanking the lace straps down my arms. "Three years of watching you prance around in those little shorts, those tiny fucking bikinis by the pool—"

"Victoria's bikinis," I corrected breathlessly, shimmying out of my panties. "I borrowed them."

"I know." His eyes went dark. "I knew every single time."

My panties hit the floor. I was completely naked now, sprawled backward onto my unmade bed, and Daniel was climbing over me, his body a wall of heat and muscle and damp skin.

"Condom," I said, the word barely a whisper. "In my nightstand. Bought them last week."

He paused. Looked down at me with something that wasn't just lust—something softer, something that made my chest tighten. "You planned this?"

"I hoped," I admitted. "God, I hoped."

He kissed me again. Slower this time. Deeper. His tongue exploring my mouth while his hand fumbled with the nightstand drawer, and when he pulled back, there was a foil square between his fingers.

"Last chance to change your mind," he said, his voice rough. "Once I'm inside you, Emily, I'm not going to be able to stop."

"Good." I wrapped my legs around his waist. "Because I've been imagining this since I was eighteen, and if you don't fuck me right now, I might actually die."

He tore the condom open with his teeth. Rolled it down his length—God, that length—and positioned himself between my thighs.

The head of his cock pressed against my entrance. Just the tip. Just barely nudging my slick, swollen folds apart, and my whole body clenched in anticipation.

"Look at me," Daniel commanded.

I obeyed. Locked eyes with him as he pushed inside.

"Fuck—" The word tore from my throat.

He was big. Bigger than anyone I'd ever been with, and the stretch was almost too much—that sharp, burning ache of being filled beyond what you thought you could take. My inner walls clamped down around him, fighting the intrusion even as my hips tilted up, begging for more.

"Breathe," Daniel murmured, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing slow circles. "Relax, sweetheart. Let me in."

"That's—" I gasped as another inch sank deeper. "That's what she said."

He laughed. Actually laughed, low and surprised, his forehead dropping to mine. "Did you just make a joke while I'm inside you?"

"Defense mechanism." My voice was strangled. "You're really fucking big."

"Yeah?" He pushed deeper. Another inch. Another. "You're taking it. Taking all of it."

I was. Slowly, impossibly, my body was opening for him, slick and willing and so fucking ready. When he bottomed out—when his hips pressed flush against my thighs and there was nothing left between us—we both groaned.

"Okay?" he asked.

"So okay." I dug my nails into his shoulders. "Move. Please. I need you to move."

He moved.

The first thrust was slow. Deliberate. A long, dragging pull-out that made every ridge of his cock catch against my inner walls, followed by a steady push back in that knocked the air from my lungs.

"Oh my God," I whimpered.

"Not God." He thrust again. Harder. "Just me."

"This is better than God."

He fucked me like he'd been thinking about it for two years. Like he'd memorized every curve of my body through stolen glances and was finally getting to touch. His rhythm built fast—faster than I expected—his hips snapping against mine with a desperate, driving need that matched the pounding in my chest.

"You feel," thrust, "so fucking," thrust, "perfect."

My head thrashed against the pillow. "Daniel—"

"Say it again."

"Daniel. Daniel. Daniel—"

He hooked my leg over his shoulder. The new angle made him sink deeper, hit something inside me that made bright spots dance behind my eyes, and I screamed—actually screamed—my back arching off the mattress.

"Yeah," he grunted, pounding into that spot. "Right there?"

"Right there, right there, don't stop—"

The bedframe slammed against the wall. My fingers clawed at his back. The room filled with the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin and our mingled gasps and the headboard banging in rhythm with his thrusts.

"I'm close," I choked out. "I'm so fucking close—"

"Do it." His voice was wrecked. "Come on my cock, Emily. I want to feel it."

His thumb found my clit again. Pressed down. Circled once, twice—

I shattered.

The orgasm ripped through me like a live wire, every muscle in my body locking tight and then releasing in violent pulses around his shaft. I cried out—maybe his name, maybe just noise—my vision whiting out as wave after wave crashed through me.

"Fuck," Daniel groaned, his rhythm faltering. "I'm gonna—"

I wrapped my legs tighter around him. "Inside me. Come inside me."

He buried himself to the hilt. His whole body shuddered, his jaw clenching, his eyes squeezing shut as he emptied into the condom with a low, guttural moan that I felt in my bones.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. He stayed buried inside me, his forehead pressed to my collarbone, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.

Then—

CHIME. CHIME. CHIME.

A loud, persistent digital ringtone shattered the heavy, sweat-soaked silence of the room.

We both froze.

On the nightstand right beside the bed, my iPad screen lit up in blinding white light, casting a stark glow over our tangled, glistening bodies.

Across the top of the display, a bright blue banner flashed under a ringing video icon:

INCOMING FACETIME VIDEO CALL: MOM (VICTORIA)

My heart jumped straight into my throat. Cold panic rushed through my veins like ice water. "Daniel... my iPad is synced to the penthouse smart-display..."

Before either of us could throw a blanket over ourselves, the wall-mounted smart console in my bedroom hummed to life. Because of Victoria's priority account settings, the system auto-answered after four rings.

The camera lens at the top of the wall display clicked, its green recording light turning solid.

"Daniel? Emily?" Victoria’s sharp, polished voice echoed clearly from the speakers, filled with immediate suspicion. "Why is the penthouse dark? And why isn't anyone answering my direct calls?"

Daniel’s head snapped toward the wall display, his muscles locking in absolute terror, his heavy body still completely pinned between my legs.