Our dirty little secret

Lena’s POV The house had never felt this big. Or this empty. I stood at the kitchen window, watching my mother's car disappear down the driveway. She was laughing at something Julian said — that new, easy laugh she'd developed since marrying him. The laughter that made me feel like a stranger in my own home. Six months. Six months since she'd brought him home. Six months since she'd looked at me and said, "This is Julian. He's going to be your new father." Not stepfather. Father. Like I was supposed to forget the man who'd actually raised me. But I hadn't thought about my real dad in weeks. Instead, I thought about him. Julian. His hands. The way he'd brush past me in the hallway and leave heat on my skin like a brand. And I thought about Oliver. His son. My new stepbrother. The one who'd looked at me at the wedding reception like he wanted to devour me whole. The car disappeared over the hill. I was alone. Or so I thought. --- The front door slammed open leaving me with three voices, their annoying laughter and the clink of glass bottles. I'd forgotten Oliver said he'd have friends over. I retreated to my room like the coward I was. Pressed my ear to the wall and listened. "Where's your stepsister?" That was Marcus. I remembered his voice from the wedding. Deep yet stupid. "Hiding," Oliver said. "She's always hiding." "Is she cute?" The pause was too long. "She's family," Oliver said finally. But the way he said it , like he was trying to convince himself and it sent a shiver down my spine. I bit my lip. My hand was already moving. I told myself I was just adjusting my shorts. Just scratching an itch. But my fingers lingered at my waistband, tracing the elastic like it was a dare. You shouldn't. You know you shouldn't. But you're going to anyways. I slipped my hand inside. The voices in the other room blurred into background noise. Oliver's low laugh. Marcus's sharp commentary. Ethan's occasional grunts. The thud of a controller hitting the couch. They were right there. Three guys, fhree pairs of hands and definetely three sets of eyes that could walk through my door at any second. I pressed two fingers against my c**t, just pressure, just a tease that made my hips bucked. “Fuckkk……aahhhhh” i moaned, hands digging faster. This is what they do to you. This is what he does to you. I closed my eyes. Oliver's face appeared behind my eyelids, then Julian's, then Oliver's again. Both of them. Both. “Mmmmmmhmmm….” I imagined Julian walking in first looking so calm and controlled. He'd stand in the doorway and just watch , watch me touch myself, watch me fall apart and he wouldn't say a word. Not until I begged him to. Then Oliver would push past him. Impatient and rough. He'd grab my wrists and pin them above my head and tell me to stop touching yourself — that's my job now. My fingers moved faster. I was so close, so close I could taste it and then Oliver knocked on my door. I froze. "Hey." His voice was muffled through the wood. "You want pizza? We're ordering." I couldn't answer. My fingers were still inside me. If I moved even an inch, the bed would creak. "Hello?" Another knock. "You alive in there?" I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Yeah, i’m fine, just studying." Liar. He didn't move. I could still see his shadow under the door, broad and solid, waiting. Then he laughed softly, almost to himself. "Sure you are," he said. And I swear, I swear i heard something in his voice. Something that I knew. His shadow stayed for three heartbeats, then he walked away. I didn't exhale until I heard his footsteps retreat and then, because I was stupid, because I was desperate, because I was already this close, I finished. Three quick strokes. I came apart in the dark, biting my pillow, thighs shaking, while my stepbrother went back to his friends in the next room. I lay there afterward, breathing heavily with my shorts soaked. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Oliver: Saved you a slice. Come out when you're done. I stared at the message. WHEN YOU'RE DONE!! Not when I finished studying or when I was ready but when I was done. The room felt too small or rather too hot. He knew what i did. He definetely knew. I pulled my shorts up, fixed my hair and took a deep breath. Then I walked towards the door, hand on the knob and twisted it. And then, I heard another voice. One I didn't recognize. "So that's her?" Ethan asked. His voice was deeper than Marcus's and sounded stranger. "Yeah." Oliver's reply was quiet. "That's her." Ethan laughed. "And you're telling me you haven't….." "Shut up." "Bro, your dad's gone, her mom's gone so what are you waiting for?" I couldn't breathe. Oliver's voice, low and dangerous: "She's not ready yet." Not ready yet. Yet. That means he was planning. He’s been planning all this while. I stepped back from the door. My heart hammering and my pulse racing. My phone buzzed again. Oliver: I know you're at the door. Open it. I stared at the message, then I heard him walk toward me. Three steps. Two. One. His hand touched the other side of the door. I could feel the vibrations through the wood. "Open it," he said, not a text this time. His actual voice. Right outside. "Or I'll open it myself." I unlocked the door. And when it swung open….