2. Paige
PAIGE
The first thing I register is the heat.
Wet, searing heat between my thighs, something rough and insistent dragging through my folds. My back arches off the bed before my brain even catches up, a broken gasp tearing from my throat.
I look down, and see him.
My stepfather. Paxton Miller.
His mouth is on me.
His tongue goes up and down, thick and relentless, and his fingers are curling deep, hitting some spot that makes my vision blur. My thighs clamp around his head on instinct, my hips lifting, chasing more of that impossible pressure.
"Oh god." My voice is a wreck, thick with need and something darker, something I don't recognize. "Paxton."
His name on my lips makes him groan, the vibration humming straight through my clit.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my slick skin. "Say my name again." His fingers don't stop moving, two of them pumping slow and deep while his thumb circles my clit in tight, maddening strokes.
"Paxton."
Am I dreaming? How is this happen?—
The note.
The note.
My cheeks burn, but the heat between my legs is hotter, drowning out everything else. I feel shy all of the sudden. I should push him away. Should tell hide under the cover, should?—
But then his tongue flicks over my clit, and my back bows off the bed, a broken cry spilling from my lips.
It's too much. Too good. His mouth is everywhere, licking, sucking, nipping, while his fingers work me open, stretching me just enough to make my thighs tremble. The pressure builds fast, coiling tight in my stomach, my pulse hammering in my throat.
"Please." The word slips out before I can stop it, my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against me. "Faster."
"Patience," he growls against my skin, his teeth grazing my inner thigh. "Let me build it up slowly."
His tongue drags over my clit again, slow and deliberate, and my hips jerk, my body betraying me. I'm so wet, so full, his fingers moving inside me like he already knows every secret spot, every way to make me unravel.
"Paxton, I—" My voice breaks as he sucks my clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub. The pressure is unbearable, my thighs shaking, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice rough. "Let go. You can come now."
His fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot again, and my vision whites out.
The orgasm hits like a freight train, slamming through me with brutal force. My back arches, my nails digging into his scalp as I cry out, my body locking up, my thighs clamping around his head.
He doesn't stop, doesn't let up, his tongue and fingers working me through every wave, milking every last tremor from my body.
When I finally collapse back against the bed, boneless and trembling, he pulls away, his lips glistening with my arousal. His eyes are dark, hungry, his chest rising and falling like he's the one who just came undone.
"You're so tight," he murmurs, his fingers still inside me, keeping me open.
His hands leave me empty as he straightens, the absence of him between my thighs making me ache. And then he reaches for the hem of his shirt.
My breath catches as he pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric whispering against his skin. My gaze drags up his body, slow and hungry, like I'm memorizing every inch of him.
Paxton towers over me, all raw power and quiet dominance. His chest rises and falls in deep, controlled breaths, the muscles shifting beneath his skin like something alive. His pecs are defined, his nipples dark against his skin, and when he tosses the shirt aside, my gaze drops lower.
His abs are a work of art. Eight—no, ten—hard ridges, each one begging for my tongue.
I can't believe he's forty years old.
My fingers twitch against the sheets, itching to trace the hard lines of his abdomen, the deep grooves of his hips. He's really huge—not just because he's six-foot-nine, but broad, his shoulders so wide they block out the dim light from the hallway.
There's not an ounce of softness on him. His arms are corded with muscle, veins snaking beneath his skin, and his tattoos wrap around his biceps, his shoulders, his chest, dark ink swirling over hard flesh.
His beard is trimmed close, salt-and-pepper stubble shadowing his jaw, and when his lips part, I catch the glint of his teeth. His emerald eyes burn into me, dark and possessive, and he's looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
He's not just handsome. He's dangerous. The kind of man who could break me without even trying.
The air between us is thick, charged with something I can't name. Paxton's hands are on his belt, the leather whispering as he undoes the buckle. My pulse spikes, my thighs pressing together instinctively, like that'll somehow protect me from what's coming.
His pants hit the floor with a soft thud, and my breath stutters.
Oh.
Oh, god.
His cock is?—
I don't even have words. It's huge, thick and veined, the head flushed dark, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. My stomach flips, my fingers curling into the sheets.
There's no way. No way that's going to fit.
Paxton's gaze is locked on me, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling like he's barely holding himself together. "Can't wait anymore." His voice is rough, gravelly, like he's been swallowing glass. "I need to be inside you."
My throat goes dry. I should say something. Should tell him that I'm a virgin. But the words die on my tongue when his hand wraps around his shaft, stroking himself slow and deliberate. A whimper escapes me, my hips shifting restlessly against the bed.
"Is that even going to fit?" I blurt.
His eyes darken. "Wait." His hand stills. "Is this your first time?"
The question hangs between us, heavy and unavoidable. My face burns, my fingers twisting in the sheets. I don't want to answer. Don't want to admit how inexperienced I am. But the way he's looking at me, like he already knows, like he can see right through me, leaves no room for lies.
I swallow hard. Nod.
His expression softens, just for a second, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock. "Fuck." The word is a growl, low and possessive. "Don't worry. I'm going to be gentle with you, Paige. I'll make you feel good."
My heart hammers against my ribs. Gentle. Like that's even possible with something that size.
He doesn't give me time to overthink it. His hands are on my thighs, spreading me open, his fingers sliding through my wetness . A shiver runs down my spine, my breath hitching as he lines himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
"Breathe." His voice is rough, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "You need to relax. I'll make sure you take every inch."
I whimper, my nails digging into the sheets as he pushes forward, just the tip, just enough to make my body resist. It burns, a sharp, stinging pressure, my muscles clenching around him.
"Relax." His thumb finds my clit, circling slow and firm, and my back arches, a broken gasp tearing from my lips. "That's it. Let me in."
The pleasure distracts me, my body melting just enough for him to slide deeper. Another inch. Then another. The stretch is unreal, my walls clenching around him, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Fuck, you're tight." His voice is strained, his jaw clenched. "So fucking tight, Paige."
I can't speak. Can't do anything but whimper as he bottoms out, his hips flush against mine, his cock buried to the hilt. The pressure is overwhelming, my body stretched to its limit, but beneath the burn, there's something else. Something good.
"Move," I beg, my voice barely a whisper. "Please, Paxton, move."
He groans, his hips pulling back slow, dragging against every sensitive nerve before slamming back in. The sensation is too much, my body lighting up, my toes curling.
He does it again. And again. Each thrust deeper, harder, his thumb never stopping its relentless circles on my clit.
"Look at you." His voice is rough, his gaze locked on where we're joined. "Taking my cock so well."
My face flames, but the words send a jolt of heat straight to my core. I can feel it building, the pressure coiling tight in my stomach, my thighs trembling. His thrusts pick up speed, his hips snapping against mine, his cock hitting something deep inside me that makes my vision blur.
"Paxton…" My voice breaks, my body tightening around him. "It feels like I'm going to burst."
"Go." His thumb presses harder, his rhythm never faltering. "Come for me, Paige. Let me feel you."
The words push me over the edge. My back arches, a broken cry spilling from my lips as the orgasm crashes over me, my body locking around his cock, my walls milking him.
He groans, his thrusts turning erratic, his hips slamming against mine as he buries himself deep and comes with a growl, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with thick, hot ropes of cum.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, my body trembling, my skin slick with sweat. Paxton collapses on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his cock still buried inside me. His lips find my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
"Mine," he murmurs, his voice rough. "All fucking mine."
I linger outside the dining room longer than I should. The doorframe digs into my shoulder as I lean against it, fingers curling into the soft knit of my oversized sweater.
Every time I blink, the memory slams back—his hands, his voice, the way his breath hit my skin like a promise.
My pulse thrums in my throat, too loud, too insistent, and I know if I step inside, there's no going back to the way things were before.
Before I can chicken out, I push off the wood, smooth my sweater, taking a steadying. The hinges creak, the sound swallowed by the cavernous space, but Paxton's head snaps up like he's been waiting for it. His emerald eyes lock onto mine, sharp and unreadable, and my stomach flips.
He's already seated at the long oak table, a mug of black coffee in one hand while the morning paper lies folded beside his plate.