BOOK THREE: Bred By My Mom's Dead Mother's Husband (1)

~Lily’s POV~

The house feels too big now. It was too quiet and empty! Mom’s absence is everywhere. The half-empty bottle of her favorite wine on the counter, her lavender cardigan still draped over the arm of the couch, the way the stairs creak in exactly the same spot she used to step on every morning. It’s been two weeks since the hospital called, since Ethan drove us home in silence, since I watched him cry for the first time in my life. Two weeks since everything changed. More and more weeks passed and I began to get used to her absence now.

I’m twenty. He’s forty-two and He’s my stepdad.

He’s not supposed to be the only thing that makes my heart race anymore.

It started innocently enough. The first night after the funeral, I couldn’t sleep. The bed felt cold, big and lonely. I padded downstairs in my old sleep shirt,one of Mom’s oversized tees that smelled faintly of her perfume and found Ethan in the living room, staring at the fireplace that wasn’t lit. He looked wrecked,hollow and beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.

I sat beside him on the couch and he opened his arms without a word. I crawled into them.

That first hug lasted too long. His hands rested on my back, big and warm, fingers splayed like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. I pressed my face into his neck, breathing him in. I breathed in woodsmoke, clean soap, the faint trace of the cologne Mom used to buy him. I felt his heartbeat against my cheek, steady and strong, and something inside me twisted. Something dark and hungry.

I stayed there until the fire he finally lit died down to embers.

When I finally pulled away, his eyes were glassy, but he smiled at me, it was soft, grateful and oblivious to the way my body had started to hum.

The obsession grew quietly at first. I noticed things I shouldn’t have. The way his flannel shirts stretched across his shoulders when he chopped wood outside. The way his jeans hugged his thighs when he bent to pick up the mail. The low, rough sound of his voice when he said my name, “Lily”, like it was something precious.

What made me more obsessed was when he got everything I demanded for. He was rich–yes, he's my stepdad and it's his responsibility–yes,but it made me obsessed! God help me. I started touching myself thinking about him.

At first it was guilt-ridden and shameful. I’d lock my bedroom door, slide my hand under the covers, and imagine his mouth on my neck, his hands sliding up my thighs. I’d come fast and hard, biting my pillow so he wouldn’t hear me through the wall.

But as time flew by, the guilt faded. The fantasies got dirtier. I pictured him pinning me against the kitchen counter, fucking me on his bed with his eyes boring into mine. I imagined his beard scraping my inner thighs, his tongue between my legs, his thick fingers stretching me open while he whispered how much he needed me.

I knew it was wrong and I didn’t care.

Then Mom’s sister,my aunt Claire called.

She was coming tomorrow for lunch.

Mom always said Claire and Ethan would be perfect together. “If anything ever happened to me,” she’d joked once, half-drunk on wine, “you should marry Claire. She’d take good care of you.”

They’d laughed about it. I hadn’t.

Now the joke isn’t funny anymore.

Claire is beautiful. Thirty-eight, long dark hair, curves that make men stare. She’s single, successful, and she’s always looked at Ethan like he was a prize she never quite won.

If she comes here, if she sits at our table, if she touches his arm or laughs at his jokes, I swear to God I’ll lose my mind.

I don’t want him to look at her! I don’t want him to smile at her!! I don’t want him to fuck her!!!

I want him to fuck me!!!!

The thought alone makes my knees weak.

I’m standing in the kitchen now, gripping the counter, trying to breathe through the sudden rush of heat between my legs.

I’m wearing nothing but a thin tank top and cotton shorts which was my usual around-the-house clothes. The house is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the distant sound of Ethan working in his office upstairs.

I close my eyes and imagine him walking in right now.

Imagine him seeing me like this. Flushed, breathing hard, nipples tight against the fabric. Imagine him realizing I’m not just his grieving stepdaughter anymore.

I press my thighs together, chasing the pressure. It’s not enough. I slide one hand down my stomach, under the waistband of my shorts, fingers finding my clit already swollen and slick. I bite my lip to keep quiet.

I picture Ethan behind me.

His chest pressed to my back, arms caging me against the counter. His beard brushing my neck as he whispers, “You shouldn’t be touching yourself thinking about me, Lily.” But he wouldn’t stop me.

He’d slide his hand over mine, guiding my fingers, showing me how he wants me to rub myself—slow circles, then faster, harder.

I whimper softly, circling my clit faster, hips rocking against my own hand.

I imagine him lifting me onto the counter, spreading my legs wide, yanking my shorts down. His mouth on me—hot, wet, relentless. His tongue flicking my clit while two thick fingers push inside me, curling just right. My breath hitches. I’m so close.

I imagine him looking up at me, eyes dark with want, beard glistening with my wetness.

“You’re mine,” he’d growl. “Not Claire’s. Not anyone else’s. Mine.”

The thought of him claiming me possessively and permanently,tips me over.

I come hard, biting my lip until it hurts, thighs shaking as I pulse against my fingers. It’s quiet, but intense, waves of heat rolling through me, leaving me trembling against the counter.

I pull my hand free, sticky and trembling, and lick my fingers clean, tasting myself, tasting the sin.

The kitchen clock ticks loudly.

Lunch is in a few hours. Claire will be here soon. Fuck her!

I straighten my clothes, wipe my hands on a dish towel, and glance toward the stairs.

Ethan’s office door is still closed. He had no idea what I just did, he had no idea how badly I wanted him.

But Claire will be here soon, smiling, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes.

And I swear to God, if she tries to take him from me, I’ll burn this whole house down.

He’s mine, and I’m going to make sure he knows it.