Ruined By The Coby Twins

STEPDADDY WARNED ME 1

AMY'S POV

He'd warned me numerous times.

“Stay away from boys…”

“No boys in this house. Not while your mother is away and not when she is here either…”

“You're not ready for what boys want from you, Amy.”

Blah blah blah.

But did I listen?

No... Of course not.

You wouldn't have listened too. And you know it.

I heard him loud and clear every single time. Yet I ignored him each time because I was nineteen and I knew things he didn't…

And Connor from my Statistics class had the kind of curved d**k that made obeying overly strict stepdads IMPOSSIBLE.

Now, Connor's hands were currently gripping my headboard in my room..

I had my legs wrapped around his waist and my face buried in his neck and the sounds coming out of me were the kind I tried to swallow and kept failing to because Connor was crashing into my body.

His curved c**k filled me in deep thrusts that made me gag on my own saliva. My p***y walls gripped him super tight and my thighs were shaking. The whole room could have been collapsing and I wouldn't give a f*****g damn.

Connor's grip on the headboard tightened as he buried deeper into my dripping hole.

And everytime he pulled out, the curvature of his c**k dragged ruthlessly at my walls.

I arched up, off the mattress and dug my fingers into his sweaty back as the pleasure ripped through every fibre of my ruined being.

“Oh ye- yes, Connor,” I gasped as my walls felt the drag. “Just that spot, fucckkkk… please!”

He just grunted something low and primal from the back of his throat as his strokes sped up, signalling his orgasm.

Then…

The door flew open.

And the silence that followed was the loudest thing I had ever heard in my entire life.

Connor froze. I froze. Every single muscle in my body locked up. I felt Connor's c**k deflate almost immediately inside me.

I turned my head slowly toward the door the way you turned toward something you already knew was going to end you.

My stepdad filled the doorway.

Six foot three.

Broad in the shoulders… the way that made you want to slowly run your fingers all over the hard muscles while you soaked your panties.

His salt and pepper beard was trimmed into a stubble that highlighted a chiseled jawline that never failed to make me stare twice no matter how hard I tried.

He was in a tight, grey workout shirt. Massive arms crossed. Eyes moving from Connor to me and then latching on to me in an expression that made me burn up like a vampire under the sun.

Connor scrambled off me so fast the mattress bounced and he nearly fell. His limp d**k pulling shamefully out of me. And I kinda felt sad that he didn't eventually c*m.

But that was the least of my problems now.

My stepdad's eyes didn't move from me.

Not from Connor. From me.

"Get out," he said quietly… to Connor.

Connor got out. I heard him collect his clothes from the floor and not stop moving until the front door downstairs banged behind him… he even forgot his boxers.

My stepdad stepped into the room.

I sat up and pulled my sheet around myself and opened my mouth and closed it again because every sentence I tried to form evaporated before it reached my lips.

His gaze intensified on me. On my bare chest. On the sheets I grabbed too late. On the flushed state of my skin… and the slick air that clung to me from what happened thirty seconds ago.

"Dad, I can explain…"

"Don't." He picked my discarded dress up off the floor and held it out to me without looking away. "Get dressed. My room now."

He walked out.

I sat there for three full seconds just breathing. Sitting in the wreckage of my own bad decisions.

My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat and my hands were shaking as I pulled the dress over my head.

I knew what was coming. A phone call to my mother.

A conversation I was not ready to have.

The last thing I wanted was my mum to find out her good girl had been busy f*****g some random jock under her damn roof while she was away on a work trip.

She'd kill me once she stepped through the door.

Stepdad was standing with his back to me when I pushed his door open, looking out the window with his arms crossed. And I hovered in the doorway, trying to find words that would make this less catastrophic.

"Please don't call Mum," I said. "Please. I'm begging you."

He turned around.

Something in his expression had shifted. The anger was still there but underneath it was something else I couldn't name. Something that moved across his face when his eyes dropped down my dress and back up to my face in one slow controlled sweep that made my whole chest go tight.

"You know what I told you," he said.

"I know." I stepped inside. "I know and I'm sorry. I just… he wasn't..."

I stopped. Started again. "Nothing even happened... not really."

His jaw tightened.

"I heard you from the hallway, Amy."

My face went hot enough to burn.

He uncrossed his arms and walked toward me slowly and I held my ground even though every instinct told me to step back and I didn't understand why I held my ground until he stopped directly in front of me and looked down at me and I felt the warmth radiating off his swollen pecs and understood immediately.

I had been pretending not to notice this feeling for him that had been growing inside me since the very first day mum brought him home.

He was close enough that I could smell him. He smelt of soap, testosterone and something else that was just… him.

The salt and pepper beard was close enough to touch and I had thought about touching it more times than I would ever admit to anyone including myself.

"I specifically told you," he said. His voice low.

Measured. Each word deliberate.

"I know."

"Several times."

"I know, Dad."

"And you brought him here anyway." His eyes moved across my face. "In my house. In your mother's house."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. And I meant it. I genuinely meant it. The guilt was real and sitting heavy in my chest, right next to something else that was not guilt at all.

Something that was getting harder to ignore with him standing this close.

His hand came up and his fingers closed around my jaw. Not hard. Just firm. Tilting my face up toward his.

"You're not sorry," he said.

My breath left my body.

He was right. I wasn't sorry enough.

Here I was standing in my stepfather's bedroom in a thin dress with his hand on my jaw and my pulse going absolutely haywire.

And the part of my brain that was supposed to be managing the situation had quietly packed up and left.

"Don't call Mum," I said again, barely a whisper. "Please. I'll do anything."

His thumb pressed gently against my jaw.

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

"Anything," he repeated. More to himself than to me.

The word hung in the air between us and neither of us moved and the room felt suddenly smaller… too small for the both of us.

And I understood completely, with the clarity of someone who had been pretending not to know something for a very long time, exactly where this was going.

Then he leaned into my face and kissed me.