Home alone with my stepfather
1739 Words
Anna’s POV
I never expected to feel this way. When Mom announced she was getting remarried, I nodded and smiled like I was happy for her. But the first time I met Hunter, something in me shifted. I wasn’t prepared for how attractive he was—tall, composed, charming in that quiet, commanding way.
Maybe it was because I’d never really had a father figure. Maybe it was because he looked at me like he saw me—not just as Mom’s daughter, but as a woman. Whatever the reason, I found myself drawn to him instantly… and painfully aware of how wrong that was.
For months, I tried to rationalize it. I told myself I just craved care, protection. I thought maybe I could redirect the feelings by dating older guys—grad students, men with degrees and jobs and edge. But none of them satisfied me. None of them made me feel what I felt just sitting across the dinner table from Hunter.
It was something deeper. Something undeniable.
Now that I lived on campus, I only came home every other weekend. That night, I pulled into the driveway and noticed Mom’s car wasn’t there. I didn’t think too much of it at first.
“Hey!” I called out as I stepped into the kitchen.
Hunter appeared almost immediately, leaning casually against the counter. “Hey, Anna,” he said, flashing that familiar warm smile. “Glad you came back this weekend.”
He pulled me into a quick side hug—brief, polite, but it made my skin tingle.
“Where’s Mom?”
“She left for the weekend. Girls’ trip with her old friends. I understand if you don’t want to stay, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”
The words were casual, completely innocent. But my mind raced.
Alone. With him.
“I mean… I don’t have any plans,” I said, hoping he didn’t notice the way my heart was hammering. “So, yeah. I’ll stay.”
“Perfect.” His smile widened just a little. “Why don’t you get settled in while I throw together some dinner? We’ll do something lowkey—eat, watch a movie. A little stepdad-daughter date?”
The word date made my stomach flip. He said it teasingly, probably without thinking, but still… I hated how much I liked the sound of it.
“Sounds great,” I replied, doing my best to keep it together as I headed upstairs.
In my room, I took my time showering. I tried to scrub the heat out of my skin, tried to tell myself that this weekend was just like any other. But I still picked out a soft, flowy summer dress—the kind that clung to all the right places without looking like I was trying too hard.
When I walked back downstairs, my breath caught.
The table was set. Steak, roasted potatoes, grilled veggies, even a candle. “Wow,” I said, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face.
“You like it?”
“If it tastes half as good as it looks, I’m impressed.”
“Then sit down and eat,” he said, watching me closely.
I sat across from him and took a bite—and let out a small moan. It was so good.
He smirked, clearly amused. “That good?”
I nodded, cheeks warm. “Best meal I’ve had in weeks.”
We ate and talked—nothing deep, just easy conversation. But the whole time, my focus was on him. The way his forearms flexed when he cut into his steak. The sprinkle of gray in his dark hair. The way he laughed softly at my jokes, like I actually mattered.
I kept stealing glances. And I knew he noticed.
When we moved to the living room for the movie, I sat in my usual spot on the couch—but with Mom gone, that meant there was no buffer between us. He sat closer than normal, and my breath caught again.
Halfway through the movie, he turned to me. “So… Jerid? You still seeing him?”
I shook my head. “No. We broke up.”
“Oh?” he asked, voice low. “Why?”
I hesitated, then said, “I just haven’t met anyone who fits. I keep trying, but… they don’t feel right.”
“What does feel right?”
I looked at him. “I don’t know. Someone older. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing. Someone who… cares.”
He nodded slowly, and something shifted in his gaze. “So, someone who sees you. Who wants to take care of you.”
My breath hitched. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Exactly.”
He leaned in, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I don’t like how those guys treat you, Anna. You deserve more. You need someone who actually understands you.”
My heart was thundering. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “For the way I look at you.”
“Don’t be.”
And then he kissed me.
Soft at first—like he was testing the line. Then deeper. Hungrier. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me gently down onto the couch. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t.
I’d imagined this moment so many times. Dreamt about his hands, his mouth, the weight of his body on mine. But nothing prepared me for the real thing.
His scent surrounded me—clean, masculine, familiar—and his fingers left trails of fire as they moved down my sides, lifting my dress inch by inch.
When he whispered, “Tell me what you want,” I didn’t hesitate.
“You. I want you inside me. Please.”
He smiled—dark, possessive—and unzipped his jeans, freeing himself. I gasped as he pushed into me, slowly, filling me inch by inch. My nails dug into his shoulders, and I moaned—loud and raw—as he started to move.
This wasn’t just s*x. This was years of longing, of restraint, of pretending.
His thrusts grew deeper, more intense, and I wrapped my legs around him, wanting to keep him there, to never let him go.
He kissed me again, biting softly at my lip. “You feel so good,” he groaned. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“Me too,” I breathed. “Don’t stop.”
And he didn’t.
Every thrust, every moan, every whispered name broke something in me—something I didn’t want back. Because now I knew… it wasn’t just fantasy.
He wanted me too.
Every movement of his hips sent a fresh wave of pleasure rolling through me. My fingers clawed at his back, desperate to keep him close. His breath was hot and ragged against my neck, and I could feel the tension in his body—the control he was barely holding on to.
“God, Anna…” he groaned into my skin, his voice hoarse. “You feel… unreal.”
I arched into him, my hands tangled in his hair now, pulling him back to my mouth. Our lips collided again—wet, urgent, messy. I could taste my own moans on his tongue.
He thrust deeper, harder, his pace picking up, and I cried out, my body shaking beneath him. He gripped my thigh and pulled it higher around his waist, sinking into me at an angle that made stars burst behind my eyes.
“Hunter—oh my God—”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, and there was something raw in his tone. Like this wasn’t just lust for him. Like he’d been fighting this just as hard as I had.
The couch creaked beneath us as he pounded into me, my moans filling the living room—louder now, shameless. I didn’t care if the neighbors heard. I didn’t care about anything but the way he felt inside me.
His hand slid under my dress, up my stomach, cupping my breast, teasing my n****e until I whimpered again. He watched me the entire time—his eyes dark with desire, his jaw tight with restraint.
“You wanted this for so long, didn’t you?” he said lowly.
“Yes,” I panted. “Yes, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you.”
He kissed me again, deeper now, slower for a moment, savoring me. Then he broke away and growled against my throat, “Then take it. Take all of me.”
He pulled out only long enough to flip me onto my stomach, and before I could even catch my breath, he was inside me again, one hand gripping my hip tight while the other pressed between my shoulder blades, holding me down as he f****d me harder.
I cried out into the pillow, the sensation overwhelming, my body rocking with every thrust. It was filthy, primal, and I wanted more.
“Please,” I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for anymore. “Please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he groaned. “You’re mine now. You hear me, Anna? f*****g mine.”
I felt something tighten low in my stomach, coiling fast.
“I’m—oh god—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he ordered, voice gravel and heat. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”
That did it.
My entire body tensed and then exploded in pleasure. I shattered, screaming his name as I clenched around him, waves of ecstasy crashing through me. My legs trembled, my vision blurred, and I collapsed into the cushions, boneless and breathless.
He followed seconds later, slamming deep one last time before groaning my name like it was a prayer and spilling inside me.
For a long moment, we stayed like that—tangled, panting, soaked in sweat and satisfaction. The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock and the slowing thud of our hearts.
Hunter pressed soft kisses along my spine as he slowly pulled out and lay beside me, one arm wrapping tightly around my waist.
“I shouldn’t want you this much,” he murmured into my shoulder.
“But you do,” I whispered back.
He didn’t respond—not with words. Just a long, slow kiss that said everything.
- Writer
