All Chapters of MY TABOO STEP DADDY : Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

[TRISTAN’S POV]The house sleeps like a corpse—dead weight, heavy silence, the kind that only comes when secrets nest in the walls.I move through darkness the way I've learned to move through life: with purpose, without apology.The spiked drink sits in my stomach like satisfaction. Delinda will be unconscious for hours, her body too sedated to register the absence of her husband, too drugged to care about anything except the void pulling her under. I'd slipped the sedative into her evening wine with the same casual precision I use for everything—measured, intentional, merciless.No mistakes. Never mistakes.Carlton's door is unlocked. Of course it is.He always leaves it unlocked, this little game we play where he pretends to forget the lock exists and I pretend not to notice his ears flushing when he "realizes" his carelessness. It's theater, really. Beautiful, aching theater where we both know exactly what's coming but need the performance of accident to justify the need.I slip i

[TRISTAN’S POV]The morning light hits the dining room like a benediction, pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows and catching the crystal of wine glasses in fractured rainbows. Everything is pristine. Everything is calculated. Everything is a lie.Delinda sits at the head of the marble table like she was born there, which she practically was—old money, older scandals, the kind of woman who learned to weaponize grace before she learned to walk. Her blonde hair is arranged in that effortless way that costs two hundred dollars an hour to maintain. Her silk robe probably costs more than Carlton's college tuition.A maid—young, practiced, invisible—pours white wine into her glass with the precision of someone who's performed this ritual a thousand times. Delinda doesn't acknowledge her. The girl might as well be furniture.Amanda sits across from me, her legs crossed beneath the table, her expression carefully neutral in that way that screams she's paying attention to everything. She's

[TRISTAN’S POV]The impact snaps my head to the side. I taste blood—mine, mixed with what's probably Carlton's.When I look back at her, my hand finds my stinging cheek and I speak in a voice so cold it could freeze fire. "Baby, I love you, but don't do that again."Amanda's eyes are blazing, and in this moment, she looks exactly like her mother: like Aurora, my sister, like everyone I've lost. The rage in her expression is righteous and devastating."You're shameless," she hisses, her voice pitched low so no one below can hear."Oh, you've figured it out," I say, tilting my head slightly. My cheek is already starting to swell, and it should hurt more than it does, but adrenaline is a useful tool."He's your son!" She grabs my arm and pulls me away from Carlton's door, deeper into the hallway where we're less likely to be overheard. Her voice is sharp enough to draw blood. "Your actual son. What are you doing?""Step-son," I correct, and the distinction feels important even though I

[CARLTON’S POV] I hesitate for maybe half a second before I'm scrambling down, my mouth finding the head of his cock. He's already hard as steel, and the taste is familiar now. Salt and musk and something distinctly him. I take him deeper, trying to mimic what he did to me, but he stops me with a hand in my hair."Slower," he instructs. "I want to feel your mouth, not you trying to impress me with speed."I force myself to move deliberately, dragging my lips along his length, taking him inch by inch. His hand tightens in my hair, not pulling, just holding, and I can hear his breathing change. Quicken. I'm doing this to him. The thought makes my own cock twitch with renewed interest.He's bigger than I can comfortably fit, so I use my hand for the parts of him that don't fit in my mouth, stroking in rhythm with the movement of my lips. His thigh muscles tense beneath me, and I can feel him fighting for control, fighting to stay silent just like he demanded of me."Fuck, Carlton,"

[TRISTAN'S POV]: I watch him from across the parking lot, and the sight of Carlton walking toward my car makes something primal stir in my chest. He's changed into a fresh uniform, the same polyester shirt, the same tie that I've already undone twice in my mind, but there's something different about him today. He's moving with more confidence. Less hesitation. Like he's accepted what this is between us.Like he's accepted that he belongs to me.It's been three days since the security guard interrupted us. Three days of waiting, planning, preparing. Three days of knowing exactly what I need to do to keep him safe while simultaneously planning how to keep him closer. The dichotomy should bother me. It doesn't.Carlton slides into the passenger seat, and I can smell him immediately: school cafeteria mixed with that soap he uses, clean and young and absolutely intoxicating. He's trying to play it cool, but I can see his hands shaking slightly as he buckles his seatbelt."You came back,