Chapter 160 Fuck My Step son
Fuck My Step son
Then his hand slid all the way up my thigh and found me bare beneath my dress—I'd stopped wearing panties around the house weeks ago because Richard never looked anyway—and his sharp intake of breath told me he'd discovered that fact.
"Fuck," he muttered. "You're not wearing anything under this dress."
"I don't usually," I admitted, my voice shaking. "Your father doesn't notice."
"I notice." His fingers stroked through my wetness and I gasped. "I've been noticing all week. The way you move. The way these dresses show off your body. I've been hard constantly, Vanessa. Jerking off thinking about you every night.”
"You have?" The knowledge sent electricity through me.
"Why do you think I left my door open yesterday? Wanted you to see what you do to me. Wanted you to know I wasn't some kid. That I could—that I wanted to—" He pushed two fingers inside me and I moaned. "Wanted to do this."
His fingers worked me expertly—better than Richard ever had, better than I'd expected from someone his age. He found my G-spot almost immediately, and when his thumb found my clit, I nearly came off the chair.
"Oh god," I gasped. "Jake, that's—we shouldn't—"
"Stop thinking," he ordered, his fingers increasing their pace. "Stop worrying about should and shouldn't. Just feel. Let me make you feel good."
He worked me with single-minded focus, reading my body's responses, adjusting pressure and speed based on my reactions. When my orgasm built fast and intense, he added a third finger and pressed down hard on my clit.
"Cum for me," he demanded. "Cum on my fingers like you've been wanting to all week."
I shattered, my back arching, a cry escaping that was probably too loud for being outside. Pleasure crashed over me in waves, and he worked me through it all, prolonging the sensation until I was trembling.
"Beautiful," he muttered, slowly withdrawing his fingers. Before I could process what was happening, he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean. "You taste incredible."
"Jake," I breathed, my mind reeling from what we'd just done. "We can't—this has to stop—"
"Does it?" He stood and I saw the massive bulge in his gym shorts. "Because I'm hard as fuck right now, and you just came all over my hand, and I don't think either of us wants to stop."
He was right. God help me, he was right.
"Inside," I heard myself say. "We can't—someone might see out here."
I stood on shaky legs and led him into the house, my rational mind screaming that this was insane while my body moved on autopilot toward my bedroom—the bedroom I shared with his father.
Jake followed me in and closed the door, locking it with a decisive click.
"You're sure about this?" he asked, and despite his earlier confidence, I heard uncertainty in his voice. "Because once we start, I don't think I can stop."
"I'm sure," I said, and I was. Sure that this was wrong, sure that I'd regret it, sure that I was about to destroy my marriage. But also sure that I needed this more than I needed to breathe. "Just this once. To get it out of our systems. Then we never speak of it again."
"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he said, and pulled his tank top over his head.
Jesus Christ.
His body was even better up close—defined pecs, ridged abs, that V that disappeared into his shorts. I wanted to trace every line with my tongue.
"Your turn," he said, gesturing to my dress.
I pulled the sundress over my head with trembling hands, revealing my naked body. I wasn't twenty anymore—had stretch marks on my hips from my first marriage, my breasts weren't as perky as they'd been in my twenties. But the way Jake looked at me made me feel like I was the most desirable woman alive.
"You're so fucking hot," he breathed, moving closer. "Way hotter than girls my age. You're a woman. A real woman."
His hands cupped my breasts and I moaned at the contact—starved for touch, for attention, for someone to actually want me. When his mouth closed over my nipple, sucking hard, my knees nearly gave out.
"Bed," I managed. "Get on the bed."
He obeyed, stripping off his shorts and boxer briefs, and I got my first full view of what I'd only glimpsed through his doorway yesterday.
His cock was beautiful—thick, long, curving slightly upward, the head flushed dark with need. So much bigger than Richard's, so much harder, already leaking precum.
"Come here," he said, and I climbed onto the bed, straddling him.
"Condom—" I started.
"In my shorts pocket. Came prepared."
He retrieved it and rolled it on, and I appreciated that he'd thought ahead even as the reality of what we were about to do crashed over me.
I was about to fuck my stepson. In the bed I shared with his father.