CLAIMED BY MY ALPHA STEPBROTHER AND STEPFATHER: MC EROTICA

CHAPTER 30 - REPROGRAMMING

KNOX’S POV

I open her door at 3 AM and the smell hits me before my eyes adjust to the dark.

She touched herself tonight. I can smell it in the air the way I can smell rain before it falls – that concentrated bloom of her arousal hanging in the room like perfume that hasn’t been ventilated, and underneath it the sharper chemical signature of a finish that happened hours ago... except something about the scent profile is WRONG because there’s a secondary note underneath her arousal that doesn’t belong to me.

It belongs to Dominic.

Not physically – he wasn’t in this room, my nose would know if he’d been within ten feet of her door. But the arousal has a flavour to it, a psychological fingerprint that my wolf can read the way a sommelier reads wine, and the vintage of whatever she was thinking about when she came tonight has Dominic’s cologne woven through it like a thread in a fabric that should be exclusively mine.

She sits up in bed and sees me in the doorway and her heartbeat does that thing it does – fear into anticipation, the Pavlovian response I’ve been building since the first night I stood at the foot of this bed with my belt in my hand.

I close the door behind me and cross the room and sit on the edge of her mattress and she watches me with those hazel eyes that are trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly.

“You touched yourself tonight.”

It’s not a question. Her scent is a full confession and her pupils just dilated which is the biological equivalent of pleading guilty.

“Who were you thinking about?”

“You.” She says it immediately, without hesitation, and her heartbeat stays steady, which means she believes it’s true, except that her scent is telling a different story and my wolf doesn’t care what her mouth says when her body is writing a contradictory essay in pheromones.

“Say my name.”

“Knox.”

“You hesitated.”

“I didn’t–”

“Your pulse skipped. Right here.” I press my thumb against the side of her throat where her heartbeat is fluttering like something trapped, and I hold it there while I look at her face and watch the guilt rearrange her features into something that makes my wolf want to pin her down and remind her body who programmed it.

“On your back.”

She lies back and I move over her and capture both her wrists in one hand and pin them above her head against the pillow, and her arms stretch long and her back arches slightly with the pull and her shirt rides up to expose the strip of stomach below her ribs.

I use my free hand to push her shorts down her legs and off the bed, and she’s bare from the waist down and wet enough that I can see it glistening in the dark.

I slide two fingers between her folds and find her c**t and start circling with the slow, deliberate pressure that I know from mapping her responses over the past two weeks makes her c**t swell and her breathing go ragged within the first thirty seconds, and sure enough her hips lift toward my hand and her wrists strain against my grip and a sound leaks out of her throat that goes straight to my c**k.

I build her up. I take my time with it – slow circles that widen and tighten and vary in pressure until her thighs are shaking and her mouth is open and I can smell the orgasm approaching in the chemical shift of her arousal, this sweet intensification that tells me she’s thirty seconds from the edge.

I stop.

My hand goes flat against her thigh, motionless, and the sound she makes is so desperate that it borders on a sob.

“Say my name.”

“Knox.” She says it quickly and breathlessly.

Good.

I start again with the same pace and pressure. My fingers slide inside her and curl forward into that spot and her back arches off the mattress and her wrists twist in my grip and she’s climbing again, faster this time because the denial made everything more sensitive.

I feel her walls start clenching around my fingers in those pre-orgasm flutters that tell me she’s right there, right at the edge, one more stroke and she’ll tip.

I stop.

“Knox – please–”

“Say my name.”

“I just said it–”

“Say it like you mean it. Say it like it’s the only name you know.”

“Knox!” Her voice cracks on the single syllable, and I reward her by pushing three fingers inside her and pumping hard enough that the wet sound of it fills the room.

Her hips buck up to meet my hand and her wrists are straining so hard against my grip that her shoulders are lifting off the pillow.

I build her up a third time and her body is vibrating with the accumulated tension of two denied orgasms and her c**t is so swollen under my thumb that every pass makes her entire body jolt, and I can feel her getting close again, so I immediately slow my hand to a crawl.

“Who were you thinking about tonight?”

“You. I was thinking about you, Knox, please just let me–”

“Liar.” I pull my fingers out completely and she nearly screams, and her hips chase my hand as it retreats and the emptiness makes her body clench around nothing.

I watch her face contort with the frustration of it and my c**k is so hard against my jeans that the zipper is leaving marks but this isn’t about me right now. This is about reprogramming.

I give her ten seconds of nothing. She’s panting and her wrists have gone limp in my grip and her thighs are trembling and she looks up at me with eyes that are wet and desperate and furious.

I push my fingers back inside her deeply, three of them curling forward into that spot, and my thumb grinds against her c**t and I set a pace that’s faster than anything I’ve given her tonight, then I lean down until my mouth is at her ear.

“Say my name when you c*m. Not his. Not anyone’s. MINE.”

She breaks.

The orgasm tears through her so hard that her whole body locks up and her back arches completely off the mattress and her mouth opens and my name comes out of it at a volume that makes her clap her free hand over her own lips – except both her hands are pinned above her head which means she can’t muffle it, and the sound of “KNOX” ricochets off the bedroom walls loud enough that both of us freeze.

My hand goes still inside her and her eyes go wide.

My mom and Dominic’s bedroom is fifteen feet down the hall.

We stare at each other in the dark while her orgasm is still pulsing around my fingers and the echo of my name is still hanging in the air, and I listen with every ounce of wolf hearing I have for footsteps or a door opening or the creak of a mattress that would tell me someone heard.