All Chapters of Stepfamily Stories: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

He heard me.I knew it the second the moan slipped. The shower was a lie. Steam fogged the mirror and the water ran empty into the drain, and I was on the closed toilet with the wedding gown bunched at my waist and two fingers buried in my cunt, Grant’s text already gone from the screen. Delayed. Sunday. Don’t wait up.Eli’s voice was the one I had kept.If you moan mine, I’m not staying in that bed.I said his name into my wrist. Quiet. Stupid. The hall floor answered.The door opened. I had not locked it. I had told myself I wouldn’t have to, that a locked door was for a girl who wanted to be caught, and then I had left it unlatched like an invitation I could still deny.Eli stood in the steam in a T-shirt and nothing like shame. Bare feet. Sweats low on his hips. He looked at my hand. At the shine on my fingers. At the gown stuck to my tits, the thin white fabric gone see-through where the steam had kissed it, nipples tight, the lace of the bra I had not bothered to take off soaked

The text came while Eli was still inside me.Night. Grant’s bed. My dress on the chair. The door open the way I had left it, which was the answer he had asked for. Eli had eaten me until I was shaking — tongue on my clit, fingers in me, my thighs over his shoulders, his name a mess in the pillow — then he had pushed in and fucked me slow, deep, like he had all of Sunday and none of the guilt. I was on my back. Legs around him. Full. Close. The sheet Grant had bought was already ruined under my ass.My phone lit on the nightstand.Grant: Landed early. In the cab. Twenty minutes. Don’t wait up if you’re tired.Eli read it over my shoulder. He didn’t pull out.He stayed buried to the hilt, cock twitching inside me, one hand braced by my head, the other still on my hip where the bruise from the morning sat under his thumb.“Twenty,” he said, and thrust once, mean, so I felt it in my stomach. “You gonna answer like a wife with your stepbrother’s cock in you, or you gonna freeze.”“Eli— get

Cameron’s fingers stayed in the waistband long enough for me to feel my own pulse there. Then he pulled.The sleep shorts came down slow. I let my hips stay heavy, the way a sleeping girl would, even though every nerve in me was awake. Cool air hit my panties. I heard Seth swear under his breath.“She’s wet,” he said. “Through the cotton. That’s not nothing.”Marcus touched me to check, two fingers pressed over the damp patch, and I had to lock my thighs so I wouldn’t roll into his hand. “Jesus. She’s soaked. That’s a dream. Has to be a dream.”“Or she heard us,” Derek said.“She didn’t hear us,” Cameron said. His voice was tight. “She sleeps through thunderstorms. Pull them off.”They pulled the panties down. I felt the drag, the string of slick that followed, the way the air kissed my cunt. Someone inhaled. I kept my eyes shut. If I opened them, the night became a confession. If I stayed still, it stayed the thing I had gotten off to through the wall.“Look at that,” Seth whispered.

I showered like the water could undo it. It couldn't.I stood under the spray with my hands on the tile and Cameron still leaking out of me, mixed with Seth, with the streaks Derek had left, with the ache Marcus had apologized into my shoulder. My cunt was swollen. Tender. The hot water hit the insides of my thighs and I hissed. Every shift of my feet reminded me. I was open in a way a shower could not close.When I finally touched it I had to be gentle. Two fingers, slow, spreading myself to wash and then not washing at all. Slick ran over my knuckles, theirs and mine, and I pressed it back in because some filthy part of me did not want the evidence gone yet. I circled my clit the way Seth had, light, then meaner, the way his thumb had worked me while he tried not to groan. I pressed where Cameron had been deepest and my knees almost went. I thought of Derek's clumsy first push, the stretch, the way he had frozen when I clenched and then kept going because I had lifted my hips for hi

I walked the hall in his brother's shirt and nothing else.The house was quiet the way a house gets when the husband is on a double and the guest has been warned. My bare feet on the wood. The crack of light under Wes's door. I could have turned around at the bathroom. I didn't. I pushed the door with two fingers because it stuck, the way I had told him it would.Wes was on the edge of the bed. Jacket off. Shirt unbuttoned. He looked at the hem, at my thighs, at the fact that I had not put pants on after he asked."You didn't text him," he said."Not yet.""Then you're not here for a towel.""No."He stood. He didn't rush. He came close enough that the shirt brushed his stomach and stopped, one hand on the door, closing it until the latch caught and did not lock."Say what you want," he said. "I'm not guessing in my brother's house.""He doesn't finish me." The truth came out uglier than I meant. "He comes. He sleeps. I lie there. I don't want a conversation. I want you to finish what