Claimed By My Stepdad

Chapter 2

Sophia Pov

The silence after my question hung heavy in the air, thick with the lingering scent of sweat and s*x. Ethan’s hand remained casually on Marcus’s thigh, his body still flushed and marked from their passionate encounter. He looked at me with that same gentle, almost pitying expression, as if I were the one who needed to be handled carefully.

“I do care about you, Sophia,” he said at last, his voice calm and measured. “But the kind of romantic love you want—the all-consuming passion, the desire—I’ve never felt that for you. Not the way I feel it with him.”

Marcus stayed quiet, his presence a silent affirmation. The sight of them together, so comfortable in their intimacy, sent fresh waves of pain crashing through me. I didn’t scream or throw accusations. I simply turned on my heel, grabbed the suitcase I had already half-packed in my mind, and walked out of the apartment that no longer felt like home.

The city lights blurred through my tears as I drove. My body felt hollow, yet beneath the heartbreak burned a restless, angry hunger—a need to be touched with the kind of raw intensity I had just witnessed. To be wanted. To be claimed.

I pulled into the parking garage of a sleek downtown hotel, the kind of place where no one asked questions. I checked in, changed into the slinky black dress I had bought for a honeymoon that would never happen, and made my way to the dimly lit bar. The expensive whiskey I ordered burned a path down my throat, warming the numbness inside me.

I was on my second glass when he appeared.

He slid onto the stool beside me with effortless authority. Mid-forties, powerfully built, with dark hair silvered at the temples and storm-gray eyes that seemed to see straight through my carefully constructed composure. His tailored charcoal suit accentuated broad shoulders and a trim waist. A faint scar along his strong jaw added a dangerous, magnetic edge.

“Rough night?” His voice was low, velvet-wrapped steel.

I laughed bitterly. “You could say that.”

He didn’t push. He simply ordered another round and listened as the whiskey loosened my tongue. I told him fragments of the betrayal—walking in on Ethan, the moans, the defense, the devastating question I had asked. His gaze never wavered, intense and focused entirely on me. When his knee brushed mine under the bar, I didn’t pull away. The contact sent sparks racing across my skin.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” he murmured after some time, his fingers lightly tracing my wrist. “Not tolerated. Not shared. Taken completely.”

His words ignited something deep inside me. The conversation grew charged, laced with innuendo and promise. Before long, his hand settled possessively on my lower back as he guided me toward the elevators. The ride up was silent, the air crackling with anticipation. When the doors closed, he backed me against the mirrored wall, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that obliterated every thought.

In the luxurious suite, he took his time. He peeled the black dress from my body with reverent hunger, his hands and mouth exploring every curve. He teased my n*****s until they ached, then dropped to his knees, spreading my thighs and devouring me with slow, masterful strokes of his tongue. I came hard against his mouth, fingers tangled in his hair, crying out in release.

He carried me to the bed, shedding his clothes to reveal a powerful, disciplined body. When he entered me, it was deep and controlled, filling me completely. We moved together in a building rhythm—his hands pinning my wrists, his voice growling commands and praises that made me wetter than I had ever been. Pleasure built slowly, intensely, until I shattered around him again and again.

Later, as we lay tangled in the sheets, the memory of Marcus’s calm face flashed through my mind. Rage surged. I sat up abruptly, fists clenched, imagining slapping that expression off his face. I raised my hand instinctively.

Damien caught my wrist in an iron grip. His eyes darkened. Without warning, his other hand connected with my cheek in a sharp, controlled slap that sent heat flooding through my body. I gasped. Before I could react, he slapped me again—twice in quick succession, the second firmer, leaving my skin tingling and my core throbbing with confused, traitorous need.

“Careful, princess,” he growled, pinning me beneath him once more. “That fire belongs to me now.”