Chapter 4: Things We Shouldn't

Rhea

“Apologize for being rude to Margaret, Elowen,” Greg commanded, finally finding a bit of steel in his voice.

Elowen didn't apologize. Instead, she leaned back and threw my mom a look so mean it felt like a physical slap. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her how hard my mom had worked to put this dinner together.

“Let her be, Greg,” my mom said, trying to play the peacemaker even as she was being insulted. “She’s young. She probably just didn't like the herbs I used.”

“Yeah, you heard her,” Elowen snapped, standing up so fast her chair screeched against the hardwood floor. “The food is for pigs, not humans. I’m going out.”

She turned and stormed out of the room, her footsteps heavy on the stairs.

“Elowen, come back here!” Greg shouted, but it was useless. The front door slammed in the distance.

“Greg, let the girl go,” Grandpa Harold said, his voice calm and dismissive. “She’s just a child. She has spirit.”

I knew I should have shoved Jackson's hand away at this point as his fingers played with my panties. But my body felt like it was melting when he cupped my pussy. Instead of pushing him back, my thighs betrayed me. They parted just an inch—enough to give him the access he wanted. My heart was racing so fast I was sure people could hear it thudding against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“She’s seventeen,” Greg argued, rubbing his temples. “She should learn how to respect her elders. Margaret is my wife now, and the earlier she comes to terms with that, the better it will be for all of us.”

With a deft, arrogant movement, Jackson pushed the fabric aside. I let out a small, sharp gasp as his bare finger made direct contact with my clit. The friction was electric, a sudden spark in the middle of the cold family tension.

“Is everything okay, Rhea?” Mom asked. Her sharp eyes darted toward me, full of concern.

“Yes,” I squeaked. My face was flushing a deep, hot crimson. “Just… the soup. It’s hot. I burned my tongue.”

“Oh sorry darling, you should be more careful.” Mom said, clearly worried about me.

Jackson didn't stop. He started circling my nub slowly, his touch agonizingly perfect. With his other hand, he calmly picked up his fork and took another bite of chicken. He looked like the picture of a perfect, attentive son, listening to the family argument while he systematically dismantled my self-control under the table.

“It’s not easy for a child to accept a new parent,” Grandpa continued. “You need to give her time. You can't force these things.”

My pussy was throbbing now, a heavy, rhythmic ache that demanded more. I could feel my juices leaking out, coating Jackson’s finger in a slick, hot mess. It felt so good I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning out loud.

“Tell me, Margaret,” Grandma Brenda said, leaning forward like a predator that had finally found an opening. “How long have you actually known my son?”

“Six months,” Mom said. Her face lit up despite the tension. She truly loved Greg. You could see that with the way she looked at him. “We met at a birthday party and we instantly clicked. It was… it was like we’d known each other in another life.”

Greg took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Seeing her happy usually made me feel like this move was worth it. But the hypocrisy of this moment was making me dizzy. Here they were, talking about love and family, while my stepbrother was touching me under the table.

Suddenly, Jackson’s finger didn't just circle anymore. He shoved it deep inside me.

I nearly choked on my water, my back arching slightly against the chair. He started fucking me slowly, his finger sliding in and out of my soaking wet heat. My creamy moisture was leaking out so fast now I could feel it soaking through my dress and onto the wood of the chair. I prayed the dark wood would hide the evidence.

“You ‘clicked’?” Grandma sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or did you find out how much he had in his investment portfolio?”

The table went silent. Mom’s face fell. The light in her eyes died out instantly. “I married your son because I love him,” she said firmly, her voice cracking.

“Mom, that’s enough,” Greg snapped. “Can we please just eat? I invited you over to meet my new family, not to put them on trial.”

“A family I did not approve of,” Grandma huffed.

“I don’t need your approval to choose who I want as a partner,” Greg fired back.

Pride swelled in my chest as I watched Greg stand up for Mom like that.

“That’s enough, Brenda,” Grandpa Harold said firmly. “You’re ruining this beautiful dinner Margaret took the time and effort to prepare.”

While the argument flared above the table, Brandon, who had been silent the whole time, decided he wanted a turn. I felt a second hand join the first, his knuckles brushing against Jackson's in a silent, coordinated siege. Brandon’s fingers found my clit, circling it with a frantic, edgier rhythm while Jackson continued to fuck me with his finger.

The dual stimulation was too much. I was drowning. My orgasm was building like a tidal wave. I was barely hanging on, my hips beginning to buck involuntarily, meeting Jackson’s punishing thrusts. The silverware rattled slightly against my plate, but no one noticed over the sound of Brenda's huffing.

I felt the familiar, sharp coil in my belly tighten and then snap.

I shuddered, my breath hitching in a way that sounded almost like a sob. A small, silent squirt escaped me—not enough to make a visible puddle, but enough to drench Jackson’s hand and my dress. My eyes fluttered shut as the waves of pleasure hit, my toes curling in my shoes.

Jackson and Brandon shared a look, a dark, triumphant smirk, before they both withdrew their hands at the same time.

I slumped back, my breath coming in shallow bursts. To my horror, Jackson didn't reach for a napkin. He brought his hand up to his face and slowly, deliberately licked his finger clean. His eyes never left mine, burning with a silent, possessive promise.

“Honey, are you okay? You’re sweating,” Mom said, leaning toward me.

“I’m alright,” I stammered, my voice shaking. “Just… a headache. The lights are bright. Thanks for the meal, Mom.”

I stood up quickly, needing to escape before I collapsed. I could feel the cold dampness of my dress clinging to me. It was obvious. Anyone who looked would see the dark stain on the green fabric.

As I turned to flee, I felt someone behind me. Brandon had stood up and was holding his leather jacket. Without a word, he wrapped it around my waist, tying the sleeves in a firm knot at my front. It covered everything.

“Keep it,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re going to need it more often.”

I didn't wait. I walked out of the room on shaky legs, knowing that we were crossing all the lines we shouldn't, and I didn't want it to end.