Chapter 3

I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling as moonlight filtered through my curtains. My body still hummed with the aftershocks of what Brandon had done to me—his fingers buried deep inside me, his thumb circling my clit with practiced precision, that commanding voice calling me his puppy.

My hand drifted down between my thighs, finding myself wet all over again. God, I was soaked. The memory of his thick fingers stretching me open made my walls clench around nothing. I wondered if he was still in his study, still watching that porn, still stroking that magnificent cock.

Did he finish after he put me to bed? Or was he still hard, still aching, thinking about me the way I couldn't stop thinking about him?

I imagined him coming back to my room, pushing open the door with that predatory look in his gray eyes. In my fantasy, he didn't stop at his fingers. He spread my legs wide and positioned that thick cock at my entrance, making me beg before he finally thrust inside and claimed me completely.

"Please, Brandon," I whispered into the darkness, my fingers working frantically over my swollen clit. "I need you inside me. I need—"

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made me freeze.

Mom.

I yanked my hand away and sat up, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. Guilt crashed over me like a wave. What had I done? What had we done? Brandon was my stepfather, my mother's husband. This was so fucked up.

I crept to my bedroom door and opened it just a crack, pressing my ear to the gap. Downstairs, I heard the front door open and Mom's tired voice calling out.

"Brandon? Are you still up?"

"In the kitchen," came his reply, that deep rumble that made my pussy clench involuntarily.

I heard Mom's heels clicking across the hardwood floor, then the sound of her setting down her purse. Through the crack in my door, I could just barely make out their figures in the kitchen below.

"Long shift?" Brandon asked. His voice was perfectly normal, betraying nothing of what had happened less than an hour ago.

"Exhausting," Mom sighed. "Three emergency surgeries back to back. I'm dead on my feet." A pause. "Is Sara home? Her car's in the driveway, but she wasn't supposed to be back until later."

My breath caught. What would he tell her?

"She came home early," Brandon said smoothly. "Looked upset about something, but she didn't want to talk about it. I told her to get some rest."

The tenderness in his voice made my legs tremble. He was protecting me, covering for me, even after what we'd done. Even though we both knew I'd been watching him jerk off, that I'd come apart on his fingers while he called me his good little puppy.

"Oh no," Mom said, and I could hear genuine concern in her tone. "I should check on her."

"Let her sleep," Brandon said firmly. "If she wants to talk, she'll come to you in the morning. Right now, she needs space."

There was a long silence, and I imagined Mom nodding, too tired to argue. "You're right. Thank you for being here for her, Brandon. I know this blended family thing hasn't been easy, but you've been so good with her."

If only she knew how good he'd been with me.

"She's a great kid," Brandon replied, and I detected the slightest hint of something darker in his tone. "I'm happy to help however I can."

"I need to head back to the hospital," Mom said with a heavy sigh. "Dr. Patterson called—there's been a major accident on the highway. Multiple casualties. They need all hands on deck."

"You just got home," Brandon protested.

"I know, but I'm the only cardiothoracic surgeon available. I have to go." The sound of her gathering her things. "Don't wait up for me. This could take all night."

"Be safe," Brandon said.

I heard them exchange a brief kiss—the kind of perfunctory peck that spoke of routine rather than passion—and then Mom's heels clicked back toward the door. The engine started, and she was gone.

Silence fell over the house.

I stood frozen by my door, listening to Brandon move around downstairs. I heard the refrigerator open and close, the clink of a glass, then his heavy footsteps heading toward his bedroom. Not the study. Not back to finish what he'd started. Just straight to his room.

The master bedroom door clicked shut, and I waited, my heart racing. Minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Was he going to sleep? Was that it?

The house was completely quiet now except for the sound of my own breathing. I knew I should go back to bed, should try to sleep, should pretend tonight had never happened. But that dark hunger Brandon had awakened in me was still there, coiled tight in my belly and demanding to be fed.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I was padding down the hallway in my bare feet toward the master bedroom. My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob, and I held my breath as I turned it slowly, praying it wouldn't creak.

The room was empty.