SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER novel Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Dinner came and went, and I never left the room.

I sat on the window seat, knees pulled to my chest, staring out at the black lake and the snow that hadn’t stopped falling since I arrived. The house was quiet except for the occasional muffled laugh drifting up from downstairs (Marcus and Elena, probably sharing wine and replaying their favorite shots). I felt like a ghost haunting my own life.

My lips still felt swollen. My palm still stung from the slap. Every time I closed my eyes I tasted him, dark, angry, hungry, and I hated myself for the way my stomach flipped at the

memory.

The lock clicked. 1

I didn’t turn. I knew who it was before the door even opened.

Cassian stepped inside carrying a wooden tray: roast lamb, tiny potatoes glazed with rosemary, a single glass of red wine. The smell filled the room and my stomach growled traitorously. He closed the door with his foot and set the tray on the dresser.

I kept my face to the window.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast,” he said, voice calm, almost gentle. “Come eat.”

I didn’t move.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Slapping me was too much, Ivy.”

I whipped around, fury flaring fresh. “You kissed me! You had no right-”

“I had every right,” he cut in, stepping closer. “You’ve been trembling on the edge since the second you walked through my door. You touched yourself watching strangers fuck. You melted the moment my mouth was on yours. Don’t you dare pretend that slap was about anything but fear.”

“It was disgusting,” I spat, but the words cracked halfway out.

He kept coming until my back hit the window, cold glass against my shoulders, his body a wall of heat in front of me. He didn’t touch me yet, just caged me there with his presence, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of darkroom chemicals still clinging to his skin.

“Say it again,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Tell me my tongue in your mouth was disgusting.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

He lifted one hand, slow enough that I could have moved, and brushed the pad of his thumb across my lower lip, exactly where his own mouth had been hours ago.

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“You won’t forget this week,” he said softly. “You’ll forget the slap by tomorrow. You’ll forget half the photographs. But you will never forget how I taste. You’ll wake up ten years from now in some safe little bed with some safe little man and you’ll still feel me right here.”

His thumb pressed lightly, parting my lips. My breath stuttered.

His other hand settled on my waist, fingers spreading wide, claiming the curve of it through my sweater. I should have shoved him away. Instead my spine arched the tiniest fraction, pressing me into his palm.

“Feel it,” he whispered, sliding his hand up, slow and deliberate, until his thumb brushed the underside of my breast. My nipple tightened instantly, aching against the fabric. “Feel what happens to you when I touch you. Be honest for one goddamn second. No one will ever know how wet you get from this except me.”

His mouth lowered, not quite touching, just hovering a breath away.

“Tell me to stop, Ivy. Say the word and I walk out right now.”

My lips parted. Stop hovered on my tongue, but it wouldn’t come out.

Because he was right.

I was soaked. I was shaking. I was furious and terrified and so turned on I could barely stand.

His hand cupped my breast fully now, thumb circling the hard peak through cotton, sending lightning straight to my core. A helpless sound slipped from my throat.

“That’s it,” he breathed against my lips. “Good girl.”

Then he kissed me.

Not like in the bathroom. This was slow, deliberate, devastating. He licked into my mouth like he was memorizing me, like he’d waited years for the privilege. His tongue stroked mine, coaxed, claimed. I made a broken noise and kissed him back before I could stop myself, hands fisting in his sweater, pulling him closer even as tears burned the backs of my eyes.

He groaned into my mouth, the sound raw and male, and pressed me harder against the glass, thigh sliding between mine, giving me something to grind against without meaning to. The friction tore a moan from me that he swallowed whole.

When he finally pulled back we were both breathing like we’d run miles.

His forehead rested against mine, eyes closed, voice rough.

“Five more nights,” he whispered. “Five more nights and you can lie to the whole world. But you will never lie to me again.”

He stepped back, just enough to let cold air rush between us, and looked at me like he already owned every secret I had.

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Chapter 11

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“Eat your dinner, little girl,” he said, nodding toward the tray. “You’re going to need the strength.”

Then he walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

I slid down the window until I was sitting on the floor, lips tingling, body throbbing, heart splintering into a thousand pieces.

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