10. Zoey
ZOEY
I wake to sunlight streaming through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the bedroom golden.
The bed beneath me is enormous, the sheets impossibly soft—some ridiculous thread count I can't even fathom.
Everything in Zach's house screams luxury, from the sleek modern furniture to the original artwork on the walls.
Our house now. Our bed.
Three days since we left the estate. Three days of living openly with Zach, no more hiding, no more sneaking around. Three days of freedom I'm still adjusting to.
I turn my head and find him already awake, propped on one elbow, watching me with that possessive contentment that's become familiar. His gray eyes roam my face, then drift lower to where his t-shirt—the only thing I'm wearing—has ridden up to expose my thighs.
His cock is already hard, pressing against my hip through the sheets.
Morning ritual, I'm learning.
"Morning," I whisper, voice still rough with sleep.
He doesn't answer with words. Just pulls me close and captures my mouth in a deep, possessive kiss that makes my toes curl. His hand slides up under the shirt, cupping my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple.
No rush. No fear of someone walking in. All the time in the world.
The freedom is exhilarating.
His hand continues exploring, mapping every inch of my body with confident familiarity. He knows exactly how to touch me now, where I'm most sensitive, what makes me gasp.
I still feel the loss of my mom like a physical ache in my chest. Haven't spoken to her since that horrible night. Haven't heard her voice, don't know if she's okay, if she and Raymond are okay. The guilt sits heavy, but I don't regret choosing Zach.
Even through the grief and guilt, I know I made the right choice.
His hands grip the hem of his t-shirt and pull it over my head in one smooth motion. I'm naked beneath him, exposed in the golden morning light.
He's already naked—sleeps that way always. His cock juts between us, thick and ready, the sight making me clench with anticipation.
"Spread your legs," he commands softly.
I obey, thighs parting for him. He settles between them, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
Then he enters me in one deep stroke, burying himself balls-deep.
"Ahh—" I gasp at the stretch, the fullness.
My pussy takes him easily now. No pain anymore like those first times. Just pleasure and the perfect feeling of being filled completely.
He starts moving with deep, possessive strokes. Not gentle but not rough either. Just claiming me thoroughly to start our day.
His hands grip my hips, controlling my movements, angling me how he wants. I moan freely, no need to muffle the sound. No parents down the hall. No one to hear us.
"Zach—fuck—yes?—"
"You're mine," he growls, hips snapping forward hard. "Living in my house, in my bed. My cock inside you every morning."
"Yes—" I cry out as he hits deep.
"All mine, stepsister. Completely mine. No one else will ever have this pussy."
The taboo reference makes me wetter, makes my pussy clench around him. He groans at the sensation, fucking me harder.
"Say it," he demands.
"I'm yours—only yours?—"
"Fuck yes you are."
His thumb finds my clit, rubbing firm circles while his cock pounds into me. The dual stimulation overwhelms me fast. I'm already so sensitive from three days of near-constant sex.
"Zach—oh god—I'm going to—ahh!"
My orgasm crashes through me hard. My pussy spasms and clenches around his cock rhythmically, milking him. Pleasure radiates through my entire body, making me shake.
"Fuck—Zoey—" He groans and follows me over, cock pulsing as he fills me with cum.
He always comes inside me. Never uses condoms, fills me bare every single time. Marking my womb repeatedly like he's trying to brand me from the inside out.
I love feeling him pulse inside me, love the warmth of his release.
He collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest. We lie there catching our breath, tangled together in the expensive sheets.
"Shower," he says eventually, kissing my temple. "Then breakfast."
The shower is as luxurious as everything else—massive glass enclosure, multiple shower heads, enough space for both of us easily. He washes my hair with careful hands, fingers massaging my scalp gently. Then soaps my entire body, hands roaming everywhere with possessive tenderness.
Intimate routine developing fast.
He's incredibly attentive. Makes sure I'm eating enough, sleeping enough, asks constantly how I'm feeling emotionally. Protective and caring alongside the possessiveness.
Makes me feel cherished in a way I've never experienced.
After the shower, I pull on leggings and a soft sweater while he dresses in dark jeans and a button-down. Casual but expensive, everything tailored perfectly to his frame.
We eat breakfast together in his huge modern kitchen—scrambled eggs and toast, fresh fruit, good coffee. I'm still learning his routines, his preferences. How he likes his coffee black, no sugar. How he works out every morning before I wake. His business schedule, his meeting times.
Fitting my life around his naturally.
"You have classes today?" he asks, refilling my coffee.
"Two video lectures and a design assignment due Friday." I'm attending Ashford remotely for now, taking classes online. My professors were surprisingly accommodating when I explained I needed to study from home temporarily. "I'll finish before lunch."
He nods, eyes tracking my face. "Let me know if you need anything."
After breakfast, I settle on the large sectional couch in the living room with my laptop and textbooks. Interior design assignments and video lectures keep me occupied through the morning. Zach disappears into his home office where he runs his real estate empire.
Both working in the same house. Comfortable proximity.
He checks on me throughout the morning. Brings me fresh coffee, kisses my neck, hands wandering possessively. Never goes long without touching me.
I'm deep into a design proposal around two in the afternoon when he emerges from his office. I glance up and find him looking at me with clear intent.
I know that look now.
"I need you," he says bluntly. "Right now."
Heat floods through me. "I'm working?—"
"I don't care." He crosses the room in three strides. "Can't focus thinking about you out here. Need inside you immediately."
Laughter bubbles up, exhilarated by being wanted so desperately. I push my textbooks aside willingly. "Well, when you put it that way?—"
He lays me back on the couch, pulling my leggings and panties off impatiently. Spreads my legs wide, exposing my pussy to his hungry gaze.
I'm already wet. Always ready for him now.
But instead of entering me, he drops to his knees and puts his mouth on me.
"Oh—fuck—Zach?—"
His tongue circles my clit with enthusiastic pressure, making me whimper. He loves eating me out, does it often. Long, slow licks followed by focused attention on my clit that makes my thighs shake.
"Ahh—oh god—yes?—"
This is amazing. Sex in the living room in the middle of the day. No fear of getting caught, no hiding or sneaking. Complete freedom to fuck anywhere, anytime we want.
He pushes two fingers inside me while his tongue works my clit. I cry out, hands fisting in his hair. The dual stimulation builds my orgasm fast.
"Come on my tongue," he growls against me. "Want to taste you."
"Zach—fuck—I'm—ahh!"
I come hard, pussy clenching around his fingers, thighs trembling. He laps at me through it, prolonging the pleasure until I'm gasping.
Then he stands, unzips his jeans, and enters me in one hard thrust.
"Fuck—" I gasp at the sudden fullness.
He fucks me harder than this morning, more desperate. The couch rocks under the force of his thrusts. I hold onto the armrest, taking everything he gives me.
"Yes—right there—harder?—"
"My little stepsister taking my cock so well," he growls. "Former virgin, ruined for anyone else."
"Yes—only you?—"
"This pussy belongs to me. Marked mine forever. Gonna fill my stepsister's cunt with cum?—"
The taboo language combined with his cock hitting deep overwhelms me. My fourth orgasm of the day crashes through me suddenly.
"Zach—fuck—coming—ahh—yes!"
My pussy milks his cock hard, clenching rhythmically. He groans and pulls out suddenly, coming on my stomach instead. Cum streaks my skin, marking me externally this time.
Visual possession alongside internal.
I watch fascinated as he strokes himself through it, every drop landing on me.
"Mine," he says roughly. "Every fucking inch of you."
We clean up in the downstairs bathroom, then return to work. I finish my design proposal while he takes conference calls in his office. Domestic and comfortable.
Normal life together, establishing itself.
Evening comes and we cook dinner together—simple pasta with marinara and garlic bread. He's surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, moves with confidence chopping vegetables and boiling water.
We work side by side easily, comfortable in each other's space.
Feels like playing house.
Over dinner, we talk about the future seriously.
"You'll finish at Ashford next spring," he says, twirling pasta on his fork. "Then join my company designing interiors for my developments."
"You really want me to work with you?"
"Why wouldn't I? You're talented, and our skills complement each other perfectly." He takes a sip of wine. "I build properties, you make them beautiful inside. We'll be unstoppable together."
The certainty in his voice makes warmth bloom in my chest. He's planning years ahead like it's inevitable.
"Tell me more about your business," I ask, genuinely curious. "How did you get started?"
His eyes light up as he explains his real estate empire—luxury residential developments mainly, acquiring land and building beautiful properties from nothing. Vision and strategy evident in every word.
I listen intently, contribute ideas, realize we actually work well together mentally too. Not just physical chemistry but intellectual compatibility.
"You should see the new development in Riverside," he says enthusiastically. "Five custom homes, all high-end. I could use your input on interior concepts."
"I'd love that."
We talk for over an hour, discussing projects and possibilities. But eventually, the conversation shifts.
"I miss my mom," I admit quietly, voice cracking. "I hate that choosing you meant losing her."
He reaches across the table, taking my hand. "She'll come around eventually. When she calms down and sees how happy you are, she'll understand."
"You really think so?"
"I know so. Time will heal this, Zoey. I promise."
I want to believe him desperately.
"Thank you," I whisper. "For standing by me. For being prepared when everything fell apart. For giving me a home and a future."
"I'd do anything for you." His gray eyes are intense, serious. "Anything at all."
I believe him completely.
After dinner, desire builds again naturally. His eyes on me constantly, heated and possessive. I feel the same pull, always wanting him.
We go upstairs to our bedroom and undress each other slowly this time. Taking our time, savoring each revealed inch of skin. Not rushing—we have all night.
He lays me on the bed gently and settles between my thighs. Enters me with one slow, deep stroke that makes us both gasp.
Then he makes love to me slowly, reverently. Deep, measured strokes while maintaining eye contact. Emotionally connected, not just physical release.
"I love you," he whispers, hips moving steadily.
"I love you too," I breathe, feeling everything.
His cock moves inside me slowly, filling me completely with each thrust. I look into his eyes and realize I'm completely happy. Despite losing my family, despite everything that's happened—this is where I belong.
With him. In his arms. In his bed. In his life.
"Zach—" Tears prick my eyes from emotion and pleasure combined.
"I've got you, baby. Always."
My orgasm builds slowly, intensely. When it hits, tears spill over.
"I love you, Zach—so much—ahh!"
My pussy clenches around him rhythmically as waves of pleasure roll through me. He follows immediately after, groaning my name.
"Love you, Zoey—mine forever?—"
He fills me with cum while whispering promises against my lips. Forever. Always. Mine.
Everything I need.
We lie tangled together afterward, talking about everything and nothing. Dreams, fears, hopes, plans. Comfortable silence between topics, just being together.
True intimacy beyond sex.
"I want you permanently," he says eventually, fingers tracing patterns on my arm. "Not just living together."
I understand what he means. Marriage. Making this legal and official, not just a relationship.
"One day," I whisper.
"Soon." He kisses my temple. "When you're ready. But it's happening, Zoey. You're mine for life."
I fall asleep in his arms, content and loved and claimed and cherished. Our home, our life, our future stretching ahead.
Everything feels right despite the difficulty of getting here.
This is where I belong.