TEACH ME, DADDY: CORRUPTED BY MY STEPFATHER

CHAPTER 2: DADDY’S DIRTY SECRET

WILLOW’S POV

I was supposed to be asleep, my college textbook open and forgotten on my bed. But I was pressed against the wall, my ear to the cool plaster, my breath coming in shallow, hungry pants.

Then I heard his voice.

“f**k. f**k, take it. Take every f*****g inch.”

My stepdad, Nikolai.

His voice was a low, animalistic growl that shot straight to my c**t, a vibration that made my p***y lips swell, and my hips buck.

He was alone in there.

I knew that because he and my mother hadn’t f****d in months.

I had been listening every single night since spring, and there had been nothing. They lived in the same house and slept in the same bed, but they functioned more like polite roommates than anything else.

And tonight, for the first time, something was finally happening.

My hand slipped under the waistband of my soaked sleeping shorts, my fingers finding my c**t, already throbbing and slick. A reaction Jake’s fumbling fingers could only dream of.

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Take it.” His voice was tortured, lower and deeper than I’d ever heard it in daylight, muttered just loud enough for the wall to catch. “f**k. f**k, just like that. Christ.”

Who was he thinking of? Mum?

I bit down on my own lip to kill the sound that wanted out of me. He wasn’t saying a name. Not my mother’s, not a new woman’s, not anyone’s.

Whoever he was thinking of was a mystery, and my brain was frantically trying to fill it in with myself.

I closed my eyes and let my body do it for me.

I had seen his c**k once.

Three months ago, on laundry day, the master suite door cracked open just two inches because he thought the house was empty. I was walking past with the laundry basket balanced on my hip when I glanced inside and froze.

He stood half-turned away, sliding a fresh pair of black boxer briefs up his powerful thighs.

For two stolen, heart-stopping seconds, I saw everything — that thick, veined c**k attached to a body carved from granite, every muscle cut and defined from years of military drills.

His broad back flexed, tight abs rippling as he moved, the deep V of his hips pointing straight down to the heavy length swinging between them.

Already half-hard, it curved upward toward his stomach, flushed and glistening at the tip with a bead of precum that made my thighs clench instantly.

It was terrifying. It was beautiful. It was the kind of c**k that instantly told you this man was not made like gentle college boys or for innocent little girls.

I slipped into the laundry room, shut the door behind me, and bit down hard on the back of my hand until the sting forced me to breathe again.

I stayed there for ten full minutes, thighs pressed together, panties soaked, trying to forget what I had just seen… And failing completely.

And now, with the dirty sounds of him stroking that exact c**k bleeding through the wall into my bedroom, I didn’t have to imagine anymore.

I could picture it so clearly— his big, rough hand wrapped tight around that thick, veined length, pumping with relentless greedy, while every filthy word he growled in the dark was whispered hot against my mouth.

Those same strong hands that used to pat my head and call me sweet girl were fisting his c**k instead.

Those hands should have been on me — digging into my hips, bruising my soft flesh, spreading me open.

That thick, powerful c**k should have been stretching my tight little hole wide, filling me deep and proving to boys like Jake that I wasn’t frigid or broken.

I was just starving for a real man. A dominant man like my stepfather, to ruin his sweet little girl, in the wrongest, more taboo way possible.

“Please,” I whimpered into the dark, my fingers circling faster, my hips grinding against my own hand. “Please, Daddy. f**k me. Just once. I’ll be so good for you.”

“Jesus,” came through the wall, and then a long, low, shuddering groan that I would replay in my head for the next year of my life. “f**k, I’m gonna — f**k, baby, I’m—”

I came with a choked-off cry, my thighs trembling, my p***y clenching around nothing, the emptiness a physical ache.

A heartbeat later, I heard him finish on the other side of the wall, a ragged, wrecked sound bitten back behind his teeth.

I licked my fingers clean, the taste of my own desperation delicious on my tongue. No one must know Willow Calloway, future valedictorian and current VP, comes to the thought of her mother’s husbamd.

I hated myself for it. I hated her for having him.

But most of all, I hated that he only saw me as a child even though I was nineteen.

He was forty-five. A former Marine with shoulders so broad they blocked the light and big, rough hands that could span my entire waist. His face was all sharp jaw and dark, intense eyes that pinned me in place.

Yet he still treated me like I was made of glass— his wife’s precious, virginal daughter.

He patted my head, called me “sweet girl,” and bought me ice cream like I hadn’t grown up at all.

He had no idea how my body ached for him. How my n*****s tightened the second he walked into a room.

Didn’t he see me? Didn’t he hear the way my breath caught when he chuckles, that deep, rough sound that made my stomach flip?

Didn’t he notice how my body had changed? I had curves now — fuller hips than my mother ever had, a D-cup that turned heads, and a waist so small it made those curves look even more dramatic.

Didn’t he see that his little Willow wasn’t so little anymore?

No. Because I was good. I was innocent. I was the daughter he never had, the little girl he’d sworn to protect.

No boy at college had ever made me feel anything close to what he could do without trying. Not even Jake. The humiliating truth was that my body only came alive for one man — the one man I was never supposed to want.

Right now Mom was out shopping for her girls’ trip essentials. In 24 hours she’d be gone, leaving me completely alone with Nikolai for exactly seventy-two hours.

That was when the desperate thought took root.

I had three days to convince my stepfather to teach his innocent little girl how to be a woman. To be the first man to ever touch me.

To find out, finally, if my body had just been waiting this whole time for him.