Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Lila
Every creak of the old floorboards sounded louder than it should have. It was the kind of quiet that amplified every small sound. I could hear the tick of the hallway clock, the hum of the fan, and the soft rush of my own breathing.
I lay wide awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, body still humming from earlier that evening. Sucking my former stepfather’s cock still played through my head.
He’d fucked my throat until he spilled down it, growled my name like a curse, then sent me upstairs aching and denied.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I slipped out of bed barefoot, wearing nothing but the oversized T-shirt I’d stolen from his drawer days ago. It smelled like him, like sawdust, soap, and that dark masculine musk that made my core clench every time I breathed it in.
The hallway was dark as I padded silently past the stairs, heart hammering so loud I was sure it would wake the entire neighborhood.
His bedroom door was cracked open, just enough for moonlight to spill across the floorboards. I pushed it wider and stepped inside.
He lay on his back in the middle of the bed, one arm behind his head, sheets pooled at his waist. The faint silver of moonlight carved shadows across his bare chest, highlighting the hard planes of muscle and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the sheet.
And he was awake, his eyes open and locked right on me.
He didn’t speak, so I closed the door behind me with a soft click.
“Lila,” he said, voice low and rough from sleep or maybe restraint.
I didn’t respond as I stepped closer. “I can’t stay away.”
He sat up slowly, sheets sliding lower, revealing the thick ridge of his erection straining against his black boxer briefs. My mouth watered at the sight.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he growled, but he was already reaching for me.
I climbed onto the bed, straddling his waist. His hands immediately gripped my hips, rough palms sliding under the hem of the T-shirt to find bare skin. He yanked the shirt over my head in one swift motion, tossing it aside.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, eyes raking over my naked body. “Look at you.”
He pulled me down hard, our mouths crashing together. The kiss was filthy… teeth and tongue and desperation. His hands roamed everywhere, starting at my breasts, moving down to my waist and ass, claiming every inch like he’d been starving for it.
He broke away long enough to growl against my throat, “This is so wrong, but I can’t stop wanting you.”
Then he reached for the nightstand, pulling his leather belt from the loop of jeans he’d left there. My pulse spiked.
“Hands,” he ordered.
I obeyed instantly, offering my wrists. He looped the belt around them, cinched it tight but not enough to hurt. It was just enough to remind me I was his. And at his mercy.
He secured the other end to the headboard, stretching my arms above my head, leaving me exposed and helpless beneath him.
“Perfect,” he murmured, voice dark with hunger.
He kissed down my body, teeth grazing my collarbone, tongue flicking over each nipple until they were hard peaks. When he reached my stomach, he spread my thighs wide with his shoulders, hooked my legs over them, and buried his face between my legs.
The first swipe of his tongue made me arch off the bed, moaning his name. He growled against my pussy, the vibration sending sparks through me.
“So fucking sweet,” he rasped. “My dirty little girl dripping for her stepdaddy.”
He licked me slowly at first, long, flat strokes from entrance to clit. Then he focused on my swollen bud, sucking it into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. I writhed, wrists straining against the belt, hips grinding against his face.
“Please,” I gasped. “Give me more…”
The word made him snarl, and he sucked harder, tongue lashing relentlessly. He pushed two thick fingers inside me, pumping them in and out until my vision turned white.
“Beg again,” he demanded, voice muffled against my flesh.
“I need more,” I moaned. “Please, make me come.”
He doubled down, his digits pumping and tongue relentless until I shattered, screaming his name as my pussy clenched and gushed around his hand.
Marcus didn’t stop. He licked me through every aftershock until I was shaking, oversensitive, and begging him to stop and never stop at the same time.
When I finally collapsed, panting, he rose over me, eyes black with need. He undid my wrists and flipped me onto my stomach, yanked my hips up so my ass was in the air, and smacked my ass. Hard.
“Look at this pretty red ass,” he growled, delivering another sharp smack that made me yelp. “Gonna mark it up for me.”
He spanked me again then rubbed the sting away with his palm. Again. And again. Each stroke built the heat until my pussy was trickling down my thighs, and my moans were muffled into the pillow.
“Such a filthy girl,” he muttered. “Getting wet from your stepdaddy spanking you.”
He positioned himself fully behind me, rubbing the thick head of his cock through my folds, coating himself in my slick.
“Beg for it,” he ordered.
“Please,” I whimpered, not even fighting his order. “Please fuck me. I need your cock inside me.”
And he gave me exactly what I wanted. He thrust in hard and deep in one brutal stroke that stretched me open and made me cry out.
Marcus didn’t give me time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a punishing rhythm. One hand wrapped around my throat, tight enough I knew he was in control but loose enough that I could breathe. With his other hand, he gripped my hip, fingers digging in, bruising my flesh.
“Take it,” he growled. “Take every inch of my cock like the good girl you are.”
I pushed back to meet every thrust, moaning in broken pants. He yanked my head back by my hair, forcing me to arch.
“Come for me,” he commanded. “Come all over my dick. Make a mess and milk me dry, baby.”
His filthy word, the taboo of what we were doing, and the way he filled me so completely sent me over the edge. I’d never come like this before, never felt so right, pussy spasming over and over all while I screamed his name like he was my lifesaver.
Wave after wave crashed through me, and the whole time, he fucked me through it. His thrusts grew erratic until he buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, pulsing inside me, filling me up.
We collapsed together, both of us sweaty, trembling, and breathless. Marcus gently rubbed the faint red marks on my wrists that the belt had made. He pulled me against his chest, arms wrapping around me as if he never wanted to let go.
We lay there in silence for a long time, hearts pounding in tandem.
Finally, he spoke, voice rough. “This is still wrong.”
“I know.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “But I don’t know how to stop.”
“Me either,” I whispered.
He tightened his arms around me. Guilt lingered in the air between us but so did the warmth of his body against mine, the steady beat of his heart under my cheek, and the bone-deep satisfaction of finally having him inside me.
But there was also more to it. I cared for him on a deeper level, one that didn’t make sense but also did all in the same breath.
We stayed like that, tangled together, until sleep pulled us under, forbidden and perfect and terrifying all at once.