Greer's POV 

I closed the door so softly it barely clicked. Then I stood there in the hallway, back pressed to the cool wood, heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. My legs felt unsteady, like the floor might tilt and drop me any second.

I had just seen my stepfather naked. 

Not just naked-thick. Veined. Eight inches of him hanging heavy between his thighs, the kind of cock that looked made for slow, deliberate ruin. I squeezed my eyes shut. Tried to shake the image. Counted backward from one hundred. Pictured cold water. Winter wind. Anything clean and safe. It didn't work.

The picture stayed. Burned behind my lids. The way the veins curved along the shaft, the slight upward tilt even soft, the dark hair at the base. I could almost feel the heat of it if I let myself imagine reaching out.

I pressed my thighs together. A shameful throb answered between my legs. Wet. Instant. Wrong. I was supposed to want Wells. Wells, with his easy smile and gentle touches. Wells, who had made me feel seen for the first time in years. Not his father.

Not the man who was about to become family. Not the man whose voice had gone rough when he said my name. I pushed off the door and started walking. Fast. Anywhere. My bare feet slapped quietly against the runner. I needed motion. Distance. Something to drown the pulse between my thighs.

But my mind kept circling back. What would it feel like? To be stretched by him. Filled. Taken apart slowly until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but arch and beg. I'd always been good at being alone. I'd raised myself. Cooked for myself. Came for myself in the dark with my phone screen turned low, headphones in, volume barely above a whisper so no one would hear. I knew my body. Knew what made me shake. Knew the difference between quick relief and the kind of orgasm that left you trembling for minutes after.

And Calder... God. He looked like the kind of man who would know exactly how to draw it out. How to pin wrists. How to whisper filthy things in that low, controlled voice until I broke. I stopped in an empty corridor and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. I wasn't innocent. Not really. I'd watched enough porn to understand power dynamics, age gaps, forbidden lines. Stepfather. Stepdaughter. 

The taboo of it had always made me clench harder, come faster. But this wasn't fantasy. This was real and I was wet because of it. Footsteps echoed from the stairwell. I straightened fast, smoothing my shirt, trying to look normal. Wells appeared at the top of the stairs, still in his football practice gear-gray hoodie, black shorts, hair damp with sweat. He carried his cleats in one hand, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He looked flushed, alive, boyish in a way that used to make my stomach flutter.

"Hey," he said, smiling that half-smile that used to undo me.

"Hey." My voice came out thinner than I wanted. He tilted his head. 

"You okay? You look... flushed."

"I'm fine." Lie. "Just hot. The house is warm."

He stepped closer. Close enough I could smell grass and clean sweat and the faint cedar of his cologne underneath it all.

"You sure?" His hand lifted like he might touch my arm, then dropped again. "You've been quiet lately."

"I'm always quiet."

"Not like this."

I forced a smile. "Just wedding stress. You know how it is."

He studied me a second longer. Then nodded. "Yeah. Dad's been weird too. More than usual."

My pulse jumped at the mention of Calder..

I looked away. 

"I should go."

Before he could say anything else, I slipped past him and hurried down the hall. My chest ached with something like guilt. I used to daydream about Wells. About stolen kisses in the library. About him choosing me over Indira. About him seeing me the way no one else ever had. Now all I could see was his father's cock.

I hated myself for it. I hated Veda for bringing us here. I hated the part of me that wanted more. I needed to fix this. Needed to make it right somehow. If I gave her my blessing-really gave it-maybe the guilt would lift. Maybe the thoughts would stop. Maybe I could look at Calder without my body betraying me. I turned toward her suite.

The door was cracked, just enough for voices to drift out. Veda's laugh-so high, practiced, the one she used when she was trying to sound delighted instead of calculating. Then a man's voice. Low. Smooth. Not Calder's voice. 

I froze mid-step.

"...he's still dragging his feet on the prenup, but I'll get him to sign. You know how these old-money types are-cautious until you stroke their ego just right." Veda's tone turned syrupy, intimate. 

"Mmm, you always know how to handle them. Just make sure the transfer is ready when I say." The man said. 

"I'm not staying in this house forever if Calder gets cold feet. I've got options, darling."

The man chuckled-deep, confident. 

"You've got me. And the villa in Capri is still waiting. One call and it's yours. No questions." 

My stomach twisted.

Veda sighed, almost dreamy. 

"God, I miss privacy. This place is suffocating. And Greer... she's becoming a problem again. Moody. Clingy. Always in the way. I thought she'd fade into the background once we moved in, but she's still here...." A pause. 

The man's voice softened, coaxing. "She's eighteen. She'll move on. Or you'll make her. You always do." Veda laughed again and it was sharper this time. "She's just like her father. Weak. Needy. I gave her a roof, clothes, this ridiculous new life. If she can't be grateful, that's on her. Once the ring's on my finger and the accounts are secure, she can disappear for all I care."

The words hit like stones. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep the sound in.

She wasn't talking to Calder. She was talking to someone else. Someone who was already positioning himself as her backup plan. Someone who was promising villas and transfers and freedom from the very marriage she was about to walk down the aisle for. 

I couldn't listen anymore. I backed away, silent, until I was far enough down the hall that my footsteps wouldn't carry.

Then I ran. Back to my room. Door locked. I slid down against it, knees to my chest, and let the tears come.

Not because of what I felt.

But because the only person who was supposed to choose me, my mother, she had just confirmed what I'd always suspected. I was never going to be enough. Not for her.

And maybe not for anyone. But the ache between my legs hadn't gone away and neither had the image of Calder's cock.

I buried my face in my arms and tried not to hate myself more than I already did.

Calder's POV

She hasn't left my mind since that night. One accidental step through an open door. One frozen heartbeat where our eyes locked and the world narrowed to the sound of her quick, startled inhale. Now every quiet moment is infected with her, Greer.

The way her gaze dropped to my cock, lingered long enough to sear the image into me, then snapped away like she'd been caught in something criminal. The flush that climbed her throat in slow, guilty waves. The soft hitch in her breath that echoed in my chest for hours afterward. 

I've told myself a hundred times it means nothing. Biology. A man's body reacting to proximity, to youth, to the sheer wrongness of the situation. She's eighteen. My son's soon-to-be stepsister. My fiancée's daughter. The lines couldn't be drawn any sharper, any more final. And yet. 

Dinner that evening was unbearable. The long mahogany table gleamed under the chandelier's low, golden light. Veda sat to my right in emerald silk that caught every flicker, chatting brightly about seating charts, champagne vintages, and the string quartet she'd finally booked. Wells lounged across from her, half-distracted by whatever notification lit up his phone screen. Indira beside him, her posture perfect, smile polished, every movement calculated for maximum elegance. 

And Greer, directly opposite me, head lowered, fork tracing invisible, endless patterns through the remnants of her risotto. I tried not to look. I failed spectacularly. 

Every time my eyes lifted from my plate they found her. The delicate column of her throat when she swallowed. The faint shadow her lashes cast across her cheeks. The way her lips parted slightly on each quiet, shallow breath. I imagined. Jesus Christ! 

Forgive me!

Those lips parting wider. Gasping my name. Wrapped around the length of me while her eyes watered and her hands gripped my thighs. The thought hit like a fist to the gut. I forced conversation to drown it.

"Wells," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "Practice went well today?" He glanced up, surprised I'd addressed him directly. "Yeah. The coach is coaching me for the next game."

"Good. Consistency matters more than talent at your level." Veda laughed lightly, touching my forearm. "Always the strategist, darling. Even at dinner."

I offered a tight smile that felt more like a grimace. Greer stayed silent through the exchange. Her eyes flicked up once. It was wide, startled, like she'd been caught listening to something she shouldn't. And then dropped again. Her fingers tightened on her fork until her knuckles paled white against the silver. She dropped it immediately and excused herself. I tried small talk with Indira next. Weather in the city. Her upcoming university applications. 

Safe, neutral topics that should have anchored me. None of it worked. My pulse stayed too high, my thoughts too low. Under the table my thigh tensed rhythmically, remembering the exact second her gaze had landed between my legs that night, how she'd frozen, how her pupils had blown wide, how she hadn't immediately looked away. I excused myself before dessert was cleared.

The hallway felt longer than usual, shadows stretching across the marble like fingers. My study door stood open, light spilling warm into the corridor, but I didn't go in. My feet carried me instead to the guest wing. To her door. I stopped outside it. This was madness.

I command boardrooms full of men twice my age. I close deals worth billions without breaking a sweat. Control is not something I possess, it's who I am. Yet here I stood, heart hammering, seconds from knocking because I couldn't erase the memory of her eyes on my cock, the way her breath had caught, the way her body had betrayed the same forbidden curiosity I felt burning through me. I raised my fist to knock. 

Lowered it. Raised it again. Then I heard the music. Low. Sultry. Bass thrumming through the wood like a second heartbeat. I shouldn't have looked. I pushed the door open an inch. Just enough. Greer stood in the center of the room, back to me, wireless headphones on, eyes closed. Tiny sleep shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass. Thin tank top clinging to the dip of her waist and the gentle swell of her breasts. Her hips rolled slowly, deliberately, following the rhythm of whatever filthy track was playing. 

Arms lifted, fingers threading through her hair, body swaying like she was alone in the universe, innocent yet achingly sensual. The way her ass flexed with each slow grind. The subtle bounce of her breasts beneath cotton. The arch of her back when she dipped low and rose again. I couldn't breathe properly.

My cock thickened instantly, it was hard, aching, straining against wool in seconds. She spun. Our eyes met. She froze mid-motion. Headphones slipped down to hang around her neck. Music leaked out-slowly, explicit lyrics about craving what's forbidden, about bodies that shouldn't touch but do anyway.

"Mr. Rhys," she whispered. 

Shocked. Voice trembling at the edges. 

I turned to leave.

"Calder-wait!" Her bare feet slapped the floor as she ran after me. I should have kept walking but I didn't. She reached for my arm and she missed it. She stumbled on the edge of the rug.

She fell forward. Straight into me. Her cheek landed against the front of my slacks. Right over the thick, straining ridge of my erection. 

Time fractured. Her breath came hot through the fabric. Once. Twice. A soft, startled sound slipped from her throat-not quite a gasp, not quite a moan, but something dangerously close to both. I went rigid. Every muscle locked.

She didn't pull away. Neither did I.

Her hands braced on my thighs, fingers digging in, feeling the tremor that ran through me. Her face stayed pressed to me, nose brushing the hard length, lips so close I could feel the damp heat of her mouth seeping through wool.

My hand moved slowly, involuntarily and settled on the back of her head. Not pushing. Not pulling. Just resting. Feeling the silk of her hair. Feeling her shiver under my palm.

"Greer," I said. Voice gravel. Barely recognizable as my own. She didn't move.

Her breath puffed again, deliberate now. Warm. Teasing. Her cheek nuzzled, just the slightest shift against the bulge, I sucked in air through clenched teeth. She lifted her head slowly. Eyes wide. Pupils blown dark. Lips parted. Cheeks scarlet.

Our gazes locked. Hers dropped to my mouth, then lower. To where her face had just rested. To where I throbbed visibly for her.

"I-" she started.

"Don't," I cut in. Rougher than I intended. "Don't apologize." 

She swallowed. The sound is loud in the quiet hall.

We stayed like that, hand still tangled in her hair. Neither of us is moving to break the contact. The air between us crackled, thick with everything we weren't saying, everything we shouldn't want.

Her fingers flexed on my thighs. Then one hesitant inch higher. Grazing the base of my cock through fabric. I shuddered. Hard. She felt it. Her eyes flicked up again searching, daring, a spark of something reckless in them. I didn't step back. 

I didn't pull her up. I simply stood there, letting her feel me. Letting her see exactly what she'd done. Her tongue darted out, wet her bottom lip in one slow, deliberate swipe. The sight snapped something low and primal in my gut. 

My thumb brushed once, barely against the nape of her neck.

She shivered harder. Nipples peaked visibly against her thin tank top.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved away.

The hallway stayed silent except for our breathing, ragged, uneven, perfectly matched.

I knew I should stop this. I knew I should walk out that door and never look back. But my hand stayed in her hair. And she stayed on her knees.

Pressed against me. 

Waiting.

Greer's POV

I didn't expect him to stay. 

Ater I fell, my cheek pressed hot and trembling against the thick, straining bulge in his slacks. I braced for the inevitable: the sharp step back, the muttered apology laced with regret, the door closing behind him as he fled down the hall. I braced for shame to crash over me like cold water, leaving me kneeling alone on the rug with my face burning and my heart in pieces. He didn't move. Neither did I.

My hands stayed braced on his thighs, fingers sinking into firm muscle that quivered beneath my palms like taut wire about to snap. His cock throbbed against my cheek through the wool hard, insistent, alive in a way that made my own pulse stutter. His hand remained in my hair: heavy, warm, fingers loosely threaded as though he were caught between cradling me and holding himself back from something irreversible. Maybe he was afraid to grip too tight. Maybe he was afraid to let go at all.

My breath came in shallow, uneven puffs that fogged the dark fabric. Once. Twice. On the third exhale I nuzzled, just the smallest, most tentative shift of my cheek against him. He twitched violently in response. A low, broken sound tore from his throat, half groan, half surrender.

"Greer," he rasped. His voice was wrecked, gravel dragged over silk. "We can't."

The words sounded more like a plea than a command. But he didn't pull away. I lifted my head slowly, lashes fluttering as I looked up at him through the dim lamplight. His eyes were nearly black-pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of winter blue remained. His jaw was clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek like a countdown. He looked like a man at war with every rule he'd ever lived by. 

And he was losing. My fingers trembled as I reached up again. Grazed the front of his slacks, light at first, exploratory, then firmer. Cupping the full, heavy length of him through the layers. He shuddered hard enough that I felt it ripple through his entire frame. His hips jerked forward once, unconscious, needy, then stilled as though he'd shocked himself.

"Has anyone ever touched you like this?" I whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. 

"When you were trying so hard not to want it?"He exhaled through his nose, rough, ragged. "Don't."

But his hand tightened in my hair. Not pushing me away. Guiding me closer until my lips hovered a breath away from the straining outline. 

I rose higher on my knees, enough to press my open mouth over the fabric. Warm breath seeped through wool. He groaned low, guttural, the sound vibrating straight down my spine to pool hot and liquid between my thighs. I was soaked. Aching. My tiny sleep shorts clung uncomfortably to my folds, every throb of want echoing the insistent pulse against my lips. 

My nipples strained painfully against the thin cotton of my tank top, begging for friction I didn't dare give myself yet. I fumbled with his belt. The metal buckle clinked softly in the quiet room, too loud, too intimate. Zipper rasped down with agonizing slowness. I tugged the waistband of his boxers low enough for him to spring free. Thick. Veined. The head flushed a deep, angry plum and already glistening at the slit. Precum beaded there, catching the low golden light like liquid amber. 

The sight made my mouth water. I stared, memorizing every ridge, every subtle curve, the way the thick vein along the underside pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Then I leaned in.

My tongue flicked out first, a slow, deliberate circle around the swollen head. Salty. Hot. Pure him.

Calder sucked in a sharp, hissing breath. His free hand shot out and braced against the wall above my head, knuckles whitening as though he needed the solid surface to keep from collapsing. I took him deeper. Lips stretching wide around his girth. Tongue flattening along the underside, tracing that prominent vein as I slid down. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked gently at first, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, then harder. 

Bobbing slow. Letting him feel every slick drag, every teasing swirl. "Fuck," he breathed. The word cracked open, raw and reverent.

His hips rocked, shallow, testing the waters. Then deeper. Fucking my mouth in careful, measured thrusts that grew less measured with every pass. Control fraying at the edges.

I moaned around him-low, needy. The vibration ripped another curse from his chest, rough, ragged. His hand in my hair guided now, gently but firmly, setting a rhythm that made my scalp tingle. I took him to the back of my throat. Gagged once, softly, reflexively and then relaxed, breathing through my nose as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. 

Drool slipped down my chin in thin, glistening trails. I didn't care. I wanted to be messy for him. Marked by him. He was moaning freely now, low, broken sounds that tore from deep in his chest like he couldn't hold them back anymore. 

"Greer... Christ... just like that... fuck, sweetheart..." The endearment was soft, accidental and it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through me. My free hand wrapped around the base, stroking what my mouth couldn't reach. Twisting gently on the upstroke. Matching the slide of my lips until we found a perfect, filthy sync.

His thighs trembled under my palms. Abs clenched so tight the ridges stood out in sharp relief beneath his open shirt. His breath came in short, desperate pants that matched the frantic beat of my own heart. I felt powerful. Worshipped. Wanted in a way I'd never been. It was raw, desperate, undeniable. 

He swelled thicker against my tongue. Hotter. Closer. So close. I sucked harder. Faster. Hollowed my cheeks until my jaw ached sweetly. Tongue swirling relentlessly over the sensitive head on every withdrawal. His moans turned desperate, raw, unrestrained. Fingers fisting tighter in my hair. Hips snapping forward in shallow, helpless thrusts.

Then, a knock. It was sharp. On the door. We both froze. My mouth still wrapped around him, lips stretched wide, throat full, tongue pressed flat to the pulsing vein underneath. His cock throbbed once, it became hard, warning against the roof of my mouth.

Another knock. Softer this time.

"Greer?" Veda's voice drifted through the wood, muffled, impatient, edged with irritation. 

"Are you awake? I need to talk about tomorrow's schedule."

Calder's hand fisted tighter in my hair and for one heartbeat like he might yank me off, might end this before it consumed us both. 

He didn't. Instead his hips rocked forward, just once. It was shallow, needy and pushing deeper until the head nudged the back of my throat again. I moaned around him softly and muffled the sound vibrating straight through his length.

He bit out a curse under his breath. Low. Desperate. I was almost in pain. Veda knocked again.

"Greer?" Neither of us answered.

We were too far gone.

His other hand dropped to my shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise. Holding me exactly where he needed me. His hips moved again, slowly, deliberately, fucking my mouth like the interruption had never happened, like the only reality that existed was the wet heat of my mouth and the desperate sounds he couldn't stop making. I took it. Took all of him. Eyes streaming. Throat working around his thickness. Hands braced on his trembling thighs.

The knock became intense. It got louder.. 

The door stayed closed. Calder's moans started again. It was quieter now, but no less wrecked. Hoarse. Broken. Beautiful. He was close.

So close that I tasted him flooding my mouth, the stretch of my lips, the way he held me like I was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

We didn't stop.

Just then......