Chelsea.
God, I wasn’t sorry.
Not even a little bit.
Taking Mommy’s husband’s c**k deep inside me felt too f*****g good to feel guilty about.
What was there to be sorry for when his thick, veiny d**k was everything I had craved for months?
I’d fantasized about it.
Touched myself imagining it.
Tasted it behind my eyelids every single night.
I’d pictured Roman stretching me open, ruining me, claiming me in ways my pathetic boyfriend never could.
I loved Roman.
I loved my stepdaddy with a filthy, desperate kind of love that consumed me. And I would do anything—anything—to get f****d by him over and over again.
I didn’t care how wrong it was.
I didn’t care that my mother slept beside him every night.
All I cared about was the way his c**k made me feel alive.
I had just
