Spreading My Legs Wide Open

12: Now scream for me

~ Evie ~

Game night. Dad’s dragging us all into one of his old-man family games, the kind that keeps everyone laughing and yelling till stupid o’clock. Last time it ran till almost 3 a.m.

But tonight my head’s somewhere else.

I’m dying to sneak into Jack’s room after everyone crashes, first time I’d actually sleep the whole night there. Just want to crawl under his blanket, press my bare t**s hard against his chest, feel his heartbeat under them while I drift off. Maybe wrap my leg over his hip so my p***y’s right up against his thigh all night, warm and lazy, no rush, no talking - just skin on skin till morning.

The game’s gonna steal hours, though. Always does. Fun as hell, but right now I’m impatient as f**k, already counting down till the lights go out and I can finally get my hands, and boobs on him.

The living room's all set up with the board game spread out on the coffee table, snacks everywhere, and Dad's already cracking open a beer. Claire's laughing at something he said, her hand on his knee like they're still newlyweds. Jack's sitting right across from me, legs stretched out under the table, and I'm trying to act normal.

Dad deals the cards for whatever this stupid trivia game is. "Alright, team up! Me and Claire against you two kids." He winks at us, clueless as ever. Kids. Ha. If he only knew what his "kids" have been up to.

The game starts. Claire asks the first question: "What year did the Berlin Wall fall?" Dad guesses wrong on purpose, I think, just to make her laugh. They're all giggles over there, and under the table, I slide my foot over to Jack's. He doesn't flinch. Just spreads his legs a bit wider, inviting. My toes brush his calf, then higher. He keeps a straight face, answering some dumb sports question like nothing's happening. But I see his jaw tighten. Good.

I get bolder. My hand slips under the tablecloth - thank god for that long one Claire insists on using. I reach across, find his thigh. He's in sweats, easy access. I rub slow, feeling him harden under my palm. I stroke him through the fabric, up and down, squeezing the head. He clears his throat, pretends to cough. "Water," he mutters, but doesn't move away. Dad's yelling at the TV now - wait, no, the game's on mute, but he's still hyped about some old match replay in his head or something. Whatever. Keeps them distracted.

Jack's turn to retaliate. His hand finds my knee, slides up my inner thigh. I'm in shorts. His finger slips inside. Oh s**t. I bite my lip, staring at my cards like they're the most interesting thing ever. "Um, 1989?" I guess for the Berlin Wall, but who cares if it's right. His finger hits that spot. I grip the table edge with my free hand.

Claire notices. "Evie, you okay? You look a little flushed." She's got that mom-tone, concerned but sharp. Always watching lately. Ever since that gym thing, I swear she's on high alert.

"Yeah, just... hot in here." I fake a smile, but Jack adds a second finger, thrusting slow. I'm edging already, that build-up coiling tight. I stroke him harder under the table, feeling him throb. He shifts, pretends to adjust his seat, but really he's giving me better access. Dad laughs at Claire's wrong answer - something about history, and they're bickering playfully. Perfect cover.

But Jack's not letting up. He thumbs my c**t now, circling while his fingers pump. My breath hitches, and I have to stuff a chip in my mouth to cover a moan. It's building, that pressure - f**k, I'm gonna come right here. "Pass," I mumble for my turn, voice shaky. He speeds up, edging me hard. I want to scream, beg him to stop or go faster, but I can't. Tension's killing me, in the best way.

Then Dad looks right at me. "Evie? You sure you're alright? You sound like you're about to yell at the board." He chuckles, but his eyes linger. s**t. Jack freezes his hand, but doesn't pull out. Just leaves his fingers buried deep, pressing.

I force a laugh, but it comes out weird, breathy. "Yeah, Dad. Just... frustrated with this game. Stupid questions." Inside, I'm dying - Jack wiggles his fingers just a tiny bit, teasing. Great, now I'm the family weirdo who gets off on trivia. If only they knew it's my stepbrother's fingers making me squirm like this.

Jack's fingers start moving again under the table. Slow now, building me back up. Dad's laughing at Claire's bad roll or whatever, and she's teasing him right back. It deepens everything - the risk, the want. Claire glances at us, smiles like she's relieved we're "getting along." If she only knew. We'll f**k again and again, as long as the secret holds. Tonight's just proving it.

Jack's edging me ruthless. Fingers thrusting faster, thumb on my c**t. I'm gripping his c**k under the table, stroking quick to match. He's close too - I feel him. The tension's insane. I want to come so bad, but if I do, I'll scream. Dad asks another question: "Evie, your turn. Capital of Australia?"

"Um... Sydney?" Wrong, I know, but f**k it. Jack curls his fingers hard. I gasp loud - too loud. My body shakes, right on the edge. Claire's eyes snap to me. "Evie?"

Dad leans in. "Hey, kiddo, you really okay? You look like you're in pain."

I nod fast, but my voice cracks. "Yeah, just... stomach cramp. From the snacks." Jack doesn't stop - bastard. He pushes me over. I come hard, silent as I can, biting my tongue. Waves crash through me, soaking his hand. I slump a bit, breathing heavy. In my head, I'm like, Yeah, Dad, the "snacks" are killing me - stepbro's fingers, that is.

Jack pulls his hand out slow, wipes it on his napkin casual-like. I let go of him too, but not before feeling him pulse - close, but not quite. He shoots me a look: Later. Promise.

The game wraps up soon after. Dad and Claire win, big surprise. They're all hugs and high-fives, heading to bed. "Night, kids!" Dad calls, arm around Claire. She glances back one more time, that silent observation thing. Wrong again, Claire. So wrong.

Jack and I clear the table slow, waiting till they're upstairs. Then he grabs me, pulls me close. "You almost screamed," he whispers, laughing low.

I shove him lightly. "Your fault, asshole. But f**k, I need more." We sneak off to his room, door locked. Clothes off fast. He pushes me onto the bed, spreads me wide. "Now scream for me," he says, and slams in deep.

We f**k hard, no holding back. His c**k owns me, thrusting brutal. I come again, loud this time. He follows, filling me up. We collapse, laughing about the game.

The addiction's deeper. We can't stop. Won't. As long as secrets stay covered. What happens next? god, tomorrow's gonna be wild.