Chapter 4
Brandon's king-sized bed was perfectly made, untouched. But I could hear water running in the attached bathroom—he was in the shower. My eyes swept over the room, taking in the masculine décor, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. And there, tossed carelessly over a chair, was his t-shirt from earlier.
I picked it up with shaking hands and brought it to my face, inhaling deeply. His scent hit me like a drug—woodsy and masculine with a hint of sweat and something uniquely him. My knees went weak, and I sank down onto his bed, clutching the shirt to my chest.
This was insane. I was sitting on my stepfather's bed, huffing his clothes like some kind of pervert. But I couldn't stop myself. The shower was still running, which meant I had time, and the need between my thighs was becoming unbearable.
I lay back on his bed, his shirt pressed against my face as my other hand slid down my body. I was still wearing just my panties and an oversized t-shirt, and I pushed the fabric up to expose my breasts. My nipples were already hard, aching for attention.
I imagined it was Brandon's hands on me, Brandon's fingers pinching my nipples as his cock pushed deep inside me. The water shut off in the bathroom, and I knew I should leave, but the danger of almost getting caught only made me wetter.
My hand dipped into my panties, finding my clit swollen and sensitive. I bit down on Brandon's shirt to muffle my moans as I rubbed myself, my hips rolling against my hand. His scent surrounded me, intoxicating and forbidden, and I pretended I was lying in his arms, that he was whispering filthy things in my ear.
"Fuck," I breathed into the fabric, my orgasm building fast. "Brandon, please—"
I came hard, my pussy clenching rhythmically as pleasure exploded through me. But this time, as my release soaked my fingers, a wicked idea formed in my mind. Before I could second-guess myself, I pulled my hand from my panties and smeared my arousal across the chest of Brandon's shirt, marking it with my scent.
Let him find it tomorrow. Let him know what I'd done in his bed, how desperate I was for him. The thought of his reaction made me moan softly, my pussy clenching again with aftershocks.
I heard movement in the bathroom—the sound of a towel being hung up—and reality crashed back in. I scrambled off the bed, dropping his shirt back onto the chair exactly as I'd found it, and bolted from the room. My heart hammered as I raced back down the hallway and slipped into my own bedroom, closing the door as quietly as possible.
Safe in my room, I collapsed onto my bed, my whole body trembling. What had I just done? Brandon would know it was me. He'd smell my arousal on his shirt, would know I'd been in his room, touching myself in his bed. The thought should have terrified me, but instead, it made me impossibly aroused all over again.
I imagined his face when he discovered my little gift—would he be angry? Amused? Turned on? Would he punish me for being such a naughty puppy? The possibilities made me squirm with anticipation.
As I finally drifted off to sleep, one thought dominated my mind: tomorrow morning was going to be very interesting. And I couldn't fucking wait.
I woke up the next morning with my thighs sticky and my pussy throbbing with need. The dreams had been relentless—Brandon's hands on my body, his cock stretching me open, that commanding voice telling me what a good little puppy I was. I'd touched myself at least twice during the night, but nothing satisfied the hunger gnawing at my core.
I needed him inside me. Not his fingers. Not his words. His cock.
Sunlight streamed through my curtains, and I could hear movement downstairs—the clink of dishes, the gurgle of the coffee maker. Mom must be home. The thought should have made me feel guilty, but instead, a wicked idea took root in my mind.
I stripped off my sleep-rumpled t-shirt and panties, then walked naked to my closet. My fingers trailed over the hangers until I found it—a pale pink satin nightgown with thin spaghetti straps. The fabric was so sheer it left absolutely nothing to the imagination, clinging to every curve and barely covering my ass. I'd bought it months ago on a whim but never had the courage to wear it.
Until now.
I slipped it over my head, watching in the mirror as the material draped over my body like water. My nipples were clearly visible through the thin satin, already hard with anticipation. The hem hit mid-thigh, and when I bent over even slightly, it rode up to reveal the curve of my bare ass beneath.
Perfect.
I took a deep breath and headed downstairs, my heart hammering with every step. The cool air conditioning made my nipples peak even harder, and I felt dangerously exposed as I entered the kitchen.
Brandon stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with his back to me. He'd clearly showered—his dark hair was still damp, and he wore gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a fitted black t-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. Mom sat at the kitchen table in her scrubs, scrolling through her phone with a coffee mug in hand.
"Morning," I said softly, my voice deliberately husky from sleep.
Brandon turned around, and I watched his eyes go wide as they traveled down my body. The spatula in his hand clattered against the pan, and for just a moment, his carefully controlled expression cracked to reveal raw hunger. His gray eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he took in every inch of exposed skin.
