"We're five minutes from home. You can wait five minutes."
She laughs, low and teasing. "Can you?"
Barely. I'm so hard it hurts, and every time she shifts in her seat, every time I catch a glimpse of her legs in those shoes—Julie's shoes—I have to fight the urge to do exactly what I threatened. When we finally pull into the garage, I'm out of the car in a blink. I come around to her side and pull her out, pressing her against the door and kissing her hard.
She gasps into my mouth, her hands fisting in my shirt. "Asher?—"
"Inside. Now."
We stumble through the door into the kitchen. I'm vaguely aware that I should arm the system and turn off the lights, but it’s low priority at this point. All I care about is getting Devonto the bedroom. I grab her hand and pull her toward the stairs. She follows, laughing breathlessly, and the sound of her heels—Julie's heels—clicking on the hardwood is the most erotic thing I've ever heard.
We make it to the bedroom. My bedroom. The one I've shared with Julie for two years, the one where we used to fuck but then stopped. The one where I've lain awake so many nights wishing I was anywhere else. It's mine now. And I'm taking it back. I push Devon against the door as soon as it closes, my hands already reaching for the zipper of her dress. She arches into me, her head falling back as I kiss down her neck.
"You meant it," she breathes. "About not stopping."
"I meant it." I pull the zipper down and the dress falls away, pooling at her feet. She wasn't lying. She's completely naked underneath except for the shoes. "Jesus Christ."
"You like it?"
"I fucking love it." I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands gripping her hips. "I'm going to fuck you while you wear her shoes."
We make it to the bed. Julie's side of the bed, specifically. I lay Devon down there, in the exact spot where my wife sleeps, and I don't feel a single shred of guilt. I feel powerful. Free. Like I'm finally doing what I was always meant to do.
Devon pulls me down on top of her, her legs wrapping around my waist. "I want you inside me, like we talked about. Bare. I'm on birth control and I want your cum inside of me."
"I know." I kiss her, deep and slow. "I want that too."
"Then do it." Her hands slide down to my belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. "Stop holding back. Stop waiting. Just do it."
So I do. I push inside her slowly, watching her face as she takes me. Her eyes flutter closed and her mouth falls open andshe makes this sound—half gasp, half moan—that goes straight to my head. "Fuck," I breathe. "Baby?—"
"Don't stop." Her nails dig into my shoulders as she wraps her legs around my waist. "Don't be gentle. Fuck me, Asher."
I fuck her slowly at first, then harder, then harder still, until the bed is shaking and she's crying out and I'm so far gone I can't think about anything except how good this feels, how right this is, how this is what I've been missing. This is what I should've had all along. She screams, clenching so hard on my cock I almost pass the fuck out. My eighteen year old, wet as fuck stepsister is taking me like a champ.
I flip her onto her knees, slamming into her, listening to her keening cries as I bottom out again and again. When I cum, it's with her name on my lips and my hands fisted in the sheets—the sheets Julie picked out that smell like her fucking lavender detergent. Not anymore. Now they smell like Devon's pussy and my cum.
I collapse next to Devon, breathing hard, and pull her against me. She curls into my side, her head on my chest, and I can feel her smiling.
"That was—" she starts.
"I know."
"Are you okay?"
I look up at the ceiling. At the bedroom I've hated for months. At the life I've been trapped in. "Baby, I'm perfect," I say.
And I mean it. There's no going back now. I want this. I want Devon. I want the freedom to do what I want without guilt or obligation or the constant weight of Julie's disappointment. I'm done being the husband my father forced me to be. I'm done being the son my father wanted me to be. I'm just going to be exactly who I am and make myself happy.
If that makes me the villain in someone else's story, I don't give a fuck.
CHAPTER
FORTY-THREE
ASHER
I waketo Devon's hand sliding down my chest. I drifted off for a second, maybe ten or fifteen minutes—barely enough time to come down from the high of finally crossing that line. But her touch is deliberate, purposeful, and when her fingers wrap around my cock, I'm already hard again.
