Daddy’s Girl [ Her Mother's Husband]

Aleen's POV::

"Your tardiness is unacceptable, Aleen," my stepfather's baritone voice boomed in the dimly lit sitting room, sending shivers down my spine. In that moment, a mix of fear, realization, and anticipation coursed through me as I squinted, attempting to locate his position in the room.

My heart raced when I saw a looming figure advancing towards me. Every nerve in my body tingled in ways I had never experienced before. "Damn it, Aleen! He is your father," a voice in my head scolded, but my body arrogantly ignored it. In the presence of Stéphane, my senses were rendered useless, my body subjected to his every whim.

There was something about this man that had a hold over me, something that made me want to throw caution to the wind and beg him to take me as he pleased. From the first time my mother introduced me to Stéphane as her soon-to-be husband after the death of my father three years ago, I knew he was trouble. Standing before me, tall and commanding, exuding a masculinity that no man could rival.

I recalled my mother's words, the excitement and love that lit up her eyes, the radiance of being in love evident in her every move.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, grasping Stéphane's large hand in mine. As his warm, powerful hand enclosed mine completely, my heart skipped a beat. I couldn't help but shudder as he tightened his grip, sending goosebumps racing across my skin.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Aleen," his deep, seductive voice echoed in my ears. Summoning all of my courage, I looked up to meet his gaze, and in that moment, I knew I was a goner. His eyes darkened as they boldly roamed over my lips.

Feeling uncomfortable with being held by a man I barely knew, and one who my mother was head over heels in love with, I awkwardly cleared my throat and gently pulled my hand from his.

My mother was preoccupied with chatting with the other women at the intimate wedding, leaving me to navigate this encounter alone. Swallowing my nerves, I mustered a small smile and attempted to make conversation with Stéphane.

I pulled his hand, attempting to release mine. It felt so uncomfortable for this unfamiliar man to hold me. My mother is madly in love with him, his eyes darkening at the sight of me. The way he looked at my lips, down to my partially exposed cleavage.

I cringed as his gaze roamed over me, full of lust. In that moment, I knew I despised him. And the fact that he was now my stepfather only amplified my hatred. Calling him "dad" after my mother's constant insistence always felt strange. He was not my biological father, nor was he related to my mother. He was a stranger, a forbidden fruit, someone I shouldn't be attracted to or think of in such inappropriate ways. Stephane was dangerous, a man I should stay away from. Spending three months at home with him, now that he's married to my mother, screams danger. But for some reason, I can't seem to stay away.

"I was out with my friend, we lost track of time," I finally spoke up, feeling his presence near me in the darkness. I could faintly catch a whiff of his cologne, one that had been imprinted in my mind for the past two weeks. The same cologne I had shamelessly sniffed over and over again, sneaking into my mother's bedroom and rummaging through his wardrobe. And now, Stephane was right beside me, warm, manly, and very much alive.

I felt my nipple harden as he exhaled, causing butterflies to flutter in my stomach and my heart to race. My body began to tremble when his hand gently caressed my face.

"How much did you drink, Aleen?" Stephane's deep voice broke the silence.

I couldn't find my voice, his large hand still resting on my face, seductively stroking my skin, his fingers inching towards my lips. A soft moan escaped my lips, secretly craving all the things I wanted him to do to me. So wrong, yet so tempting. I had no idea when my mother would return. It was a mistake leaving Stephane and I alone in the mansion, with his hungry eyes fixated on me.

With great effort, I managed to utter, maintaining control over myself. I resisted the urge to pounce on him and have his mouth on mine.

My heart raced as I witnessed him kiss my mother. It was hot, sweaty, and erotic. My pussy throbbed at the sight, longing for the same experience. I craved Stéphane, I couldn't breathe.

"Don't lie to me Aleen," his voice was heavy and breathless as he turned my head and his thumb slid into my mouth. I couldn't resist sucking on it, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. Damn, I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't care about anything or anyone else. For the past three weeks, Stéphane had consumed my thoughts, like a drug. I wanted him desperately. I knew I had him wrapped around my finger, but I wanted every part and every inch of him.

Summoning all my courage, I abandoned the facade I had maintained for the past few weeks. I moved closer to Stéphane, my breath caressing his face. I could feel his erratic breaths, knowing I had the same effect on him. I knew he wanted me just as much as I wanted him. I knew he had fantasized about me, knew his deepest desires. I knew he had called out my name while in the shower, pleasuring himself with whatever image he held in his memory.

"Don't tempt me, Aleen," Stéphane's arm wrapped around my neck, our faces just inches apart, our breaths mingling and caressing each other's face. I have dreamt about having his lips on mine, sucking, nibbling and awakening more of the fire he had lit in me the day I saw him naked in the bathroom.