Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Lila
The next few days settled into a rhythm that felt both familiar and dangerously charged.
Marcus wasn’t avoiding me, not deliberately, anyway. The job site had hit a snag with a commercial build downtown with a tight deadline, weather delays, and a crew short two men after one quit and another got hurt.
He left before dawn most mornings, came home long after dark, and was exhausted. He’d crash on the couch so he wouldn’t wake me climbing the stairs, showered downstairs, and be gone again before I stirred.
It wasn’t rejection. It was work. It still sucked.
The space it created between us only sharpened the tension.
I spent my days packing and going room by room, boxing memories I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep. Mom’s old recipe cards, photo albums from holidays I barely remembered, the chipped ceramic mug Marcus used to drink coffee from every morning when he was still married to her.
Every creak of the floorboards made me look toward the door, half-expecting him to walk in early. He never did.
I needed air and noise that wasn’t the echo of my own thoughts.
So on Friday afternoon, I texted Sarah and Kiara. I hadn’t seen my former high-school friends in forever, but I knew they were still local. I suggested drinks at Fried Pickles. They responded instantly with emojis and plans to meet at seven.
I left Marcus a note on the counter letting him know I’d be out late with a couple friends and not to wait up.
The bar was a town favorite and smelled like spilled beer and fryer oil. The jukebox still took quarters, and Sarah and Kiara were already at a high-top in the back, waving me over like I’d been gone for decades instead of a few years.
“Lilaaaa!” Sarah pulled me into a hug that smelled like vanilla and tequila. “You’re finally back.”
“Still in transition,” I laughed, sliding onto the stool. “Helping pack boxes and trying not to lose my mind.”
Kiara leaned forward, eyes glinting. “And still living with the hottest stepdad in the history of stepdads?”
My stomach flipped. “Kiara.”
“What?” she grinned, unrepentant. “I’m just saying. Marcus is stupid hot. Always was. Remember senior year when he picked you up from that party in that black T-shirt looking all pissed and growly? I swear the entire porch forgot how to breathe.”
Sarah snorted into her drink. “She’s not wrong. The man is built like a tank and looks like he could bench-press a truck. Are you sure you’re not tempted to… accidentally trip into his lap while he’s fixing something?”
I forced a laugh that felt thin. “You two are ridiculous. That’s weird.”
Kiara wagged her eyebrows. “I know you don’t care about the divorce.”
She wasn’t wrong. These were the two I confided in after I found out. I was all for people not being with someone they weren’t happy with. And that went for my mom and Marcus.
But I didn’t know all the details until Marcus told me.
Coming back home felt bittersweet.
They kept going, joking about his forearms, and that low, gravelly voice that used to make us all freeze when he told us to quiet down at sleepovers. Every word landed like gasoline on embers.
They had no idea the man they were drooling over had already had his fingers in my pussy and made me come until I could walk.
The truth sat heavy in my chest. It was hot and conflicted, but most of all… intoxicating.
After spending hours with my friends, I finally got home around eleven.
The house was dark except for the kitchen light.
Marcus was at the counter, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing grease from his forearms in the sink.
He looked up when I walked in, his eyes tired, but they softened for half a second when they landed on me.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Hey.” His voice was rough from the day. “Have fun?”
“Yeah. Sarah and Kiara say hi.”
He gave a quick nod, shut off the water, and dried his hands. “They still talk too much?”
I laughed under my breath. “They were joking about you again.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Oh, yeah?”
“They still think you’re ridiculously hot.” I tried to keep it casual. “Kiara said you could bench-press a Buick.”
He snorted, almost amused. “They haven’t changed.”
“Apparently not.” I watched him. He was careful and guarded but not distant. Just tired.
I stepped closer, leaning against the island. “Long day?”
“Long week.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Site’s a mess. Deadline’s tight. Crew’s short. You know how it goes.”
“I do.” I reached out, fingertips brushing his wrist. “You’re exhausted. I can make you something. You hungry?”
He didn’t pull away. Just watched my hand on his skin. “I’m good, sweetheart. Bought takeout for the guys and ate on-site. But yeah, I’m beat.”
I slid my palm up his forearm, my movements slow as I felt the corded muscle from years of work. “You don’t have to crash on the couch tonight.”
His breath caught. “Lila.”
I stepped into his space, close enough that my breasts brushed his chest. “I want you to sleep in your bed. With me.”
He exhaled sharply. “We said—”
“We said a lot of things.” I rose on my toes, lips grazing his jaw. “But I’m dying here. I need you.”
A low growl rumbled in his throat. His hand shot out, cupping the back of my neck, thumb pressing against my pulse. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t hesitate as he lifted me onto the island in one smooth motion, spread my thighs with his hips, and kissed me. The kiss was claiming and possessive.
I moaned into his mouth, fingers diving into his hair, tugging him closer.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “On your knees.”
My heart raced at his gruff demand. I slid off the counter, sank down slowly, knees hitting the tile. He unbuckled his belt with those big man hands and shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down. His cock sprang free, so big and thick, veined, and already beading at the tip.
“Look at you,” he rasped. “On your knees for me. Open wide.”
I did, and he instantly guided his head past my lips, groaning as my tongue swirled around him, tasting and sucking on all that salty pre-cum. I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, sucking hard. His hand gripped the back of my head, holding it still, hips rocking in shallow thrusts.
“Fuck—good girl,” he growled. “Take it all. Let me fuck that sweet mouth.”
I moaned around him, the vibration making him curse. My hands gripped his thighs, nails digging in as he picked up speed. He was careful not to choke me but rough enough that tears pricked my eyes. Saliva dripped down my chin, and he smeared it across my lips with his thumb.
“Such a filthy little thing,” he muttered. “Sucking my cock in the kitchen where anyone could walk in. You love how wrong this is, don’t you?”
I nodded frantically, humming yes. My pussy throbbed, soaked and aching. I reached between my legs, desperate, but he growled, stopping me.
“No,” he snapped. “Hands on me. You don’t touch yourself tonight. You get to taste how hard you make me then go to bed dripping.”
I whimpered and obeyed, moving my hands back up his thighs, and cupping his heavy balls. I rolled them gently while I sucked him. He groaned, hips stuttering as he shoved in deeper until I gagged.
“Fuck… so close,” he warned. “Gonna come down your throat. Swallow every fucking drop, baby.”
I hollowed my cheeks, tongue working the underside of his cock. He thrust once, twice, and then buried himself deep, growling my name as he came. Hot, thick spurts coated my tongue. I swallowed greedily, milking him until he shuddered and pulled out with a wet pop.
He hauled me up, kissed me passionately, and tasted himself on my lips and tongue. He rested his forehead against mine, breathing ragged.
“Goddamn, Lila,” he said hoarsely. “I need a minute.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, legs trembling. “Come to bed with me.”
He pressed a hard kiss to my forehead.
“We have to stop fighting this.”
His gaze became hooded, and a small smirk covered his lips. “Okay, baby.”
My body was buzzing, mouth still tasting him, pussy aching and empty as he headed to his room.
“Not tonight, though. Tonight, I just want to hold you. Is that okay?”
The tease, control, and the forbidden promise were almost as good as having him inside me. “More than okay.”
And it was… for tonight.