SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER novel Chapter 6

The studio lights were merciless. They turned Sarah’s skin to warm gold and made every bead of sweat on her collarbone glisten like a jewel. Cassian moved around her in slow, predatory circles, camera clicking in short, controlled bursts. Each flash froze her in a different stage of surrender: wrists crossed above her head, crimson rope looped in perfect diamonds across her ribs, back arched so sharply I thought her spine might snap.

“Open your knees wider,” he said, voice low and steady. “Let me see how much you want this.”

Sarah obeyed instantly, thighs parting, breath hitching on a soft moan that echoed off the black walls. The rope framed her like a gift. She looked ruined and radiant at the same time.

I stood three feet away holding a silver reflector, arms aching, cheeks burning so hot I was sure the heat would melt the foil. Every order he gave her slid under my skin and twisted.

Look at me, Sarah.

Good girl.

Hold it right there—don’t move until I say.

That’s it, breathe for me.

I had watched p**n before (quietly, guiltily, on my laptop with headphones), but this was different. This was live. This was real breath and real goosebumps and the real scent of arousal thick in the air. And I was part of the production: adjusting a light here, handing him a longer rope there, wiping condensation off a lens when he asked. My hands shook every time our fingers brushed.

I hated that my body was reacting. Hated the slick throb between my legs, the way my nipples tightened against my bra, the way I had to press my thighs together when he murmured perfect right before the shutter snapped.

Sarah was lost in it, eyes glassy, lips parted, trembling on the edge he refused to let her fall over. Cassian crouched low, camera angled up between her legs, and said, almost tenderly, “You’re dripping for me, sweetheart. The lens can see everything.”

She whimpered.

I nearly dropped the reflector.

Cassian’s head turned a fraction. He didn’t stop shooting, but I felt the weight of his attention shift to me like a physical touch. He saw the flush on my neck, the way I couldn’t stand still, the way my chest rose too fast.

“Break,” he said suddenly, lowering the camera.

Sarah let out a frustrated little whine, but he was already on his feet, tossing a black silk robe toward her. She caught it, pouting, and slipped it on without bothering to tie the belt. The fabric gaped open, revealing everything the ropes had framed minutes ago.

Cassian crossed the studio in four long strides and stopped in front of me. Too close. His chest nearly brushed mine. The heat rolling off him carried the faint scent of darkroom chemicals and warm skin.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly, so only I could hear. “Talk to me.”

I stared at the center of his throat because I couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” His voice dropped even lower. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Everything. Nothing. The way you say good girl like it’s a drug. The way she looks at you like you’re a god. The way my body is screaming for something I swore I’d never want from you.

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