6. Cade #2
I've already changed into my swim trunks, leaving my tattooed chest and arms fully exposed.
The intricate black patterns stand out against my tan skin, covering my pecs and snaking down my biceps.
I catch her staring—those hazel eyes traveling over my body with obvious hunger, lingering on my chest, my shoulders, the trail of dark hair leading down into my waistband.
She's shy at first, self-conscious in the revealing suit.
"I've seen everything already. Multiple times, from every angle."
She splashes me, laughing. We swim together, playful and intimate. I catch her in the water and pull her close, kissing her deeply. Tasting chlorine and her. My hands roam underwater, groping her ass.
"Want you again," I murmur against her lips.
"Already? It's been like two hours."
"Can't help it. You in this bikini is torture."
I lift her out of the pool onto the deck and lay her down on a lounge chair. Strip off her bikini quickly. The backyard is private, high fences blocking any view from neighbors, but we're still outside. The thrill of potential exposure makes my cock throb.
I spread her legs and go down on her, tongue exploring every fold.
"Ahh—Cade—someone might see?—"
"No one can see. And I don't care if they could. Want everyone to know you're mine."
I eat her pussy thoroughly, tongue circling her clit then dipping inside. She's sensitive from earlier and comes quickly.
"Oh god—yes—don't stop?—"
She screams under the open sky, the sound liberating and primal.
I rise up and flip her over. "On your knees, stepsister."
She obeys, presenting herself on the lounge chair. I fuck her from behind, rough and deep, watching my cock disappear into her wet heat.
"Going to fill you again. Pump you full of cum until you're overflowing. Maybe I should fuck a baby into you. Make sure everyone knows you're claimed."
"Cade—fuck—yes—breed me?—"
The dirty talk makes us both feral. I slam into her harder, gripping her hips tight enough to bruise. She pushes back to meet each thrust, desperate for more.
I cum inside her hard, marking her again. We collapse together on the chair, sweaty and satisfied.
Around 6 PM, we shower together. I wash her hair gently while she traces my tattoos with soapy hands. We kiss under the hot water, intimate without being about sex for once. Building emotional connection beyond the physical.
We get dressed in comfortable clothes and order pizza for dinner.
Eat in the dining room, talking about everything and nothing.
Her college experience at Ashford University.
My business dealings—I keep it vague, don't want to bore her with details.
Favorite movies, music, books. Childhood memories, carefully avoiding anything that connects to our parents. Dreams for the future.
At 9 PM, I take her hand. "Come with me."
"Where?"
"My room. Want you in my bed tonight."
First time she'll be in my private space.
"Your room? Really?" She's nervous.
"Why nervous? We've slept together before."
"In my room. This is different. It's more... yours. Your space."
I squeeze her hand. "And I want you in it."
I lead her upstairs and down the hall to my bedroom. Open the door and gesture for her to enter.
She looks around, taking in the large master bedroom.
King-sized bed with dark gray sheets. Modern furniture, minimalist style.
Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city lights.
Personal touches scattered throughout—books on the nightstand, weights in the corner, guitar leaning against the wall.
Photos on the dresser that I carefully avoid looking at.
The room smells like sandalwood and cedar.
"This is very... you," she says.
"Good or bad?"
"Good. It suits you." She notices the guitar. "You play?"
"Used to. Haven't in a while."
"Will you play for me sometime?"
"Maybe. If you're good." My tone is teasing.
She rolls her eyes.
I pull her toward the bed. We climb in together, facing each other.
"Can I ask you something?" Chloe ventures.
"Always."
"Why me? Why not someone... less complicated?"
I consider the answer carefully. "Because complicated doesn't scare me.
Because I've wanted you since I first saw you when you moved into this house last year.
You were forbidden, taboo, off-limits. Made me want you more.
But it's not just that. You're intelligent, funny, beautiful.
You challenge me, don't just submit blindly. I love that about you."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears.
"I think I'm falling in love with you."
The confession hangs between us. Silence stretches as I process.
I knew I was obsessed. Possessive. But love? Can I call it that?
Looking at her vulnerable expression, I realize: yes, I fucking love her. This forbidden, taboo, wrong relationship. I love every part of it. Love her completely.
"I love you too, Chloe."
First time saying it out loud.
Her breath catches. "You do?"
"I do. Probably have for a while. Just didn't want to admit it. This is so wrong, but it feels so right."
"I know. But I don't care anymore."
"Me either."
We kiss, deep and meaningful. Sealing the declaration with touch.
For the first time, the sex is different. Not rough claiming. Not possessive punishment. I undress her slowly, reverently. Worshiping her body with my hands and mouth. She does the same for me, touching my tattoos with gentle fingers.
I maintain eye contact as I enter her slowly, gently.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you, Cade. Love you so much."
We rock together in an intimate rhythm. No rush. Just connection. Missionary position, face to face, foreheads touching as we share breath.
We come together, perfectly synchronized.
"I love you—I love you?—"
Both of us saying it, over and over.
Tears stream down her face—happy tears. I kiss them away and stay inside her, connected.
"My Chloe. Mine forever."
"Yours. Always yours."
Afterward, we lie tangled together. Both naked, satisfied, emotional.
"What do you want from life?" I ask.
"Like, career-wise?"
"Everything. Dreams, goals, future."
She thinks for a moment. "I want to open my own art therapy practice.
Help people process trauma through creativity.
That's why I'm majoring in psychology with a minor in art.
Want to combine both passions. Specifically, I want to work with children who've been through difficult situations.
Give them an outlet to express themselves.
Maybe open a center someday. Non-profit, accessible to everyone. "
"That's beautiful, Chloe. And ambitious."
"You think it's realistic?"
"I think you can do anything you set your mind to. And I'll help you achieve it."
"You'd do that?"
"Of course. You're mine. Your dreams are my dreams."
She curls into me, overwhelmed by the support. I can tell no one's ever believed in her like this before.
"What about you? What do you want?" she asks.
I'm quiet for a moment, unusual vulnerability creeping in.
"Honestly? This. You. Us. This connection. I've spent years building my business, making money, being successful. But it's empty without someone to share it with. I want you, Chloe. Long-term. Want to wake up next to you every morning. Want to support your dreams. Want to build a life together."
"Even though we're stepsiblings?"
"Especially because we are. Means we're already family. Just need to redefine what that means for us."
My words settle deep in her heart. I can see the future becoming tangible in her mind.
Exhaustion finally catches up. We don't bother getting dressed, just curl together under the covers. Her head rests on my chest, my arms wrapped around her protectively. Legs tangled together.
"Goodnight, Chloe. I love you."
"Goodnight, Cade. I love you too."
We both fall asleep quickly. No fear of being discovered. No need to separate before dawn. Just us, together, peaceful.
I wake around 2 AM. Chloe's still sleeping peacefully beside me. I watch her in the moonlight streaming through the windows. So beautiful. So mine.
Can't believe I get to keep her.
It's a dangerous game we're playing. But worth every risk.
I kiss her forehead gently. She stirs, mumbling, "Cade?"
"Go back to sleep, baby. I'm here."
"Love you," she says sleepily.
"Love you too."
We both drift back to sleep. One day down, one more to go. Tomorrow will bring more claiming, more connection. For now, just contentment.