All Chapters of SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The drive home from the exhibition was quiet at first, the city lights blurring past the windows in streaks of gold and red. Cassian drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh, thumb tracing slow, absent circles that kept my skin humming. I stared at his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the way the streetlights caught the silver at his temples—and felt the words building in my throat like a storm I couldn’t hold back any longer. I had to say it. Before I lost my nerve. “I want to be yours,” I blurted, voice barely above the engine’s hum. His head turned sharply, eyes leaving the road for a second to search my face. “Say that again.” I swallowed, cheeks burning. “I want to be your model. Like you offered. Like… like the others. But just for you. No one else.” He was quiet so long I thought he hadn’t heard me. Then his hand tightened on my thigh, possessive and warm. “Why now?” he asked, voice low, careful. “Because I’m tired of lying to myself,” I admitt

We arrived at the airport way too early, my stomach already doing flips. I’d never flown first class before, and definitely never with a man who had spent the last month turning my life into an erotic fever dream. Cassian handled everything—check-in, security, the lounge—like it was second nature. He looked calm, gorgeous in a black button-down rolled to his elbows and dark jeans, camera bag slung over one shoulder. I, on the other hand, felt like everyone could tell just by looking at me that I was about to spend a week naked on a Hawaiian beach while he photographed every inch of me.The gate area was busy, but once we boarded, it felt different. Night flight to Maui—most passengers settled in with eye masks and blankets, ready to sleep across the Pacific. We had the bulkhead seats in first class, plenty of legroom, privacy curtains we could draw if we wanted.Cassian let me have the window. I buckled in, knees bouncing, staring at the tarmac lights while the safety video played.He

The golden hour hit like a promise.The sun was sinking low, turning the sky into layers of pink and orange that bled into the ocean. The private beach stretched empty in front of the villa—white sand, gentle waves, not a single other person in sight. Just us. Cassian had set up a simple reflector and a tripod with a softbox, but the real light came from the sky itself. He wore a black linen shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows, camera hanging from his neck like an extension of his body.He looked at me like I was the only thing that existed.“Ready?” he asked, voice low and steady.I stood barefoot in the sand, wearing nothing but the sheer white cover-up he’d chosen for me—thin enough that the sunset light made it almost transparent. Underneath was a tiny bikini he’d picked: white string bottoms that tied at the hips, a matching top that barely covered me. My hair was loose, wind playing with the strands.I nodded, even though my stomach was full of

I woke to the soft brush of lips across my forehead, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. Warm. Slow. Familiar.My eyes fluttered open, and there he was—Cassian, propped on one elbow, hair still messy from sleep, eyes dark and tender in the pale pre-dawn light filtering through the gauzy curtains. He was already awake, already watching me, already smiling that quiet, dangerous smile that always made my stomach flip.“Morning, little girl,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.I smiled back, sleepy and unguarded. “Morning.”He leaned in and kissed me properly then—slow, deep, lazy morning kisses that tasted like last night and promise. His hand slid under the sheet, palm warm against my bare stomach, fingers tracing idle circles that sent little shivers over my skin.I sighed into his mouth, arching just a little.He pulled back enough to look at me, thumb brushing my lower lip.“Sun’s coming up soon,” he

The villa was too quiet without him.After the beach shoot, after Cassian left for his mysterious “client meeting,” I showered off the sand and salt, the warm water sluicing over my skin like a gentle reminder of his hands. I stood under the rainfall head longer than necessary, letting it pound against my shoulders, trying to rinse away the lingering heat between my thighs. But no amount of soap could wash away the memory of his tongue, his fingers, the way he’d looked up at me from between my legs with that dark, possessive hunger in his eyes.I dried off, slipped into a soft linen sundress—no bra, no panties, because why bother when the only person who’d see me was gone?—and padded into the kitchen. Lunch was simple: a fresh avocado salad with grilled shrimp from the fridge, a glass of chilled white wine from the bottle he’d opened last night. I ate at the island counter, staring out at the turquoise water, the infinity pool shimmering in the afternoon sun. The place was paradise. P