PINNED BY MY STEPFATHER

The Son Who Protects

Chapter 9

Derek’s POV

The morning light cut through the blinds in sharp, unforgiving strips across the kitchen floor.

I stood at the counter, gripping my coffee mug like it was the only thing anchoring me to reality.

Mom had already left for her shift, leaving behind her usual optimistic note and the faint scent of her perfume.

The apartment felt smaller now, heavier, as if Marcus’s presence had permanently altered the air.

He sat at the dining table in a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reviewing wedding documents on his tablet.

The silver threading through his dark hair caught the light, and his broad shoulders filled the space with quiet authority.

He looked like he belonged here. That was the problem.

I took a slow sip, the bitterness burning down my throat. “We need to talk about boundaries,” I said, echoing yesterday’s conversation but needing to reinforce it.

My voice came out steadier than I felt.

Marcus looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine with that unnerving calm.

He set the tablet aside and leaned back, giving me his full attention. “I thought we already did.”

“Not enough.” I stepped closer, heart hammering. “Avoid unnecessary conversations. Keep things surface-level. This is complicated enough without… whatever this is.”

He studied me for a long moment, the kind of look that stripped away my carefully built walls. “I understand, Derek. I’ll respect what you’re asking. Minimal talk beyond what’s needed for your mom’s sake.” His voice was low, measured.

Then he added, “But you’re running from your emotions instead of facing them. That won’t make the confusion disappear.”

The words hit like a precise strike.

He saw me too clearly, the shy, overthinking twenty-one-year-old who hid behind books and routines. Frustration surged hot in my chest.

I wanted anger, a fight, something solid to push against. His patience only made everything worse.

“Just the boundaries,” I muttered, turning away before he could read more on my face.

Campus offered no real escape. The quad buzzed with students laughing between classes, but I moved through it like a ghost.

My library shift passed in a blur of shelving carts and polite nods. Alex stopped by during a lull, his messy blond hair tousled, easy smile in place.

“Project notes look solid,” he said, leaning against the aisle. “You okay? Seem a bit off today.”

“Fine,” I replied, stacking books with more force than necessary. “Just family adjustments.”

He didn’t push, suggesting we meet later to refine our presentation.

His friendship felt like a lifeline, normal, uncomplicated. Yet even that carried the weight of everything I hid. As he walked away, my phone buzzed. Lena.

I Saw you with Sophie at the party. Interesting choice. Or are you avoiding something bigger?

I deleted it, jaw tight. The secrets were multiplying, pressing in from every side.

By evening, the apartment lights glowed warmly when I returned. Mom had texted she’d be late from a clinic emergency. Marcus was in the kitchen, preparing dinner with efficient movements. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the space, familiar and invasive.

I hung my bag and tried to slip past to my room.

“Derek.” His voice stopped me in the hallway.

I turned. He stood there, tall and composed, wiping his hands on a towel.

The narrow space amplified everything, the faint scent of his soap, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the memory of his body against mine from that night weeks ago.

“Mom’s not home yet,” he said quietly. “We should talk properly.”

My pulse spiked. “We set the boundaries.”

“You set them.” He stepped closer, not touching, but close enough that heat radiated between us. “I’m trying to respect them. But every time you look at me, I see the same conflict I feel.”

I backed up until my shoulders hit the wall. “This is about protecting Mom. She’s finally happy. After everything with Dad… I won’t destroy that.”

Marcus’s expression softened, but his eyes darkened with something deeper. “You think I want to hurt her? I care about her. Deeply. But what happened between us wasn’t planned. It was real. And it’s not going away just because you draw lines in the sand.”

His hand lifted, hovering near my jaw without making contact. The almost-touch sent electricity across my skin.

I remembered the weight of that hand, how it had pinned me, guided me, made me fall apart.

“I can’t do this to her,” I whispered, but my body betrayed me.

My breathing quickened, and I felt myself hardening despite the guilt twisting in my gut.

Marcus’s voice dropped lower, rougher. “Then tell me to walk away right now. Tell me you feel nothing when I’m in the room.

That you don’t think about how I touched you. How you sounded when you came for me.”

The words hit like a spark on dry tinder. Heat flooded my face, my c**k straining against my jeans.

I opened my mouth, but no denial came. Instead, my gaze dropped to his lips, then lower, remembering the strength in his body.

He noticed. A faint, hungry smile tugged at his mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

For a second, the air crackled with possibility. His thumb finally brushed my lower lip, light, teasing, electric.

I leaned in involuntarily, craving more. The kiss almost happened. I could taste it.

Then the sound of keys in the front door shattered everything.

We sprang apart. Mom walked in, smiling tiredly as she hung her coat. “You two are home! Something smells amazing.”

Marcus smoothly turned back to the stove. “Just finished dinner. How was your shift?”

I escaped to the table, face burning, heart pounding against my ribs. Mom chatted happily about her day, oblivious to the charged silence between us.

Every laugh from her twisted the knife of guilt deeper. She deserved this happiness. And I was the one risking it all.

Dinner passed in a haze of small talk. I contributed little, hyper-aware of Marcus’s presence beside me, the occasional brush of his leg under the table that might have been accidental, or might not. Each contact sent sparks up my spine.

Later, as Mom headed to bed early, exhausted, she kissed my cheek. “Love you, honey. Try to get some rest.”

The door to her room clicked shut.

Marcus lingered in the kitchen, wiping down the counter. His eyes met mine across the space. “We’re not done, Derek.”

My stomach flipped. Part of me wanted to bolt. The darker, hungrier part, the one he had awakened, I wanted him to follow through on the promise in his gaze.

I retreated to my room, closing the door softly, but sleep felt impossible.

The slow burn of tension coiled tighter in my chest, every respectful distance making the pull toward him stronger, more inevitable.

Outside, the city hummed faintly. Inside, the apartment no longer felt like just home.

It felt like the beginning of something that would either save me or destroy everything I cared about.

And Marcus had made it clear: he wasn’t backing down from any part of it.