Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
The conversation is safe at first—weather, her classes, a joke about the “hermit” I haven’t seen since last spring. I ask about the book she’s reading, some bodice ripper with a Fabio-like model on the cover. She asks about my writing, and I tell her it’s going slow, which is only half a lie.
But then the roleplay slips in, almost accidental.
“So what does your stepdad have to do to get your attention?” I say, swirling the wine.
She grins, and her teeth are perfect except for the one little snaggle at the front. “Maybe stop hiding in the woods like a cryptid?”
“Maybe I have my reasons,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Maybe I’m afraid you’ll see me for what I am.”
“And what’s that?”
I let the silence fill in the answer. She holds my gaze, unblinking, until I have to look away first.
Kat changes the subject, but it’s a feint. “This is the best lamb I’ve ever had,” she hums, slicing a perfect pink medallion. “Do you cook for all your ladies, or just the ones you want to corrupt?”
I chuckle, the guilt mixing with pride. “You’re the first.”
She dabs her mouth with a napkin, then leans forward, elbows on the table, and says, “You know, in most stepdad romance novels, the guy’s already watched the girl through a peephole, or stolen her panties. Is that where we’re headed?”
My cock twitches at the mental image. I keep my face neutral. “If that’s what you want.”
Kat laughs, loud and real. “You’re supposed to be the one with experience, right? Isn’t that the point?”
I feel myself grow hot. I can handle most women, but Kat gets under my skin in ways I didn’t know existed. I want to take her right here, over the fucking table, but I force myself to pour another round of wine and try to play it cool.
She’s watching me, carefully. “Is it true?” she asks, voice soft now. “What you said before? That you want to… ruin me?”
I put the glass down, hard enough to slosh the wine. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s true.”
She looks at her plate, then at me, and there’s something new in her eyes. Hunger, but also anticipation. The kind that draws you closer to the flame.
She says, “You’re not going to break me, you know.”
I smile, but there’s no heat in it. “We’ll see.”
The rest of dinner is a contest—who can be more normal, who can ignore the fact that we’re both one heartbeat from leaping over the table and tearing the other apart. She brushes my hand as she reaches for the bread. I let my gaze linger on her cleavage when I think she’s not looking. The candles gutter and flare, shadows jumping on the walls.
Finally, the plates are cleared, the wine is gone, and there’s nothing left to pretend.
I stand, circle the table, and offer her my hand. She takes it, small and strong, her grip a little shaky.
“You ready?” I say, keeping my voice level.
She nods.
I lead her up the stairs, every step heavy with promise. At the top, I pause, let her go first. Kat walks down the hall, hips swaying, then stops at the threshold of my room.
She turns, looks at me, and for a second, neither of us moves.
“Are you ready, Daddy?” she purrs. “I know I am.”
Then she steps inside, and I follow.
The air in the bedroom is velvet—warm, golden, and thick with the sugar of melted candlewax and the faint burn of aftershave. The bed is made, sheets turned down, and the pillows plumped into perfect squares, a crime against entropy I’ve never attempted before. Even the wardrobe doors are closed, hiding my mess, hiding any part of me that isn’t laser-focused on the girl in the pink dress.
Kat stands just inside the threshold, one hand curled around the doorframe as if she needs something solid to keep from floating away. Her cheeks are cherry-bright. The heels make her legs longer, her hips rounder, and the dress, with its fake innocence and real danger, makes me want to bite through it. But I wait, because this is a moment you only get once.
She looks at me—looks through me, like she knows me already.
I say, “Are you nervous?”
She licks her lips, the gloss catching candlelight. “A little.”
I nod, pulse hammering. “Me too.”
She smiles, soft and gentle, and steps fully into the room. I close the door behind her, then turn the lock with a click that feels final.
We stand there, six feet apart, a universe of tension between us. I want to say something perfect. Instead, I just breathe her in.
“Come here, Kitten,” I say, and the words come out gentle, even though my cock is already straining the zipper.
She comes to me, arms at her sides, hands trembling just a little. I touch her face first, thumb tracing the line of her jaw, the way her pulse jumps under her skin. Then her hair, so soft it’s like a cat’s pelt. I want to memorize every inch.