SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER novel Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I was still floating in that hazy place between sleep and waking when the first touch came: warm, deliberate fingers sliding up the inside of my thigh. My eyes fluttered open in the dark and there he was.

Cassian.

Naked, moonlight cutting silver across the ridges of his shoulders and chest, eyes burning down at me like I was already his. He peeled the blanket away slowly, the cool air hitting my skin and making me shiver, then crawled over me, knees bracketing my hips, heavy and inevitable.

His mouth found my cheek first, soft, reverent kisses that turned hungry the second they reached my neck. Teeth scraped the tendon there, and I arched with a broken moan I didn’t recognize as mine. He moved lower, lips closing over one nipple through the thin cotton of my sleep shirt, tongue swirling until the fabric was soaked and I was writhing beneath him.

“Cassian,” I gasped, not sure if it was protest or prayer.

He answered by sliding a hand between my legs, cupping me through my panties, groaning when he felt how drenched I already was.

“So ready for me,” he whispered against my breast. “Always so ready.”

His fingers slipped beneath the lace, parting me, stroking once, twice, slow and filthy. My hips chased his hand shamelessly. When he pushed one thick finger inside, I cried out, back bowing off the mattress.

He added a second, curling them just right, thumb circling my clit until stars exploded behind my eyes. I was climbing so fast, embarrassingly fast, clutching at his shoulders, begging without words.

Then he pulled his hand away.

I whimpered at the loss, but he only shifted lower, dragging my panties down my thighs and tossing them aside. He spread my legs wide, settling between them like he belonged there, and looked up the length of my body with dark, possessive eyes.

“Hold still,” he ordered, voice rough.

The camera flash went off.

White light blinded me. The click of the shutter snapped me out of the haze like a bucket of ice

water.

My eyes

flew open

for real this time.

The room was empty.

Moonlight, not Cassian, spilled across the bed. The blanket was twisted around my legs, my

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Chapter 12

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shirt rucked up to my ribs, one hand still shoved desperately inside my soaked panties. My fingers were slick, trembling, moving without permission even as reality crashed in.

I yanked my hand away like I’d been burned and sat up, chest heaving, tears already stinging.

My first wet dream ever, and it was about him.

About my ex-stepfather’spreading me open and photographing me like all the others.

I looked at the clock: 2:47 a.m.

The house was silent, suffocatingly silent. I couldn’t stay in that bed another second with the ghost of his mouth still on my skin. I needed water, air, anything to wash the taste of shame out of my mouth.

I padded barefoot down the hall, hugging myself, the oversized T-shirt I’d slept in barely covering my thighs. The kitchen was dark except for the under-cabinet lights glowing soft gold. I was reaching for a glass when arms slid around my waist from behind.

I froze.

Cassian’s chest pressed against my back, warm and bare. His lips found the exact spot on my neck he’d kissed in the dream, open-mouthed, deliberate, tasting my pulse.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he murmured, voice gravel and midnight.

My knees nearly gave out. The glass slipped from my fingers and would have shattered if he hadn’t caught it with one hand and set it silently on the counter.

I tried to twist away. “Let go.”

My voice shook, but my body didn’t move. It leaned back into him, traitor that it was, soaking up the heat of his skin, the hard evidence of what holding me was doing to him pressing against the small of my back.

He didn’t let go.

His arms tightened, one hand splayed low on my stomach, the other sliding up to rest just beneath my breast. His thumb brushed the underside, slow, testing.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered against my ear “Tell me it’s from cold and I’ll let you go right now.”

I opened my mouth to lie.

Nothing came out.

Because I was on fire. My nipples were hard points against the cotton, my thighs slick again, every nerve screaming for the exact thing I’d just woken up gasping from.

His lips grazed the shell of my ear.

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“Tell me to stop, Ivy,” he said, echoing the words from earlier. “Say it and mean it.”

His hand drifted lower, fingers tracing the hem of my shirt, slipping beneath to brush bare skin. One more inch and he would feel exactly how wet the dream had left me.

I whimpered.

He stilled, waiting.

I couldn’t say stop.

I couldn’t say anything.

So I did the only thing my body would allow.

I turned in his arms and kissed him.

Hard. Desperate. Like I was drowning and he was the only air left in the world.

He groaned into my mouth, hands sliding down to grip my ass and lift me onto the cold marble counter. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, pulling him closer, and I felt him hard and hot against me through the thin barrier of his sweatpants.

His tongue stroked mine, filthy and slow, while his hips rolled once, dragging himself along the damp cotton between my legs.

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