Sexting My Mr. X

Psycho Step-sister

Chapter Four
Dominic 


First, it was a stepfather, and now a stepsister—though not just any stepsister, but a psycho city girl. I didn’t expect it to be easy to get along with whoever she turned out to be, but I sure as hell didn’t expect her to be this insane.


That lunatic just gave me a cut on my face. Of all places—my face. I hated cuts, bruises, or anything that could remind me of weakness. Sure, I could still walk into a room and have every girl there swooning, but this wasn’t about them. It was about control. About staying in control. And she’d thrown me off balance.


I knew mom would freak out. Not because she cared about me that much—she only cared about appearances. Oh, Dominic needs to look perfect. Dominic needs to be ready to impress. Dominic this, Dominic that. I understood her fear, though. After everything we’d been through, she lived with the constant worry that it could all fall apart again.


She didn’t know I had no intention of letting that happen.


She didn’t know about my plans. I wished I could tell her, but it wasn’t the right time yet.


Everything used to be perfect. Our family wasn’t just wealthy; we were untouchable. My dad, Alexander Andrew Armstrong, was a powerhouse—a wealthy businessman, respected and admired by everyone who mattered. He was the founder of the Triple A group of companies. 


We had it all. A thriving company. A good name. A happy home.


Until the day his body was brought back to us in a casket.


The man who delivered the news happened to be his best friend. William Jobe Harrington. A name I’ll never forget. He stood there, tears streaming down his face, saying Dad had died in an accident.


But it was all a lie.


Our attorney found out it wasn’t an accident. It was murder. But the moment we started asking questions, everything changed. We were attacked—again and again—until the final attack nearly destroyed us.


I was only seven years old.


I can still see it clearly: that bastard, the man my father had trusted more than anyone, pointing a gun at me and my mother.


We barely escaped. When I woke up, our faces were all over the news. The Armstrong family—dead. Murdered in what they called a dispute among criminals. They labeled my father a fraud. A liar. A thief. They seized everything we owned. William Harrington, the traitor, “paid off” the fake debts they pinned on my dad and claimed the company as his own.


And there we were, hiding, forced to change our names and start over.


But I didn’t forget.


I didn’t forget the betrayal. The lies. The humiliation. And I didn’t forget the man who stole everything from us.


William Jobe Harrington has been living scot-free for years, but not for long. If he was ever going to die, it would be by my hands.


It’s the only reason I’m at this college. He sends his spoiled love-deprived, bully daughter here, and it’s my way in. My only chance to get close enough to destroy him.


And now, this psycho stepsister was going to be dragged into it, messing everything up. She is going to join my school.


I let out a long, frustrated sigh, raking a hand through my hair. Fred—my stepfather—had made it “compulsory” for me to take her with me tomorrow like she was some toddler. Even if it was just for one day, it was still one day too many. I had spent years building a reputation at that school. I had other options, but this was the one I needed.


It took years of planning, manipulation, and shutting people down before they could even think about challenging me.


And now Iris or whatever she called herself was going to ruin all of it.


I clenched my jaw, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. I stopped at my door and glanced back at her. She was still standing there like a lost puppy. “Eight,” I repeated firmly, locking eyes with her one last time before disappearing into my room.


I slammed the door behind me and fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.


This was a nightmare. A terrible one.


Fred brought her here for what, exactly? She was an adult and could live by herself, what was the need of bringing her here?


I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead, frustrated. Iris wasn’t just a problem. She was a complication I didn’t need. And now, I had to babysit her at school tomorrow. I couldn’t afford to let anyone find out she was family, a step-sister for that matter. 


“Great,” I muttered under my breath. “Now I’ve got to deal with this psycho messing up my life, starting tomorrow.” 


I lay back on my bed, my head pounding with frustration. Everything about today had been a disaster, and I needed a way to calm myself down, and there was only ever one guaranteed escape: pleasure. That was my escape to every problem.


The familiar beep of my phone pulled me out of my thoughts. I immediately rolled to the side of the bed, grabbing it off the bedside table.


“Are you there, Mr. X?” 


The message was from Juicy Folds, the anonymous stranger I’d been sexting for months. She wasn’t just an escape—she was a lifeline. The connection we had wasn’t entirely emotional, it was just casual, but she always knew how to get me where I needed to be, and give me that pleasure that always seemed far-fetched with all these ladies around.


I let out a deep sigh of relief at the sight of her text. My hand instinctively slid to my waistband, and my breathing hitched. 


Sometimes I wish Juicy Folds was here in person. If she could make me feel this way just through her texts, it made me wonder how great it’d be to have her here. If she were here, I’d have her on her knees between my legs, her lips wrapped around me, her wide, pleading eyes looking up as though they’d burst open from the effort.


I wanted to bury myself so deep in her mouth until I see tears in her eyes. I wanted to finish there, to see the messy aftermath of my release dripping from her lips. 


“I am, JF,” I typed back, my fingers moving quickly across the screen, as quickly as my c**k pulsed in my pant. My other hand moved down swiftly to my pants, already undoing it, anticipation coursing through my veins.