Claimed by Her Boyfriend's Father

1. 1

I pressed against the bathroom door, listening. The cabin was quiet. When I was sure Victor had gone, I stepped out into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.

For a moment, I just stood there, clutching the towel around my body and staring at the rumpled bed. Less than an hour. That was all it had been since I'd woken up beside Brandon, eaten breakfast with him, and gone upstairs to take a shower.

Then Victor had followed me.

I could still feel his hands on my hips.

I could still remember the shock of him pushing inside me, stretching my pussy around his beautiful monster of a cock.

My body hadn't forgotten either. There was a lingering ache between my legs, a deep soreness that made everything that had happened in the shower impossible to dismiss as some terrible lapse in judgment.

I had fucked my boyfriend's father.

I sighed and let the towel drop. Cool air swept over my damp skin, making me shiver, but my nipples were already hard. They felt raw, the sensitive skin still tingling from Victor's hands and mouth. I looked down at myself, half expecting to somehow look different.

There were faint marks along my hips where Victor's fingers had dug into me, and another soft purple blotch beginning to form on my ass.

My stomach tightened. Would Brandon notice?

Of course he would. He knew my body. He'd seen me naked hundreds of times.

All he had to do was look at me and ask where those bruises came from, and what was I supposed to tell him?

I was still staring at them when the bedroom door opened.

I yelped, snatching the towel from the floor and holding the small scrap of terry cloth in front of me. For one insane second, I was sure Victor had come back for another round.

Then I saw Brandon standing in the doorway with a wide grin on his face.

"So how was the shower?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. "It was good." My voice came out steadier than I felt.

Brandon stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The click of the lock made my stomach flutter.

"You were in there a while."

"I needed to get clean." I forced a smile and moved toward my suitcase, suddenly desperate to put clothes between us. "I felt really gross after the long drive and..."

fucking your dad

"...the water pressure was better than I expected."

I reached for a pair of shorts, but Brandon caught my wrist before I could pick them up. His fingers closed gently around me, stopping me, and when I looked back at him, there was something in his expression that made me turn fully toward him.

"Wait."

His smile had changed, softened into one I knew immediately. Warmth spread through my chest. Normally, that smile would have been enough to make me smile right back and let him pull me into his arms without thinking.

Except the warmth tangled with the ache between my legs and the lingering heat in my core. Even standing there in front of the man I loved, I could feel the slickness between my thighs, a humiliating reminder that my body was still aroused from what his father had done to me.

"Brandon..."

"What?" He moved closer. "We finally have some privacy."

His hand settled on my thigh, his palm warm against my skin as it slid upward.

I sucked in a breath when his fingertips disappeared beneath the towel and brushed the sensitive skin high on my inner thigh.

My first instinct was to stop him. Not because I didn't love him.

Because I did, and less than an hour ago I'd been in that bathroom with his father.

I should have pulled away. I should have gotten dressed and suggested we go downstairs. Instead, I shivered as Brandon's hand moved higher. Maybe this was exactly what I needed.

Last night had been a disaster. We'd both been tired, he'd been drinking, and things hadn't gone the way either of us wanted.

This could be different. It had to be different.

I needed something normal again, something that belonged to Brandon and me, untouched by everything that had happened since we'd arrived.

I turned toward him and kissed him. Brandon seemed surprised, but only for a second.

Then his arms went around me, and he kissed me back with an eagerness that almost made me laugh.

There he was. My Brandon. Sweet, familiar, safe.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and tried to lose myself in that feeling.

His mouth moved against mine, tentative at first, then more confidently when I didn't pull away. One hand slid over my back while the other moved beneath the towel and cupped my ass. I flinched when his palm pressed against one of the bruises.

Brandon immediately stopped. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You jumped."

"I'm just sore." The words were out before I could stop them.

His eyebrows lifted. "From what?"

Panic flashed through me. "The drive. Sitting in the car all day yesterday. My back is killing me."

"Oh."

He accepted it without another thought, and somehow that made me feel worse.

I kissed him again before he could ask anything else, pressing myself against him, and the towel slipped between us and fell to the floor.

Brandon looked down, and for one terrible moment, I thought he saw the bruises.

Instead, his expression changed into something boyishly pleased as his gaze traveled slowly over me.

"Jesus, Zoe."

I laughed softly, suddenly self-conscious beneath his stare. "What?"

"Nothing. You're just..."

His eyes lingered on my breasts, and I felt my nipples tighten even more beneath his attention.

They were already swollen and sensitive, and when Brandon brushed his thumb over one, the little jolt of pleasure was sharp enough to make me catch my breath.

His smile widened. I knew exactly what he saw.

The same body he'd seen dozens of times before.

The same firm breasts, the same flare of my hips.

He couldn't know why my nipples were already so hard or why I was so wet my juices were dripping down my thighs.

I pushed the thoughts away and pulled Brandon's shirt over his head.

He shifted slightly, laughing, and suddenly I was laughing with him.

We fell onto the bed together, and Brandon kissed my neck while I ran my fingers through his hair.

His hand covered my breast, gently squeezing before his thumb passed over my nipple again.

The tenderness made the raw skin sting, but underneath it was pleasure, and my body answered despite everything.

I was wet and aching from Victor, but instead of cooling the heat he'd left behind, Brandon's familiar touch only made me want more.

I reached down to touch him and found him hard. My eyes followed my hand. For the first time since the shower, I really looked at my boyfriend.

Brandon was familiar, the body I knew and loved, and seeing him hard for me sent a warm little thrill through my chest. But before I could stop myself, my mind supplied the comparison.

Victor. The difference between them was impossible to ignore.

Brandon's thin shaft fit inside me like he'd been made for me, while Victor's thick, heavy cock had stretched me to the point of tearing, forcing my body open around him until I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have Brandon inside me.

The memory came back with uncomfortable clarity: the weight of Victor against me, how overwhelmed I'd felt when I'd first seen him, how completely he'd filled me until I'd barely been able to think about anything else. Brandon was familiar, manageable, the comfortable fit I knew by heart.

Victor was… so much more.

I shut my eyes. I didn't want to compare them. This was Brandon. I loved Brandon.

I wrapped my fingers around his hot shaft and looked into his face instead, focusing on Brandon rather than his father.

I twisted my hand the way he liked, and his eyes closed as a groan escaped him.

His cock twitched against my palm, his hips bucking into my hand as I stroked him, and the familiar response sent a little spark of satisfaction through me.

I knew this rhythm, knew exactly how to get him hot.

This was good. This was how it should be.

When he was fully hard, he reached toward the nightstand. I knew what he was looking for before he opened the drawer, and I watched as he tore open the condom wrapper and rolled it down his shaft. Immediately, I thought of Victor.

He hadn't worn one. There had been nothing between us, nothing separating his flesh from mine, and the memory of his raw heat brought another pulse between my legs. I pressed my thighs together for a moment, trying to ignore the wetness already coating them.

Stop, I told myself.

Brandon climbed over me and settled between my thighs, his body fitting against mine with the ease of something we'd done a hundred times before.

I opened my legs for him, and his gaze dropped between them before returning to my face.

Heat rushed into my cheeks. I wondered if he could see how wet I already was, the slickness shining between my swollen lips, or if he could feel it when the head of his cock brushed against me.

Of course he would think it was for him. I wanted it to be for him.

He kissed me as he pushed inside, and I immediately hissed against his mouth. Despite how wet I was, the bump of his cock against my swollen lips burned.

Brandon froze. "Zoe? You okay?"

My pussy was still tender and sore from Victor's cock. I bit my lip and nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure?" He started to pull back. "We could stop—"

"No." I locked my legs around him and pulled him closer. "Don't stop. I'm just sore. Go slow."

His worried expression lingered for another second before he nodded and eased forward again. I breathed through the discomfort, feeling every inch of him as he slid deeper. My body opened easily enough for him, slick and receptive, but each slow push rubbed against places Victor had bruised.