Resisting My Hot Stepfather

The tires crunched against the gravel driveway, the sound echoing across the massive, empty courtyard. I stepped out of the black town car before the driver could open my door. The mansion loomed in front of me, a fortress of steel and glass cut into the hillside. It looked more like a corporate headquarters than a home.

My mother was dead.

The thought still felt jagged, catching in my throat every time I breathed. She was gone, and this cold, imposing estate was all that remained of her life with Sebastian Rex Wolfe. I gripped the strap of my duffel bag until my knuckles turned white. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to live in his house, but the lawyers made the arrangement clear. I was twenty-one, but Sebastian held the keys to everything my mother left behind.

I walked up the stone steps. The front doors parted. A quiet housekeeper nodded, taking my coat, but I ignored the gesture and kept my bag slung over my shoulder.

I wore an oversized gray cashmere sweater that fell past my hips and a short, black pleated skirt. The wool of the skirt brushed against my bare thighs. I didn't wear panties. I rarely did. It was a simple habit, a mundane preference I formed years ago for comfort, meaning nothing at all. Yet, walking into Sebastian's domain, the draft of the massive foyer made the bare skin beneath the fabric feel stark.

"You took your time."

His voice cut through the silence. I stopped.

Sebastian stood at the top of the grand staircase. He descended the steps, every movement measured, controlled, and heavy with authority. He wore a tailored charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. No tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. He was thirty-five, fourteen years older than me, and he owned every room he stood in.

He stopped on the bottom step, looming over me. His dark gray eyes locked onto mine. There was no warmth in them. No shared grief. Just cold, calculating assessment.

"Traffic," I lied, keeping my voice level.

"The driver reported you stopped at a diner for an hour," he corrected. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, then down to my clothes.

I stood my ground under his stare. I shifted my weight to my right leg. The movement caused the pleats of my skirt to part slightly. The fabric draped flush against my skin.

Sebastian's eyes tracked the movement. A muscle feathered along his sharp jawline. He knew.

"Leave the bag," he ordered.

I frowned, my grip tightening on the canvas strap. "What?"

"Leave the bag by the door. We are leaving."

"I just got here."

"And now we are leaving." He turned, walking toward the heavy doors of his private study. "I have a dinner meeting in thirty minutes. You are coming with me."

"I'm not dressed for a dinner meeting."

He stopped. He looked over his shoulder. The intensity in his dark eyes pinned me to the marble floor. "You dressed exactly how you wanted to dress, Ramona. Come."

He didn't give me time to argue. He didn't offer a choice.

I dropped the bag. I followed him outside. A different car waited for us now. A sleek, black Maybach with tinted windows. The driver opened the back door. Sebastian slid in first. I followed, sinking into the plush leather seat beside him. The space was too small for him. His broad frame took up too much oxygen. The privacy partition went up, separating us from the driver.

The silence in the car pressed against my ears. I looked out the window. The trees blurred past as we sped toward the city center.

"Who are we meeting?" I asked, needing to break the quiet.

"Associates."

"That means nothing."

He turned his head. His knee brushed against mine. The contact sent a sharp spike of heat straight up my spine. He didn't pull away.

"It means they are men who do not accept failure, and they do not tolerate disrespect," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "They will look at you. They will try to find a crack in my composure by testing yours."

"Why bring me, then?"

"Because keeping you locked in a bedroom teaches you nothing about the world your mother married into." His gaze drifted down to my lap, then back up to my face. "And because you need to understand that choices have consequences."

My throat went dry. He was calling my bluff. I walked into his house wearing a short skirt and nothing underneath, and instead of hiding me away, he was throwing me into the deep end. He was going to put me in a room full of cutthroat men, knowing exactly how exposed I was under my clothes.

The tension between us thickened. I crossed my legs, trying to maintain a relaxed posture, but the slide of my bare skin against the leather seat was a glaring reminder of my own vulnerability. Sebastian tracked the movement again. He didn't say a word, but the slight narrowing of his eyes told me everything. He was in complete control.