2. Chloe
CHLOE
I wake slowly, sunlight streaming through my curtains. My body feels wrong—heavy and sore in places I've never felt before. Between my legs, an unfamiliar ache pulses with every shift of my hips.
Memory floods back. Last night. The video. Cade.
My hand moves under the sheets, touches between my thighs. Sticky. Sore. Evidence of what happened.
Heat rushes to my face even though I'm alone. "Oh god, last night actually happened."
I remember every moment. His mouth on me, tasting me while I slept. The sharp pain when he pushed inside. Then the pleasure that drowned everything else.
Sitting up carefully, I wince. The sheets have small blood stains near where I was lying.
Proof. Physical proof that I'm no longer a virgin.
"My stepbrother took my virginity while I was sleeping." I whisper it to the empty room, testing how it sounds. "That was my first kiss. My first everything."
Shame wars with satisfaction inside me. The wrongness of it should make me sick. Instead, warmth spreads through my chest.
I don't regret it. It felt too good, too right, even though it shouldn't.
Getting up slowly, I walk to my full-length mirror. My reflection shows what Cade left behind. Hickeys bloom across my breasts, dark purple marks of possession. Fingerprint bruises shadow my hips where he gripped me.
Evidence of his claim marked on my skin.
I trace them with my fingers, remembering how his hands felt. How his mouth felt. How his cock felt stretching me open for the first time.
My mind wanders to the circumstances that led here.
Our parents got married a year ago—Mom married Harold Merrick, Cade's father.
Suddenly I had a thirty-five-year-old stepbrother.
I moved into this house for summer break from Ashford University two weeks ago. Then Cade came home for the summer too.
The tension was immediate. Electric.
I've wanted him since I first saw him. Tall, muscular, tattooed, commanding. Everything I've fantasized about but never thought I could have.
But he kept his distance. Stayed polite. Called me "stepsister" with careful emphasis, like reminding himself to behave.
So last night, I made the first move. Sent that video hoping he'd finally act.
And he did. Oh god, he did.
I shower around ten, washing away the physical evidence. My pussy aches as I clean myself, tender and used. I remember his cum inside me, his possessive words branding my mind.
"You're mine now."
Shivers run through me despite the hot water.
I return to bed wrapped in a towel, too sore to get dressed yet. Scrolling through my phone, I can't focus on anything. Social media posts blur together meaninglessly. I replay last night over and over instead.
I hear my parents moving around downstairs. Voices float up through the floorboards. But I stay hidden in my room, too embarrassed to face anyone. Especially Cade.
Around eleven, my phone buzzes. Text from Mom: "Family lunch at 1 PM. Don't skip!"
I groan into my pillow. I have to go down eventually.
At twelve-thirty, I force myself to get dressed. I choose a sundress—lightweight and easy. No bra because my breasts are too sore from his mouth. Just cotton panties that won't irritate.
Taking a deep breath, I stare at my closed door. "Just act normal. They don't know anything."
I descend the stairs at twelve fifty-five. My heart pounds against my ribs. Voices drift from the dining room—parents already setting the table. Then Cade's deep voice joins them, and my palms start sweating.
I enter the dining room trying to appear normal.
Mom is arranging plates, cheerful and humming. Harold is opening a wine bottle. And Cade leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
His eyes lock on me immediately. Predatory. Knowing.
That look makes me flush from head to toe.
My mind catalogues everything about him as he watches me. Six-foot-five, impossibly tall compared to my five-foot-four frame. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscles everywhere. Black hair perfectly styled. Gray eyes that see right through me.
His sharp jawline is covered in a neatly trimmed beard. Tattoos peek from under his shirt sleeves—intricate patterns on his chest and arms that I want to trace with my fingers. He looks like a Greek god came to life. Mature, masculine, everything boys my age aren't.
The way he moves is confident, controlled, dominant. His hands are huge and rough, capable of anything. When he looks at me, I feel stripped bare.
Especially now that he's actually seen me bare.
Heat creeps up my neck at the thought.
"Afternoon, stepsister." His voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He emphasizes the word, teasing and intimate.
"Hi," I manage. My voice comes out higher than normal.
Mom beams. "There you are, honey! We were about to send a search party."
"Sorry, I... slept in."
Cade smirks. "Long night?"
I nearly choke on nothing.
Harold sets down the wine bottle. "Come sit, everyone. Lunch is ready."
The dining table is set formally. Four place settings around the polished wood. Harold sits at the head with Mom to his right. Cade sits across from me.
The meal looks delicious—homemade pasta, salad, breadsticks. But my stomach is in knots.
I sit carefully, still sore. Cade's eyes track the movement.
"Maybe take some online courses, relax mostly," I'm saying in response to Mom's question about my summer plans. I'm trying to focus on the conversation and not on Cade's intense stare.
Harold cuts into his pasta. "I have a business trip next week. Three days in Seattle. Doris is coming with me."
That realization hits me like lightning. Cade and I will be alone.
Our eyes meet across the table. The look is loaded with meaning.
"We'll manage fine on our own," Cade says. His tone carries a dark promise.
My stomach flips.
Midway through the meal, I feel something brush my ankle. I startle and look up.
Cade is completely calm. Eating his pasta, talking to his father about some renovation project. But his foot slides up my calf, deliberate and slow.
I shift in my seat, trying to focus on my food. My hands tremble slightly as I twirl pasta on my fork.
His foot reaches higher, pressing between my legs through my dress.
"Chloe, honey, you're flushed. Are you feeling okay?" Mom's concerned voice cuts through the haze.
"Just warm," I manage to say.
"I can open a window if you need air, stepsister." Cade's emphasis on the last word is wicked.
His foot presses harder against my inner thigh. I nearly gasp, covering it with a cough.
"Water, Chloe?" Harold offers.
I nod and drink, trying desperately to compose myself. My heart races. This is so wrong. Our parents are right there, oblivious, and my stepbrother is touching me under the table.
The wrongness makes it more exciting. We could get caught any second.
Cade's napkin "accidentally" falls. "Damn," he mutters, ducking under the table to retrieve it.
Mom and Harold continue their conversation about the Seattle trip, completely unaware.
I feel Cade's hand on my knee under the tablecloth. It slides up my thigh, pushing my sundress higher. I freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth.
His fingers trace the edge of my panties.
I bite my lip hard, trying not to react.
I can't breathe. I can't think. He's completely in control and I'm helpless, sitting here with my Cade's hand between my legs while our parents eat lunch three feet away.
I can't protest without revealing everything—without exposing what we did last night, what we're doing right now, the fact that I'm letting him touch me under the family table.
His confidence and control stand in sharp contrast to my inexperience and panic, creating an imbalance that leaves me drowning in sensation and fear.
He resurfaces with his napkin, expression perfectly innocent. "Found it."
Then, smoothly, he stands and moves his chair. "Mind if I sit here instead? Better angle to see the yard."
"Of course, honey," Mom says without looking up from her plate.
Harold nods absently, still focused on his food.
Cade settles into the chair directly beside me. Our arms brush. His scent—clean and masculine—surrounds me. Under the table, his hand returns immediately to my thigh, fingers pushing my panties aside without hesitation. No one can see. The tablecloth hides everything.
"Chloe, you've barely touched your pasta," Mom observes, glancing at my still-full plate.
"Not very hungry," I breathe, my voice barely steady.
Cade's fingers slip under my panties and find me wet. Slick. Ready. His smirk is subtle but unmistakable as he leans back in his chair, appearing completely relaxed. "Maybe she needs something else."
Harold laughs, completely misunderstanding. "Dessert is tiramisu."
Cade's finger circles my clit under the table. My hand grips my fork so hard my knuckles turn white. He maintains casual conversation with our parents while his finger works my clit expertly.
Then he inserts one finger inside my sore pussy.
I wince and gasp at the intrusion.
"Chloe?" Mom's voice sharpens with concern.
"Just bit my tongue." The lie burns. My face feels like it's on fire.
Cade adds a second finger and pumps slowly. His thumb circles my clit while his fingers curl inside me. I'm going to come. Right here at the family lunch table with our parents sitting inches away.
I can't stop it.
"Not here, not at the table with our parents," I think desperately. "Oh god, I can't, I'm going to?—"
Cade leans back in his chair, seemingly relaxed. But his hand moves faster under the table.
"You look tense, Chloe. Everything alright?"
The evil glint in his gray eyes nearly undoes me.
"Fine," I grit out between clenched teeth.
The orgasm crashes over me without warning. My pussy clenches around his fingers, spasming hard. I drop my fork with a clatter and grab the edge of the table. I bite my lip until I taste blood to stay quiet. My body shudders and I disguise it as shifting in my seat.
"Sorry, dropped my fork." My voice sounds strangled.
"I'll get you another." Harold stands and walks to the kitchen.
Mom is looking at her phone, distracted, texting someone.
Cade pulls his fingers out slowly. I watch in horror and arousal as he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean while staring at me.
He mouths: "Delicious, Chloe."
I nearly die of mortification and arousal combined.
Harold returns with a clean fork. I can barely function, still trembling from the orgasm.
"Are you sure you're feeling okay? You look flushed," Mom says again.
"I think I need to lie down. Still tired from yesterday."
"Of course, honey. Go rest."
I stand on shaky legs. Every movement reminds me of what just happened.
"I'll check on you later, stepsister. Make sure you're okay." Cade's statement is loaded, a dark promise wrapped in false concern.
I flee the dining room. Behind me, I hear our parents continue chatting, completely unaware of what just happened under their noses.
Back in my room around two, I collapse on my bed. "What is happening to me?"
Three days ago I was a virgin who'd never been kissed. Now my stepbrother is making me come at family lunch while our parents eat pasta two feet away.
I should feel guilty. Ashamed. Disgusted with myself.
Instead, I feel alive. Desired. Claimed.
"I want more," I whisper to the empty room. "I want him to do whatever he wants to me. Even though he's my stepbrother. Even though it's forbidden."
Maybe because it's forbidden.
I touch myself, still sensitive from his fingers. I remember his cock inside me last night. The stretch, the fullness, the possession.
I want that again. Need it. My body is still sore but already craving more.
Around three, there's a knock on my door.
"Come in," I call, expecting Mom.
Cade enters and closes the door behind him. The lock clicks deliberately.
"Parents went out. Shopping trip for Mom, golf for Dad." He stalks toward my bed where I'm lying. "We're alone."
He sits on the edge of my bed and puts his hand on my thigh. "You did so well at lunch, Chloe."
"That was mean," I protest weakly.
"You loved it." It's not a question. It's a statement of fact.
I can't deny it. I blush instead.
His hand slides higher on my thigh. "Still sore?"
"Yes."
"Good." The word carries dark satisfaction.
He kisses me, deep and possessive. I melt into it, my hands gripping his shirt.
He pulls back before it goes further. "Rest up. You'll need your energy."
He walks toward the door, but I call out before he reaches it. "Cade."
He turns, eyebrow raised.
I sit up and meet his eyes. My face burns but my voice is steady. "I want you to. Tonight. While I'm sleeping. I want you to... use me again. Do whatever you want to me."
His eyes darken, pupils dilating until the gray is almost black. "You sure, Chloe? Once I start, I won't stop."
"I'm sure. I want this."
"Even though we're siblings?"
"Stepsiblings," I correct, using his own argument. "You're my stepbrother. We're not blood related. Our parents only got married a year ago. That doesn't make us real siblings."
He grins, predatory and pleased. "No, it doesn't. But it's still our dirty little secret."
"Yes." I'm thrilled by the wrongness of it.
"Tonight then, stepsister. Sleep well."
He leaves with the promise hanging in the air.
My body still tingles from lunch. My pussy is still sore but already aching for more. I trace the hickeys on my breasts, remembering his mouth, his hands, his cock.
"He's going to use me while I sleep. I told him he could. I want him to."
I think about what to wear. "Something easy to remove," he said. I'm already planning—silk nightgown, nothing underneath. I want to make it easy for him. Want to be ready, accessible.
The wrongness makes it hotter. My stepbrother, sneaking into my room. Taking me while I sleep. Using my body.
And I'm giving him permission.
At five, my parents text that they'll be home soon. I wash my face and compose myself. I have to act normal for dinner.
But tonight... tonight I'll be his again.
I stand at my window, watching the driveway. My parents' car pulls up. Cade's truck is already there. He's somewhere in the house, waiting for tonight just like I am.
I touch my lips, remembering his kiss. Trace my neck where he marked me.
"Tonight," I whisper to the empty room.
The door will be unlocked. I'll be sleeping. And Cade will come take what I'm offering.
My body. My consent. Our secret.