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Stop? Baby, we're just warming up.
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2025-10-26 15:57:18
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Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother Want to meet your granddaughter, Dad?
Nolan’s POVThat night, after the fire had died to embers and the house fell into a hushed winter silence, Clara and I slipped upstairs to my old childhood bedroom—our bedroom now, in a way it had never been before. The door clicked shut behind us with a soft finality, and for a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The room looked the same: faded posters on the walls from my high school days, the creaky twin bed pushed against the window, shelves lined with dusty trophies and books I'd long forgotten. But everything felt different. Charged. Like we'd reclaimed a piece of the past that had once tried to tear us apart.Clara moved first, stepping close and sliding her hands under my shirt, her fingers cool against my skin. "Today was... unreal," she whispered, eyes searching mine. "Holding Mom like that. And Dad... hugging you. Us."I pulled her closer, burying my face in her hair, inhaling the familiar vanilla and paint scent that was
Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother Boy or girl?
Nolan’s POVThe first time we crossed that old oak threshold again, the late-November air was sharp with woodsmoke and the sweet bite of cinnamon drifting from inside. The porch light was already on, even though dusk had barely settled. Elena must have been watching from the window.She didn’t let us knock.The door flew open and she was down the three shallow steps in mismatched socks—one wool, one cotton—arms wide before my boot even hit the welcome mat. She crashed into Clara like a wave, wrapping her so tight I could see Clara’s ribs rise and fall against the pressure.“You’re here,” Elena kept repeating, voice muffled in Clara’s hair, thick with tears. “You’re really here, baby girl. You came back.”Clara’s arms came up slowly at first—old instincts of caution—then locked around her mother just as fiercely. “We’re here, Mom. We’re really here.”I stood frozen for a second, luggage still in hand, watching them sway together like they were trying to make up for every lost month in
Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother Fuck—yes, fill your wife!
Nolan’s POV The ceremony was intimate and perfect, two weeks later in the grand hall of the Palazzo Vecchio. Sunlight poured through the tall arched windows, gilding the frescoed ceilings where gods and warriors battled in eternal triumph. Giulia stood as our unflinching witness, arms crossed with a rare satisfied smile, while a handful of Clara’s wild-haired art friends clapped and whistled from the marble benches. Clara was breathtaking in a simple white sundress that clung to every curve like liquid silk, the thin straps barely holding it up, wildflowers woven into her loose waves so she looked like a living Botticelli pulled straight from the walls around us. I wore a borrowed linen suit that suddenly felt too tight across the shoulders, my pulse hammering as we faced the officiant and spoke the vows we’d written ourselves—short, fierce, ours. When the officiant pronounced us married, Clara rose on her toes and whispered against my lips before the kiss, “I choose you, taboo and
Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother Marry me someday!
Nolan’s POV Weeks melted into one another like wax under the relentless Tuscan sun, the sharp edges of our early drama softening into a rhythm that felt almost normal—almost, because nothing about us had ever been normal. The cease-and-desist had worked its magic; Dad's threats dried up like the Arno in a scorching summer drought, his silence a grudging admission of defeat that echoed louder than any of his bellowing rants ever could. Elena's calls tapered off too, her last one a tearful whisper over the crackling line: "I just want you both happy, Nolan. Be careful out there—Italy's beautiful, but life's unpredictable." Careful. As if we hadn't been tiptoeing around emotional landmines our whole damn relationship, dodging judgmental stares and family bombshells like pros. But with the storm finally passed, Florence unfolded for us like one of Clara's sprawling canvases—vibrant and chaotic, layered with hidden depths we explored together, hand in hand, our love no longer a dirty secr
Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother You're staring again.
Nolan’s POVThe next few days blurred into a whirlwind of highs and lows, like a rollercoaster designed by some sadistic Italian engineer—peaks of passion crashing into valleys of paranoia that left my stomach churning and my fists clenched. Clara threw herself into her art with a vengeance, her provisional grant lighting a fire under her that had her sketching late into the night, the scratch of charcoal on paper a constant, frantic soundtrack in our cramped dorm room. The space was barely big enough for the twin bed, her easel crammed in the corner, and stacks of canvases leaning against the walls like silent witnesses to our chaos. I'd watch her from the bed, shirtless and propped on my elbows, mesmerized by the way her brow furrowed in deep concentration, her tank top riding up to reveal the smooth curve of her lower back, freckles scattered like constellations I wanted to trace with my tongue every damn time. The room smelled of graphite and her vanilla shampoo, a heady mix that
Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother Don't let one man's pettiness kill my dream.
Nolan’s POVMorning light filtered through the thin curtains like a reluctant intruder, painting stripes across Clara's sleeping form—her hair a tangled halo on the pillow, lashes fanning shadows on her cheeks, one arm draped possessively over my waist. The faint hum of Florence waking up outside—distant scooters buzzing like angry bees, vendors shouting in melodic Italian—seeped into the room, but inside, it was still our bubble. I watched her for a while, my chest tight with that mix of awe and protectiveness that hit me every time I woke up to her. Her breaths were soft and even, her skin still flushed from last night's marathon, faint marks from my fingers blooming like faint bruises on her hips. No nightmares last night, just the hum of the city lulling us into exhausted sleep after our late-night affirmations. But the clock on her nightstand ticked mercilessly toward 10 AM—the meeting. Reality crashing back like a hangover after a wild night, reminding me that freedom wasn't fre
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