His shadow moved forward one more step.
I kept my legs open and my fingers buried deep, watching the doorway. For a second I thought he was finally going to walk in, push my hand away, and put his own there instead.
My heart was slamming so hard I could feel it in my throat. I slowed my fingers just enough to make the wet sound louder, letting him hear exactly how soaked I was. Then the shadow shifted again. I heard him turn and walk quickly down the hall.
His bedroom door closed hard a moment later.
I stayed still, breathing fast, fingers still wet and trembling. He had almost come in. Almost. They almost hurt more than if he had never stopped at all.
I pulled my hand away and sat up. The house was quiet again except for the soft sound of rain starting against the windows. I waited a few minutes, counting my own heartbeats, then stood and walked barefoot down the hall. His door was closed but not locked. I leaned close and listened.
I could hear him.
Low, rough breathing. The soft, rhythmic sound of skin on skin.
He was touching himself. Hard and fast. I closed my eyes and pictured it clearly—his big hand wrapped around that thick cock I had seen when I peeked into my mother’s room, stroking while he thought about me sitting naked on my bed with my fingers inside myself. The image made my cunt clench so hard it almost hurt.
I pressed my thighs together and stayed there listening until the sounds stopped. Until his breathing evened out. Until the silence returned. Then I went back to my room, closed the door, and finally finished what I had started. I came hard with his name in my mouth, biting the pillow so he wouldn’t hear me this time. Afterward I lay there staring at the ceiling, still aching, still wanting more than my own hand.
The next day the tension felt even thicker.
I stayed in the short shorts and thin shirts. No bra. No underwear. Every time I walked past him I made sure the fabric shifted just enough. Ronan tried not to look, but he failed every single time. His eyes would drop, linger, then force themselves away like it cost him something. I caught him watching me bend over to pick up a dropped spoon. I caught him staring when I stretched my arms over my head and the shirt rode up. Each time his jaw tightened and he found somewhere else to be.
Mid-afternoon I was in the kitchen reaching for a glass on a high shelf when he came in behind me for water. I stepped back at the same moment he stepped forward.
Our bodies collided.
My back hit his chest. My bare ass pressed against the front of his jeans. His hands came up automatically and caught my waist to steady me. For a few long seconds neither of us moved. I could feel the heat of his palms through the thin fabric of my shirt. I could feel something else too—the hard ridge of his cock pressed against the curve of my ass, already thickening.
He didn’t let go right away.
His fingers tightened on my waist, digging in just enough that I felt the strength in them.
His breath brushed the side of my neck, warm and uneven. I stayed perfectly still, heart slamming, feeling him get even harder against me. The thick length of him pushed against the soft fabric of my shorts until there was no mistaking how much he wanted this. My own body answered without permission—my nipples tightened, my cunt throbbed, and a soft sound almost left my throat.
Then he forced his hands away and stepped back like he had been burned.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
I turned around slowly. His face was tight. His eyes were dark and restless. The front of his jeans showed exactly what our collision had done to him.
“You keep doing this,” he said, voice low and rough, “and I’m not going to be able to stop myself. Do you understand that?
If you keep walking around like this, leaving your door open, making those sounds at night—I’m going to break. And once I do, there’s no going back.”
I looked at him and didn’t look away. My pulse was still racing from the feel of him against me.
“Maybe I want you to break.”
His jaw flexed hard. He stared at me for another long second, like he was fighting something inside himself, then turned and left the kitchen without another word. I stood there alone, still feeling the ghost of his hands on my waist and the thick press of his cock against my ass.
That night the rain turned into a full storm.
Thunder rolled loud enough to shake the windows. Lightning lit up the hallway in sudden white flashes. The wind pushed against the house like it wanted to get inside. I lay in bed listening to it, the house dark and empty except for the two of us. Mom was still gone. Four days had become three left. The storm felt like permission.
I got up and pulled on the thinnest shirt I owned—pale blue, almost see-through, soft cotton that clung to everything the second it touched my skin. No bra. Nothing underneath.
The hem barely reached the tops of my thighs. Every step made the fabric shift against my bare breasts and the soft heat between my legs. I left my bedroom door open and walked out into the hallway.
Another crack of thunder hit, close enough that the lights flickered. I called out, voice just loud enough to carry.
“Ronan?”
I heard movement in his room. A second later his door opened. He stepped into the hallway wearing only dark sweatpants, bare chest, hair a little messy like he had been trying and failing to sleep. Lightning flashed again and lit the hard lines of his shoulders and stomach.
“What is it?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.
“The storm,” I said. “It’s really loud.”
He looked at me—really looked. The thin shirt. The clear outline of my bare breasts, nipples tight from the cool air. The way the fabric stopped high on my thighs and left almost nothing to the imagination. His eyes darkened. His throat moved as he swallowed.
I took two steps toward him before I could talk myself out of it and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my whole body against his.
He went completely still.
My breasts flattened against the hard muscle of his bare chest. The thin shirt did nothing to hide the soft weight of them or the way my nipples dragged across his skin. I felt him shiver once, sharp and involuntary, like the contact had shocked him. His hands came up and hovered near my back like he didn’t trust himself to touch me.
I could feel his cock already getting hard between us, thick and heavy against my lower stomach through the soft fabric of his sweatpants. It grew longer and thicker with every second I stayed pressed against him.
I stayed there, breathing in the warm scent of his skin, feeling the way his heart beat hard under my cheek. Then I slowly slid one hand down between our bodies and wrapped my fingers around the hard length of him through the fabric.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
His whole body tensed.
I squeezed once, feeling how thick and hot he was, how the heavy shaft twitched against my palm. I looked up at his face. His eyes were almost black in the storm light. His jaw was locked so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek.
I stroked him once through the sweatpants, slow and deliberate, and spoke the words I had been holding since the night he first caught me with my hand between my legs.
“Ruin me, stepdaddy.”