Forbidden desire : My stepmother ( part - 3)

It had been a month since Madison moved in, and every single night she came to me.

Sometimes she’d crawl into my bed after Dad fell asleep, naked under her robe, slipping under the sheets to straddle me in the dark. Other nights, she’d pull me into the laundry room while Dad was on his calls, her lips on mine, her hands down my shorts before I could even gasp.

She couldn’t get enough of me.

I couldn’t get enough of her.

One humid July afternoon, I was working out in the home gym, sweat dripping down my bare chest as I finished my final set of bench presses. The basement air was thick with heat and the musky scent of metal, rubber, and my sweat.

I didn’t hear her come down. But I felt her presence before I saw her. She stood by the doorway in a red silk robe, tied loosely at her waist, her hair tousled around her shoulders, her lips glossy and parted. The robe clung to her curves like liquid fire.

“Keep going,” she whispered, her voice low and smoky. “Let me watch you.”

My chest tightened. My cock stirred instantly. I finished another rep, feeling her eyes devour every flex of my muscles. When I racked the bar, she was already walking toward me, letting the robe slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor.

She was naked underneath.

Her breasts were full and heavy, nipples stiff and aching. Her belly was taut, her hips flaring out to smooth thighs that clenched together as she watched me. Between her legs, her pussy glistened, lips swollen and slick with arousal.

“I couldn’t wait,” she whispered, straddling my waist on the bench. She grabbed my cock, stroking it hard and fast until it stood tall against my abs, the tip leaking precum down my belly. She smeared it with her thumb and licked her fingers, moaning softly.

“Please…” she whimpered, guiding me to her entrance. “Please, baby… I need it now…”

I grabbed her hips and thrust up into her in one savage motion. She screamed, throwing her head back as I filled her completely, her pussy gripping me tight like a wet velvet vice. She began to ride me desperately, grinding her hips in filthy circles, her clit rubbing against my pelvis with each thrust.

“Fuck… yes… god yes…” she moaned, her nails digging into my shoulders, her breasts bouncing with each roll of her hips. Sweat dripped down her flushed chest, dripping onto me as she rode me harder, faster, her hair sticking to her damp skin.

“You’re so deep… so fucking deep… oh god, don’t stop… don’t ever stop…”

I grabbed her ass, slamming her down onto me as I thrust up, the bench creaking under our combined force. Her pussy clenched around me as she came with a ragged scream, her juices gushing down my length, soaking my balls and the leather bench.

“Good girl,” I growled, flipping her onto her back. I hooked her knees over my shoulders and thrust into her mercilessly, the wet slap of skin echoing in the gym. Her breasts bounced wildly, her mouth open in silent screams as I fucked her so hard the bench scraped across the floor.

Her eyes rolled back as another orgasm ripped through her, her walls milking my cock until I exploded inside her, filling her with hot, desperate pulses of cum. I collapsed on top of her, both of us panting, sweat-soaked, trembling.

She pulled my face down and kissed me deeply, her tongue sliding against mine with filthy desperation.

“I love you,” she whispered against my lips.

My chest tightened. I froze, my cock still buried deep inside her.

“Say it,” she pleaded, tears filling her hazel eyes. “Please… say it…”

“I love you,” I whispered hoarsely, my throat burning with truth. “I fucking love you.”

Her tears spilled over as she kissed me again, slow and soft this time, her arms wrapping around my neck.

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling fan spinning in slow lazy circles above us. She curled against my chest, her leg thrown over my waist, her fingers tracing circles on my abs.

“What are we going to do?” I asked quietly, brushing her hair back.

She sighed softly. “I don’t know… but I can’t stop. I won’t.”

“Me neither,” I whispered, kissing her forehead.

The next morning, Dad announced at breakfast that he was leaving for three weeks to finalise the expansion deals.

“I’ll miss you both,” he said, kissing Madison’s cheek before heading out with his suitcase.

She watched him leave with a polite smile, but the moment the door closed, she turned to me with dark, hungry eyes. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

“We have the house… all to ourselves…” she whispered.

The next three weeks were a blur of sex, sweat, laughter, and whispered confessions.

She’d wake me up by sliding under the sheets, sucking my cock until I exploded down her throat. I’d bend her over the kitchen counter while breakfast cooked, fucking her hard and deep until she screamed my name. In the shower, I’d lift her against the tiles, her legs wrapped around my waist as I thrust into her under the hot spray, water cascading down her arched back.

One night, she tied my wrists to the bed with her silk scarves, blindfolded me, and rode me until I was begging to cum. She teased me, edging me over and over until tears leaked from my eyes. When she finally let me cum inside her, it was so intense I blacked out for a few seconds.

Another afternoon, I bent her over the balcony railing, fucking her while the sun set over the Arizona desert, painting her flushed skin in gold and crimson hues. She screamed my name to the empty landscape, her voice echoing into the vast sky.

We fell asleep every night tangled in each other’s arms, her head on my chest, her soft breaths tickling my skin. She told me stories of her childhood in Texas, of how lonely she felt even now in this big house, of how she never felt wanted until me.

I kissed away her tears and promised her I’d never leave.

On the day Dad was supposed to return, we packed her things.

“I’m leaving him,” she whispered as she folded her clothes into a suitcase. “I can’t stay here anymore. I don’t want him. I want you.”

My chest burned with wild joy and fear. “Are you sure?”

She cupped my face in her hands, tears in her eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That evening, when Dad came home, she sat him down in the living room. I watched from the staircase, heart pounding as she told him everything.

Not about us.

But about how she didn’t love him. How she couldn’t stay. How she was leaving for good.

He tried to yell, tried to plead, but she remained calm and poised, her eyes soft with apology but firm with resolve.

An hour later, she was in my truck, driving away from the house she’d called home for barely two months.

I followed her an hour later, my few belongings stuffed into a duffle bag. When I pulled up outside the motel she booked for the night, she was waiting at the door in a tight black dress, her hair down around her shoulders, her lips painted dark red.

She pulled me inside, locked the door, and pushed me against it, kissing me so hard my teeth clashed against hers. Her fingers ripped at my shirt, buttons flying across the dingy carpet. She shoved my jeans down and sank to her knees, taking me into her mouth with a filthy moan.

That night, we fucked like animals – on the floor, against the bathroom sink, bent over the tiny table by the window. She rode me until dawn, her body trembling with exhausted pleasure, our sweat and cum staining the scratchy motel sheets.

When the sun rose, she curled up against my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my heart.

“What now?” I asked softly, brushing her hair back.

She smiled sleepily, kissing my chest. “Now… we start over. Just us. Somewhere no one knows us.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Just us.”

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Epilogue: Two Years Later

The tiny seaside town of Ventura, California, became our home.

We rented a small white house with blue shutters and lemon trees in the yard. Madison worked as a yoga instructor at the beach studio. I finished college online and started a freelance graphic design business.

Every night, we cooked dinner together. Every morning, I woke up to her curled against me, her hair spilling over my chest, her lips curved in a soft sleepy smile.

Sometimes, when we made love with the windows open and the ocean breeze filling our room, I remembered that summer – the guilt, the danger, the forbidden thrill of taking her for the first time.

But now, it wasn’t forbidden anymore. She wasn’t my stepmother.

She was mine.

My lover.

My woman.

My forever.

And every time I slid inside her, felt her body shiver and clench around me as she whispered “I love you” in the darkness, I knew one truth:

I would never let her go.