All Chapters of Stepfamily Stories: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I took him to the back of my throat and Jayden cursed loudly.His hand tightened in my hair. His hips stuttered. I hollowed my cheeks and looked up at him while I did it, because I had spent years pretending I did not want this exact view: my cousin wrecked, jeans open, the cock I had measured every scene against finally heavy on my tongue. He was shaking. He was still trying to be decent and failing in wet, helpless thrusts that made spit run down my chin and onto his father’s carpet.“Joana—fuck—get up.”I pulled off slow, a string of spit connecting my mouth to him. He looked ruined. I felt ruined. The living room was quiet except for our breathing and the faint tick of a clock that did not care what we were doing.“Make me.”He hauled me up and kissed me like a fight he had already lost. Heat shot straight to my clit, as if his mouth was wired to it. I moaned into him. He swallowed it. We went over the back of the couch in a tangle of skirt and open jeans. My ass hit the cushions.

The engine ticked.Trees. Empty shoulder. His house behind us, my house not yet in front of us. Aiden stared at the wheel like it might forgive him. I stared at his mouth because I could not stare at the slacks again without making a sound.“What did you just say?”“I know it’s you.” His voice was low, scraped. “The mask. The name you use. I walked past Jayden’s door six weeks ago and the volume was up. Your mask slipped. Half a second. Same as him. I stood in the hall and watched my son stroke himself to my sister’s daughter, and I didn’t stop him, because I didn’t stop myself from watching either.”The car felt smaller.“You knew.”“Yes.”“And you still sent me to that house for a file.”“I told myself I needed the packet.” His laugh was short and ugly. “I told myself a lot of things.”I looked at the dash. The deal. Mom waiting. My thigh still shining on his leather.“Don’t tell her,” I said again.“Joana.”I unbuckled.The belt slid away with a sound too loud for the roadside. I m

“What the hell is this, Noelle?”Grant’s voice filled the living room the way Dad’s did when someone had broken a rule. I was still naked on the couch. My tank and shorts were on the rug. My hand was shiny. Three dressed men stood in the doorway with bags at their feet and hard-ons they were not polite enough to hide.My mouth opened.Nothing useful came out.“Why are you here?” It cracked. “When did you come in? Why didn’t you say anything?”Cole set his bag down. Slow. Like the answer was obvious.“We’ve been standing here long enough to hear you come on this couch moaning our names.” His eyes dropped to my pussy, still open, still wet. “Grant. Cole. Rhys. Daddy. Like a dirty little slut who thought the house was empty.”Heat punched through my face.Rhys’s mouth twitched.“Your parents asked us to stay,” Grant said. “Watch the house. Watch you. They didn’t tell you because they knew you’d fight it. You’re twenty-one and they still don’t trust you alone. After what we just walked in

I did not touch myself.That was the whole night. I slept when the house went quiet. I put my hands on top of the covers. I woke before the sun and stared at the ceiling until the ache became a decision instead of a tantrum. If the only way they would let me come was obedience, I was going to be so good it pissed them off.I showered. I did not linger. I pulled the polo on again because I was not above being obvious, and I went downstairs while the sky was still thin.The kitchen was empty.I made coffee the way Dad made it. Eggs. Toast. Bacon in the pan that always spat. My ass was still tender from Grant. My cunt was still furious from Cole. I cooked anyway, barefoot on cold tile, twenty-one years old and playing house for the men my father had left in it.They came in one at a time, like I had broken a rule by being first.Grant stopped in the doorway.He was in boxers. Only boxers. Dark. Tight. Hard underneath without shame, morning thick against the cotton. Cole behind him, same

LilaI left home at eighteen so I would stop wanting my stepbrother.Four years later I signed a consent form for a lower-back tattoo and the man who came to collect me from the desk was Tyler.Same height. Same mouth. Older in a way that made my stomach drop. He looked at the tablet, then at my face, and the shock was mine alone. He only smiled, small and sure, like this was a booking and not a collision.“We meet again, little sister.”Heat went down my body so fast I locked my knees. I had chosen a shop across the city. I had paid for VIP so a stranger could work the base of my spine behind a locked door. I had not let myself read the artist line twice. I had told myself the feeling would be dead if I never walked back into that house.It was not dead.It was holding a tablet in black gloves.“Tyler.”“You booked private.” He tipped his head toward the side hall. No story about the night I packed a bag. No question about why I never came home. Grown. Even. “Follow me.”I followed h