All Chapters of Stepbrother's Filthy Toy (An Erotica Collection): Chapter 351 - Chapter 360

TESSA.“Athletes’ entrance. Keep your head down.”Reed said it like he was doing me a favor. My legs still shook from the driver’s seat. His come was sliding down my thigh under the skirt. The backpack straps cut into my shoulders because I had never taken the bag off.He badge-swiped the side door. The hall smelled like bleach and turf. Between periods the locker room was empty. Rows of metal. A clock over the sinks. 8:48.“Twelve minutes,” he said. “Professor takes attendance at the door. You walk in late and everyone looks at your mouth.”He backed me into the side bay, the one with no cameras and a dead bolt he turned with his thumb. My backpack hit the locker. The sound was too loud. He shoved my skirt up to my waist and found me still wet from the truck, panties twisted to the side, his mess already making a shiny line down my skin.“Reed. Someone could walk in.”“They will not. Weights start on the hour. Hold the locker.”I grabbed the vents. He freed himself, hooked my right kn

“Sit next to Daddy. There is more room.”Mom says it like it is nothing. I sit. The Sunday table is packed. Roast. Potatoes. His sons. Two cousins. A neighbor who would not leave. My dress is too short for this chair and he knows it. His thigh touches mine the second I sit down.Then his hand.It lands on my leg like a proud stepfather. Warm. Heavy. Everyone can see it. Mom smiles.“He is so affectionate with her,” she tells the neighbor. “I love that they get along.”His fingers squeeze once. Under the tablecloth they slide an inch higher.I pick up my fork because I have to do something with my hands. The roast tastes like nothing. All I can feel is his thumb stroking the inside of my thigh, slow, like he has all afternoon.“You okay?” he asks, loud enough for the table. “You look warm.”“Fine,” I say. “Just the gravy.”His hand is not fine. It is already under the hem. Bare skin. He does not look at me. He asks his son to pass the salt and while the boy reaches, two fingers trace t

“I am coming.”Helen’s shoes stop just short of the kitchen tile. Roman pulls out of me so fast I have to catch the sink. He tugs my dress down. I grab the platter with shaking hands and turn.Helen smiles like nothing in this house is filthy.“There it is. You two are a good team.”Roman rinses his hands. I walk the platter past her with his slick still on my thighs. I do not look at him. I cannot. If I look I will give it away.The rest of the afternoon is noise. Living room. Leftover pie. His son talking about a game. Roman sits in the armchair and puts his hand on the back of my chair when I pass, affectionate again, the kind Helen likes. Nobody sees that I am still wet. Nobody sees that I can still feel the shape of him.Night comes slow.The house goes quiet one room at a time. Helen takes her pill. His sons shut their doors. I lie in the guest bed in the same dress because he said keep it on and I am too far gone to disobey a sentence from lunch.My phone lights up.Downstairs

NORA“You left it on your bed last night.”Griffin said it from the bathroom doorway while the shower was still running behind him. Steam rolled out around his shoulders. He had a towel at his hips and nothing else. The sticky note was still on the door.“I hung it back this morning.”“After I checked. That is not the same thing.”Mom’s car had left an hour ago. Grocery run. A neighbor. Something that gave the house an hour of quiet he had clearly counted.“Get in,” he said. “Door stays open the way I leave it.”“The gap.”“Yes. The gap I never fixed.”My stomach dropped.He saw it land.“You thought the hinge was broken. It is not broken. I loosened it the week you moved into that box room. I stand where you are standing right now and I watch you wash. Last night I watched you put your hand under my towel after I told you to hang it up. Then I came back in here and I used this.”He tugged the towel at his hips just enough that I saw he was hard underneath it.“This is the one you are

Marissa.“You are not coming in here whenever you feel like it anymore.”That was the last thing I said to Reid three weeks ago when I walked out of the shower and found him standing in my kitchen at two in the morning. Boots still on. Eating the pasta I had made for his father. Looking at me like the towel I was clutching was a suggestion.Reid Kane. Twenty six. My husband’s son. My stepson on paper and nothing else in this house.I married Barrett fourteen months ago. Barrett Kane. Fifty two. Quiet money. The kind of man who never raises his voice because the room already belongs to him. His first wife died eight years back. Reid never wanted a replacement and he never pretended he did. He has his own place across town. He still has a key to this one. Barrett never took it from him.That night Reid did not leave when I told him to. He sat at the island, watched water run down my legs, and asked if Barrett was a heavy sleeper. I told him to get out. He smiled and said “Yes, stepmom”