Chapter 165 Fucked By My 19yr Old Stepson
Vanessa's POV
Six days.
Six days of the most intense, passionate, devastating sex of my entire life. Six days of Jake teaching me things about my own body I'd never known. Six days of cumming so many times I'd lost count, of being worshipped and desired and fucked in ways that made me understand why people wrote sonnets about passion.
Six days of living in a fantasy where nothing existed except Jake's hands on my skin, his cock inside me, his voice in my ear telling me I was beautiful, perfect, his.
Six days where I'd forgotten Richard existed.
And now reality was crashing back in the most catastrophic way possible.
"He's coming home early," I said, staring at my phone with my heart in my throat. "Richard. He just texted. His flight lands in three hours. He's coming home today instead of tomorrow."
Jake looked up from where he'd been kissing his way down my stomach, both of us naked in my marital bed where we'd spent most of the past week. "Fuck."
"Fuck is right." Panic clawed at my throat. "The house—we've been—we haven't been careful—"
I looked around the bedroom with new eyes and saw the evidence everywhere. Condom wrappers in the trash that Richard would definitely notice since we never used them. Sheets that needed to be washed because they smelled like sex and Jake's cologne. My body covered in marks—hickies on my neck and breasts, fingerprint bruises on my hips, beard burn on my inner thighs.
A week's worth of debauchery that I'd have to somehow hide in three hours.
"Hey," Jake said, cupping my face and forcing me to look at him. "We'll clean up. It'll be fine."
"It won't be fine." My voice cracked. "Look at me. I'm covered in marks. He's going to know. He's going to see and he's going to know someone's been—" I couldn't finish.
"So we tell him," Jake said simply.
I stared at him. "What?"
"We tell him. About us. About this week. About the fact that you're not happy and haven't been for a long time."
"Are you insane?" I pulled away from him, grabbing the sheet to cover myself. "You want me to tell your father I've been fucking his son? That's—Jake, that would destroy him. Destroy everything."
"He's going to find out eventually," Jake pointed out. "You think we can go back to how things were? Pretend this week didn't happen? I've been inside you bare, Vanessa. You've cum on my cock more times than you probably have in your entire marriage. You think you can go back to his bed and pretend you're satisfied?"
"I don't know!" Tears burned my eyes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. This was supposed to be just while he was gone. Just this one week. And then—"
"And then what? You'd go back to being miserable? Back to faking orgasms and pretending you don't want me?"
"I'm married to him," I said desperately. "I took vows. I made promises. This was—this has been incredible, but it's not real life, Jake. Real life is complicated and messy and full of consequences we haven't been thinking about."
"I've been thinking about them." He sat up, completely unbothered by his nudity while I hid behind a sheet like it could somehow restore my dignity. "I've been thinking about what happens when this week ends. About whether I can watch you go back to him. About whether you can."
"I have to—"
"Do you love him?" Jake interrupted. "Be honest. Do you actually love my father?"
The question hung in the air between us, massive and unavoidable.
Did I love Richard? Once, maybe. In the beginning when he'd seemed like stability and security and everything I'd thought I wanted. But now?
"I care about him," I said carefully. "I respect him. He's been good to me in a lot of ways—"
"That's not love," Jake said flatly. "That's gratitude. Obligation. But it's not love."
"What about you?" I challenged, deflecting. "Is this love? Or is this just a nineteen-year-old kid living out a fantasy of fucking his stepmom?"
Something flashed in his eyes—hurt, and I felt immediately guilty for the barb.
"I'm not a kid," he said quietly. "And this isn't a fantasy. I meant what I said every time I was inside you, Vanessa. You're it for me. I don't care about the age gap or the fact that you're married to my dad or any of the reasons this is supposed to be wrong. I just care about you."
The raw honesty in his voice cracked something open in my chest.
"Jake—"
"I love you," he said simply. "I know it's insane and impossible and completely fucked up. But I love you. And I think you love me too. So the question is: what are we going to do about it?"
Before I could respond, I heard something that made my blood turn to ice.
The front door opening.
Footsteps in the foyer.
Richard's voice calling out: "Vanessa? I'm home!"
"Oh my god," I breathed, panic flooding my system. "Oh my god, he's here. He's here right now. You need to—you need to get out—"
"Vanessa?" Richard's voice came again, closer now. On the stairs.
Jake grabbed his clothes and I watched in horror as he slipped into my bathroom and quietly closed the door, leaving me alone in a bed that smelled like sex, covered in evidence of a week-long affair, with my husband seconds away from opening the bedroom door.
I yanked on a robe hanging on the back of the door just as Richard pushed it open.