Dirty Christmas
But with him, I felt seen, desired.
He groaned, low and tortured, his grip tightening. “God, girl, you're killing me. You're beautiful, smart... but I'm your stepdad. This is wrong.” Yet his body betrayed him, leaning closer, breath mingling with mine. The scent of him, sawdust, soap, man…filled my lungs.
“Wrong feels right sometimes,” I said, echoing words I'd read in forbidden books, the ones that made me touch myself at night thinking of him. I closed the gap, pressing my lips to his.