TOO HOT TO BE STEPDADDY

FANTASIES & FORBIDDEN TOUCHES

Tiana

The words had barely left my mouth “Ever told you you’re damn too hot to be step daddy” when his hand shot out quickly. His fingers curled tight around my upper arm, yanking me forward, dragging me right into his space with enough force to make me gasp. I thought he was going to shake me. Throw me out. Drag me to my room and lock the door. I thought he was shutting me up for good.

Instead, I crashed straight into his chest. And before he could let go or push me away, my arms flew up and locked tight around his neck.

I hugged him.

Full body, pressed flush against him, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of his neck, my chest crushed against his hard torso. My bare legs brushed against his, the thin silk of my dress riding high up my thighs.

His entire body went rigid as stone. His hands were still on my arms, holding me, but he didn’t pull me off. He didn’t step back. He just stood there, breathing hard, the heat radiating off him so hot it felt like I was standing next to a furnace.

"Let go, Tiana," he said. But it wasn’t an order. It was a plea. Low, strained, wrecked.

"Nope." I hummed happily, nuzzling my face right into the curve of his neck, inhaling deep—cedar, soap, him. God, he smelled better than any drink I’d ever had. I felt his pulse hammering fast and wild right under my cheek. "You pulled me in. Now you’re stuck. Rules of engagement, Daddy."

"This isn’t a game." His hands didn’t move. His grip on my arms didn’t loosen, but he didn’t pull away either. "You are drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing."

"I know exactly what I’m doing." I pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes glazed and bright, smirking like I held all the cards. My hands slid down from his neck, over his broad shoulders, down his chest, feeling every hard ridge of muscle through his shirt. "And honestly? I’ve been wanting to do this since day one. You know that, right?"

"Do what?" His voice was barely a whisper. He looked down at my mouth like he was starving.

"Tell you all the dirty, nasty things I think about you." I giggled, breathless and reckless, my fingers undoing the top button of his shirt just because I could. "You think I moved in here three weeks ago and just… ignored you? Please. You walk around here like a king, all serious, all commanding, telling everyone what to do… do you have any idea what that does to a girl like me?"

"Tiana…" His warning was weak. Gone before it even started.

"Oh, yeah, let me tell you." I leaned back, sliding my hands down his stomach, pressing my palms flat against the hard, defined lines there, feeling him tense instantly. "First week? I had this dream. You came into my room. Middle of the night. I was sleeping. You pulled the covers back… and you just watched me. Said I looked too good to be left alone. Said I was yours to look at."

He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Second week?" I bit my lip, eyes gleaming, dragging my body slowly against his, rubbing against him like a cat. "Oh, second week was worse. I dreamed you caught me touching myself. Right here, in this hallway. I was thinking about your hands, like how big they are, how rough they look. Wondering how they’d feel wrapped around me. And you didn’t get mad. You didn’t yell. You just walked up, took my hand, and showed me exactly how it should be done."

"Stop talking." His voice was raw, barely audible. His hands finally moved…slid down from my arms to my waist, gripping hard, pulling me tighter against him. "You don’t know what you’re saying."

"I know exactly what I’m saying." I laughed, low and throaty, and stepped back just enough to look him up and down. I grabbed his hand and tugged him backward toward the large leather sofa sitting against the wall, right near the stairs. "Sit down. Right here."

He hesitated. Looked up the stairs. Looked back at me. The fight was draining out of his eyes, replaced by something dark and hungry and desperate.

"Tiana… your mother…"

"Is asleep." I pushed against his chest until he sat down on the leather cushions. I stood between his spread knees, looking down at him, my dress barely covering anything, my hair falling in wild waves over my shoulders. "She’s upstairs in her big soft bed, dreaming about charity events and fancy friends. And down here? You and me. Finally."

I ran my hands slowly up my own body, over my hips, up my stomach, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric, watching his eyes track every single movement like a hawk.

"You want to know what I fantasize about most?" I whispered, swaying my hips side to side, slow and teasing. "I imagine you taking control. No more Mr. Nice Stepdaddy. No more rules. Just you… taking what you want. Because deep down… I think you love that I’m bad. I think you love that I’m trouble."

I stepped closer, placing my hands on his broad shoulders, and slowly, swung one leg over his thighs. Then the other.

I settled right down onto his lap.

My core pressed perfectly against the hard muscle of his thigh, my knees on either side of his hips, my dress riding up so high everything was exposed if anyone walked past. I wrapped my arms around his neck again, chest pressed flush to his, faces inches apart.

He groaned. His hands landed instantly on my hips, huge and hot, gripping tight, his thumbs digging into my skin. He didn’t push me off. He held me there. Grounded me there.

"You have no idea…" he started, voice wrecked, eyes glued to my mouth.

"Then show me." I purred, and started to move.

I rocked my hips slow, deep, grinding down against him, dragging my heat over his lap, back and forth, slow and sinful. I could feel him instantly—hard, thick, massive, straining against the fabric of his sweatpants, pressing right up where I needed him most.

"God…" I moaned, soft and loud, right against his ear. "This is exactly what I thought about. Exactly how I imagined it. Me… moving on you like this… you losing your mind trying to be good… but failing miserably."

I moved faster, rolling my hips, sliding against him, my breath coming fast and hot, my head falling back. My hands slid down his chest, down his stomach, lower… lower… right to the waistband of his pants.

I didn’t hesitate. I slipped my hand right inside.

Under the elastic. Under the fabric. Skin to skin.

He was hot. Burning hot. Hard as steel. Thick and heavy and pulsing in my hand.

"f**k!" His head fell back against the sofa, eyes squeezing shut, hands gripping my hips so tight it would leave marks tomorrow. He thrust up instinctively, meeting my hand, pushing deeper into my grip. "Tiana… Jesus Christ…"

"See?" I whispered, pumping him slow, firm, wrapping my fingers around all that heat and power. I bit his earlobe, dragging my teeth over the skin. "You love it. You love me touching you. You’ve been craving this just as long as I have. Admit it. Admit you think about me too. Admit you lie awake at night wondering what I look like under these clothes. Wondering what I sound like when I’m being bad."

I stroked him faster, firmer, feeling the thick vein throb under my touch, feeling him lose every ounce of control he pretended to have. I rocked my hips harder, grinding down on him, rubbing myself against him while I worked him, making us both pant and sweat and burn.

"You’re so big," I moaned, right against his mouth, our lips almost touching. "I’ve thought about this every single night. Wondered how you’d fit inside me. Wondered if you’d be rough or slow… if you’d make me beg… if you’d make me call you Daddy while you ruin me."

He grabbed my hair, tugged my head back, forcing me to look at him. His face was flushed, eyes wild, breath ragged. He looked like a man possessed.

"You have no idea…" he growled, thrusting up into my hand, desperate and sharp. "No idea what I’m capable of."

"Then do it." I grinned, wicked and drunk and triumphant, stroking him faster, harder, twisting my wrist just how I knew men liked it. "Do it, Anthonio. Stop holding back. You own this house. You own everything in it. Why not own me too? I’m right here. I’m ready. I’m yours."

I leaned closer, my lips brushing against his jaw, my hand moving faster and faster, feeling him throb and twitch, right on the edge. The words bubbled up, drunk and honest and dangerous, and I said them loud and clear, right into his ear.

"I even have an ONLY..."

CREAK.

A sharp, loud sound from the ceiling. Right above us.

My hand froze around him. My hips stopped moving instantly.

Footsteps. Slow, heavy footsteps across the floorboards upstairs. Then a voice. Faint, muffled, but clear as day in the dead silence.

"Anthonio? Are you down there? I heard voices…"

Eva.

My mother.