Semua Bab SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER: Bab 141 - Bab 149

IVYI knew I should have said no.I knew the second his mouth crashed into mine again that I should have shoved him harder, screamed louder, made him leave. My brain was screaming it—stop, stop, this is wrong, he hurt you, he broke you, he filmed you, he shared you, he doesn’t deserve this part of you. But my body wasn’t listening.My body remembered.My body arched into him when his hands slid under my shirt. My body opened when his fingers found me wet and ready. My body clenched around him when he pushed inside, slow at first, then deep, filling me completely. My body rocked with his, hips lifting to meet every thrust, thighs squeezing his waist like they never wanted to let go.I hated it.I hated how good it felt.I hated how right it felt.I hated how much I still wanted him.Cassian groaned against my neck, hips rolling in that slow, deep rhythm he knew would make me lose control. “Fuck, baby… you’re so tight. Still so fucking tight for me. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? How pe

I didn’t sleep.Not really.I lay on my back staring at the water stain on the ceiling until the gray morning light leaked around the curtains. My body still carried the ache from last night—between my legs, across my hips, deep in my chest. Cassian’s scent lingered on the sheets even though he’d left hours ago. Every time I shifted I felt the ghost of him inside me, the warmth he’d left behind, the way my body had clenched around him like it never wanted to let go. I hated how much I’d wanted it. I hated how alive I’d felt in that moment. I hated that the shame hadn’t killed the want.When the clock hit seven I gave up. I sat up, hair tangled, eyes gritty, throat raw from crying. My phone sat on the nightstand like a brick. I picked it up. Opened Sarah’s contact. Hit call before I could talk myself out of it.She answered on the second ring.“Ivy?” Her voice was thick with sleep and worry. “Are you okay? It’s early there.”I pulled my knees to my chest. “I couldn’t sleep.”She ex

IVY I went back to work the next morning. I had to. If I stayed in that motel room one more day—curled under the blanket, replaying Cassian’s hands on me, his mouth on mine, his cock filling me until I broke—I knew I’d never climb out. The shame was thick, sticky, choking, but letting it win would mean he still owned me. Even from miles away. Even after I’d screamed at him to leave. Even after I’d pushed him out the door with tears streaming down my face. So I showered until my skin stung, dressed in the same black polo and khaki pants, tied my hair back tight, and walked the seven minutes to the store like the night before hadn’t happened. Like my body wasn’t still sore. Like my thighs didn’t still tremble when I remembered how hard I’d come around him. Mr. Chen gave me the usual nod when I walked in. No questions. No pity. Just “morning” and the keys to the stockroom. I took them. Unlocked the door. Started pulling boxes of chips and soda cans off the shelves. The routine w

IVY The shower was the only place I could think to start. I turned the knob to hot—almost scalding—and stepped under the spray before the water even warmed. The first blast stung my skin like needles. I welcomed it. Let it burn away the sweat, the smell of Cassian, the sticky residue he’d left between my thighs. I wanted to erase him. Scrub him out of my pores. Make my body forget the shape of his hands, the weight of his hips, the way he’d stretched me open and filled me until there was no room for anything else. Soap first. I lathered it between my palms until bubbles dripped down my wrists, then dragged my hands over my collarbone. Down the slope of my breasts. The nipples were still sensitive—puffy, dark from his mouth last night. The moment my fingertips brushed them they tightened into hard points. A sharp, unwanted spark shot straight to my core. I froze. Took a breath. Told myself it was just the hot water. Just nerves. I kept going. Slid the soap lower,

The photo stared at me like a punch to the gut. Cassian’s arm wrapped around my mother’s shoulder, her head thrown back in laughter, his lips brushing her ear in a way that screamed secrets. The note on the back hit harder: “Do you know their story? Maybe you are just a toy like the others.” I’d shoved it in the drawer three days ago, but it kept clawing back, dragging up questions I’d buried deep. Why did Mom marry him? She’d been fine on her own, raising me with scraped-together jobs and family support. Then Cassian appeared—charming, successful—and everything changed. The family turned their backs. No more summer visits to Aunt Clara’s. No more cousin sleepovers. They called her foolish, said he was poison. Mom fought them with fire, but now, staring at that photo, I wondered if she’d tasted the poison too. .I paced the motel room, the carpet scratching my bare feet, trying to shake the image. But it stuck — vivid, ugly, making my skin crawl. If he’d used her like he used m