All Chapters of Revenge With Step-Daddy : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

(Roman’s POV)I force one foot in front of the other down the hall, away from her door, away from the sound still ringing in my skull, her voice breaking on my name while she came apart on her fingers thinking of me. My cock is so hard it hurts to walk, pulse thudding low and angry between my legs, every step rubbing the fabric of my sweats against it like punishment I deserve. I make it to my wing, slam the door, lock it like that’ll keep her out when she’s already inside every goddamn thought I have. I don’t stop, don’t sit, don’t breathe right. I head straight for the bathroom, flip the light on harsh, and stare at the man in the mirror like he owes me answers.Fists clenched on the sink edge. Jaw locked so tight my teeth ache.“She’s your wife’s daughter,” I growl at the reflection, voice low and ragged, bouncing off marble and glass. “She’s off limits. This is wrong. This is fucked up beyond fixing.”The words taste like ash. I say them again, slower, trying to make them stick.

(Lana’s POV) I slip out of my room before the sun even thinks about rising, hallway still dark and cool, the kind of quiet that makes every breath sound too loud. My bare feet don’t make a sound on the marble; I already checked the cameras on this side don’t catch the guest wing angle. No one’s watching. In my hand is the crimson lace thong I wore yesterday, the one that rode up my ass every time I bent over in the kitchen. Tiny. Barely there. Still smells faintly like me, like the heat I felt when Roman almost lost it. I stop outside his door. Heart hammering so hard I swear he can hear it through the wood. I hook the thong over the knob, let the lace drape just so, red against dark wood like a warning flag. Then I back up into the shadowed corner across the hall, press my spine to the wall, and wait. My thighs clench just thinking about his face when he sees it. “Take the bait, Roman,” I whisper to the dark. “Pick it up. Hold it. Smell me on it. Feel how wet I was thinkin

(Lana’s POV) I sit cross-legged on the guest bed, phone in my lap, staring at Mason’s number saved under a plain “M” like it’s no big deal. The screen glows in the dim room, mocking me. I’ve been staring at it for twenty minutes, thumb hovering, heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it does every time I think about Roman’s face when he hears this. Not because I want Mason. Because I want him to want me so bad it hurts. I want him to feel the burn of someone else’s hands almost touching what he’s been denying himself. I want him to snap. I want him to storm down those stairs, grab me by the throat, and finally admit I’m his. So I hit call. It rings twice. Mason picks up on the third. “Lana?” His voice is warm, surprised, like he didn’t expect me to actually use the number. “Hey,” I say, keeping it light. “Still up for that drink sometime?” A pause. Then a low chuckle. “Thought you’d ghost me forever. When?” “Tonight,” I say, glancing at the clock. Seven-fifteen. Roman’s

(Roman’s POV)I haven’t slept worth a damn. All night I lay there replaying her voice on the stairs, the way she said Mason’s name like it was a weapon, the way she smelled like whiskey and another man’s cologne when I grabbed her chin and felt her pulse jump under my thumb. I kept my hand fisted around that red thong until the lace cut into my palm, then I threw it across the room like it burned me. It didn’t help. Dawn creeps through the curtains and I’m already downstairs, coffee in hand, trying to pretend the day is normal. Trying to pretend I didn’t spend the last twelve hours fighting the urge to kick her door in and finish what she started. The kitchen door swings open. She walks in. Tank top stretched tight across her tits, no bra, nipples hard from the AC or from whatever filthy dream she had about me. Tiny sleep shorts that barely cover her ass, legs bare and smooth, hair messy like she just rolled out of bed thinking about my cock. She stops in the doorway, stretches

(Lana’s POV) He lifts me up in one smooth, powerful motion, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, pussy pressing against the hard ridge of his cock through our clothes while he carries me the few steps to the bed. I gasp from the suddenness, the way his grip bruises in the best way, my hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging in as he throws me down onto the mattress with a bounce that makes the headboard rattle. I land on my back, legs splayed, tank riding up to expose my stomach, shorts pulled tight across my soaked cunt. He stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at me like a predator deciding where to bite first, chest heaving, cock tenting his sweats so obviously it makes my mouth water. “Strip,” he orders, voice rough and commanding, hands flexing at his sides. “Show me what’s mine. Slow. Make me watch.” I prop myself on my elbows, smile wicked. “Bossy, aren’t you? What if I make you do it? What if I make you rip it off me like you’ve been dreaming about?”