The Night I Stopped Being His Little Girl
I should have locked the bathroom door.
That’s the first thought that slams through my skull when the handle turns and Marcus fills the doorway like he owns every inch of this house — including me.
I’m nineteen. He’s forty-two. He’s been my stepfather for six years. And right now I’m sitting on the closed toilet lid with my panties around one ankle, two fingers buried inside my soaked cunt, and his name still wet on my tongue.
“Lily.”
His voice is low. Rough. The kind of voice that used to tell me to do my homework. Now it makes my p***y clench so hard I feel my own slick drip down my knuckles.
I freeze. Fingers still inside me. Skirt bunched around my waist. The tiny pink thong I wore to piss him off hanging off one foot like a surrendered f
