Início / Romance / Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything / Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

Todos os capítulos de Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything : Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

88 Capítulos

The poisoned well

EMMA’S POVThe water from the shower was scalding, turning the bathroom into a steam room, but it wasn't hot enough to wash away the memory of the office. I could still feel the phantom pressure of Jordan’s sofa against my thighs, still taste the bourbon and the panic of Ruth’s knock. The danger was the best part. It made the air feel electric, like the seconds before a lightning strike.But when I turned off the faucet and stepped out, the silence of the house had changed. It was heavy. It was wrong.I dried myself quickly, pulling on a silk slip that left nothing to the imagination, before slipping into the hallway. The voices were coming from the master suite. My father’s low, dangerous growl. And my mother’s voice—not its usual melodic hum, but a sharp, defensive edge I had never heard before."Do not ruin my newfound relationship with him just because you’re having a bad day. He is part of this family, whether you like it or not."I froze in the shadows, my heart hammering a gu

The catalyst

REIGN’S POVThe silence that followed Jordan’s departure for the gala was heavy, a pressurized weight that made the marrow in my bones ache. Jordan and Ruth had swept out of the house in a cloud of expensive cologne and hairspray, the "Saint" and his trophy wife heading off to perform their roles for the cameras. I stood in the foyer, my back against the cold marble of a Grecian pillar, feeling the phantom heat of Ruth’s hand still burning on my skin from our encounter in the master suite. My mind was a dirty mess—the guilt of taking her while she was a drunken ghost warring with the predatory satisfaction of knowing I had finally colonized my father’s most sacred territory.The heavy brass knocker sounded, a sharp, metallic crack that echoed through the hollow house like a gunshot. It wasn't the polite tap of a servant or the rhythmic knock of a friend. It was demanding. Entitled.I pulled the door open to find Janet standing on the porch. The evening wind was whipping her dark bl

The unholy trinity

EMMA’S POVThe room didn't just smell like sex; it smelled like the end of the world. It was a thick, stinky cocktail of Reign’s cedarwood sweat, my own frantic arousal, and the metallic, spicy tang of Janet’s perfume that seemed to coat the back of my throat. The air was so heavy I could barely draw it in, vibrating with the wet, rhythmic sounds of skin hitting skin.I was already on my back, my legs draped over Reign’s shoulders as he knelt between them, his face buried in my heat. His tongue was a broad, rough instrument of torture, dragging upward against my clit with a rhythmic, obsessive focus that made my toes curl into the silk sheets. But I wasn't just his.Janet was draped over my chest like a predator, her weight a grounding pressure against the mattress. Her fingers were buried deep inside me, moving in a fast, punishing internal rhythm that fought for space with Reign’s tongue. She was watching me, her eyes dark and glassed over with a lethal kind of triumph."Look at y

The reclamation

JORDAN’S POVThe drive back from the gala had been a study in irritation. Ruth was slumped against the leather of the Maybach, her head lolling with the heavy, slack rhythm of someone who had spent the night drowning her boredom in top-shelf gin with her socialite "friends." She smelled of botanical spirits and expensive powder—a clean, sterile scent that felt miles away from the dark, hungry thoughts pacing in my skull.I carried her into the house, her body a dead weight in my arms. I laid her on the velvet sofa in the living room, kicking off her heels and draping her pashmina over her shivering frame. She didn't even stir. She was safe in her oblivion, leaving me alone in the silence of a house that felt like it was vibrating with secrets.I ascended the stairs, my heart a heavy, rhythmic throb against my ribs. I was heading for the master suite, intending to wash the taste of the gala out of my mouth, when I saw her.Emma was at the top of the landing. She didn't see me yet. Sh

The ghost of a mother

REIGN’S POVThe morning sun was an intruder. It cut through the heavy velvet curtains of the house, illuminating the dust motes that danced like tiny ghosts in the air. The house felt hollow, scrubbed clean of the midnight filth by the silent, efficient staff, but I could still taste it. I could still smell the lingering, stinky ghost of my father’s "reclamation" from the hallway last night. I’d sent Janet out of the house through the back door as soon as the couple came in through the front, if not she would have discovered another of our family secrets, this time around there would have been no going back. I had stood behind my door, my ear pressed to the wood, listening to the muffled sounds of his rhythmic, desperate grunts and Emma’s silenced whimpers. Jordan thought he was the only one who could weaponize a nightmare. He thought a few smooth words and a lie about "bad dreams" could reset the board. He was wrong. By 10:00 AM, he had retreated to his glass tower in the city,

The vacant cathedral

EMMA’S POVThe announcement didn’t come with a discussion or a family meeting. It came like a lightning strike, a sudden, violent shift in the tectonic plates of our home that left me breathless."Start packing your things Emma. We’re moving. Today. Right now."My mother stood in the center of my bedroom, her face glowing with a frantic, almost manic energy. She looked younger, lighter—as if she had finally found a way to outrun the rotting floorboards and the heavy, stinky secrets of this house. Her hands were fluttering like trapped birds, smoothing out a wrinkle in her floral silk wrap that wasn't there."Moving? Today?" I stood up, my textbook hitting the hardwood with a dull, hollow thud. "Mom, what are you talking about? I’ll be going back to school soon. Why didn't anyone say anything?""It’s a surprise. A fresh start for all of us," she said, her voice rising with a desperate kind of hope. "Jordan and I have been discussing it for weeks. He bought a house—even better than thi

The alter of the Saint

JORDAN’S POVThe library was a skeleton of its former glory. The shelves, once packed with leather-bound history and law, were now mostly empty, leaving the room with a hollow, echoing quality that amplified every jagged breath Emma took. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, dust, and the underlying stinky musk of the foyer where I’d already begun to dismantle her.She was stretched out on the massive oak desk—the very desk where I’d taught her the difference between right and wrong. Her wrists and ankles were anchored to the heavy legs by silk ropes and sheepskin-lined cuffs. She looked like a sacrifice, her skin pale and shimmering with a fine sheen of cold sweat in the midday light.I didn't rush. I had one hour, and I intended to use every second to overwrite all my years of restraint and secrecy.I reached into the bag and pulled out two heavy, silver nipple clamps, connected by a delicate, weighted chain. I leaned over her, my shadow swallowing her whole."You've b

The new sanctuary

REIGN’S POVThe drive to the new estate was a study in manic desperation. Ruth was talking—a constant, nervous stream of consciousness that filled the leather-bound cabin of the SUV like toxic gas. She was obsessed with the floor plans, the interior designers she’d already put on retainer, and the "strategic" nature of the architecture."It’s going to be so much better, Reign," she said, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. She kept glancing at me, her eyes wide and searching for a validation I wasn't ready to give. "A fresh start. No more 'friction' in the hallways. No more secrets. This house... it’s built for privacy. The wings are separate. The soundproofing is state-of-the-art."I looked out the window at the passing blurred greenery, my mind back at the old house. I could practically smell the rotten, metallic tang of the air my father and Emma were currently breathing. I knew exactly what a "final walkthrough" meant when Jordan was the one leading

The broken sanctuary

RUTH’S POVThe master suite smelled of expensive cedar and the sterile scent of fresh white paint. It was supposed to be my victory lap—the room where Jordan and I would finally outrun the ghosts of the old estate. But as Reign carried me across the threshold, his arms like iron bands around my waist and knees, the room felt like a stage for a crime I had been begging to commit.He dropped me onto the massive, king-sized bed. The mattress was firm, untouched, a pristine white altar that was about to be defiled. I tried to sit up, my breath hitching in my throat, my silk wrap sliding precisely off one shoulder."Reign, stop... your father," I gasped, the word father sounding like a hollow, pathetic curse in the face of the hunger in his eyes."My father is miles away, drowning in his own secrets," Reign rasped, his voice a low, vibrating chord that settled deep in my pelvis. He didn't move away. He climbed onto the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress, pinning me down without ev

Enough time

REIGN’S POVThe master bedroom was a crime scene of silk and sweat. We moved with a frantic, jagged efficiency, stripping the brand-new sheets and stuffing them into the bottom of a packing crate that hadn't been emptied yet. Ruth’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely button her floral wrap, her eyes darting to the door every time the wind rattled the glass balcony."He’s going to know, Reign," she whispered, her voice a thin, ragged thread. "He’s going to walk in and smell it. He’s going to see it on my face.""He won’t see anything but what I want him to see," I said, my voice an anchoring weight. I stepped behind her, pulling her hair away from her neck and pressing a final, stinging kiss to the pulse point below her ear. "You’re the Perfect Wife, remember? And I’m just the broken son you’re so kindly helping to settle in."We headed downstairs, our footsteps echoing on the pristine marble of the floating staircase. The living room was a cavernous space of white stone and

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