Possessive Stepdad

My name is Liam Blackwood.

My wife is dying.

This is the horniest night of my life.

“HOLY SHIT!”

My vision swam, stars dancing before my eyes. What the hell just happened?

“Isabella? Isabella, are you alright?”

Silence. I needed to get this damn airbag out of my way. It deflated slowly. I punched it, speeding up the process, then looked to the passenger seat.

Isabella was there, slumped against the window, motionless.

SHIT.

“Isabella! Sweetheart, talk to me!”

The tree we’d hit had crushed the entire front passenger side. The window was shattered, but her side of the cabin was intact. She was still belted in.

“Oh God, please, no.”

We were racing to Portsmouth General. Kate—my wife, her mother—had taken a sudden turn. The doctors had called. It was time. We might already be too late.

The memories flooded back, piece by jagged piece. We were driving in silence, a heavy, grieving silence. The only sound was the windshield wipers fighting the rain. Isabella had been crying softly in the backseat for miles. I’d reached back to squeeze her hand. She’d held on tight.

That’s when the deer leaped into the road.

I swerved. The tires hit the muddy shoulder. I lost control.

“Isabella! God, please tell you’re okay.”

Nothing.

I twisted my neck, pain shooting down my spine, and looked at her more closely.

She was breathing. Shallow, but breathing.

“Thank God,” I whispered.

I fumbled with my seatbelt, my fingers slick with cold sweat. The clasp released. The door groaned when I shoved my weight against it, then flew open. Adrenaline burned through my veins. I rushed to her side, yanking the back door open.

“Isabella, can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with shock and pain. “Daddy… Mom…”

“I know, baby. I know. We’re going to get there. Let me get you out.”

My hands closed around her soft, slender thighs to maneuver her. As I pulled her limp body from the wreckage, I noticed for the first time how her rain-soaked dress clung to her. The fabric outlined every curve.

Stop it. Why are you looking? You’re her stepfather, for Christ’s sake. Her mother is dying.

I laid her on the wet grass away from the car. The cold rain fell on her face.

“Isabella, stay with me.” I felt her neck. A pulse, thready but there. I put my cheek to her nose. Shallow breath.

She wore one of those thin, elegant dresses Kate had bought her for the hospital visits. It was torn at the shoulder. How could she be so frail? I needed to check for injuries, to keep her warm. My hands shook as I brushed the torn fabric aside, exposing her collarbone and the top of her chest.

A traitorous heat stirred in my groin. What is wrong with me? She’s hurt. Her mother is dying. I pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the tear in the dress. It ran down the front. I gently parted the fabric, needing to see if her ribs were damaged, if she was bleeding.

Her full breasts were constrained by a simple, lace-trimmed bra. CPR might be necessary. My hands were unsteady as I reached under her back, found the clasp, and undid it. I told myself it was medical necessity.

Her breasts spilled free, pale and beautiful in the dim, rainy light. In the gloom, her pink nipples tightened against the cold. A line of drool escaped the corner of my mouth. My body reacted, hardening with a desire that shamed me to my core.

I fought it down. Focus. Save her. Kate needs us.

Placing the heels of my palms on her sternum, I delivered three quick, forceful compressions, checking for rib give. Then I moved to her face, tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and covered her mouth with mine.

The taste of her strawberry lip balm exploded on my tongue.

I blew a deep breath into her lungs, watching her chest rise. I pulled back, watched it fall. I repeated the cycle three times before returning to her chest for more compressions.

Nothing.

Don’t panic. Back to mouth-to-mouth. This time, as I breathed for her, I felt a movement. Her tongue, weak but deliberate, touched mine.

My entire body went rigid with shock and a surge of illicit excitement.

She was alive, trying to cough.

“Oh, daddy. It’s you,” she whispered against my lips, her chest heaving. As awareness returned to her face, I saw her nipples pebble in the cold air. A tingling shot through me, my arousal becoming a painful, undeniable pressure. Christ, I can’t. I’m her stepfather. Her mother…

“Sweetheart, I have something to tell you,” I said, my voice rough with unshed tears for Kate. I cradled her head in my arm, her wide, dazed eyes locked on mine. “We’ve had an accident… on the way to Mom.”

“An accident?” she murmured groggily. “Mom… Daddy, I’m so scared. Hold me.” She lifted her head, closed the distance, and kissed me.

It wasn’t a daughter’s kiss. Her tongue swept over my lips, seeking entry. I opened for her, a dam breaking inside me. Our tongues met, sliding together in a wet, desperate dance. We shared one breath, one shocking moment of shared terror and loss.

Then I was falling against her, her hardened nipples digging into my chest through my soaked shirt. She spread her legs, pulling me on top of her. We were both still clothed—her in that torn dress, me in my jeans—but I could feel every contour of her body. My throbbing erection rubbed insistently against the soaked fabric between her legs.

This was so wrong. Kate was waiting for us.

It felt like the only anchor in a storm.

“Make me feel something else, daddy,” she panted, breaking the kiss, her hot tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks. “Make the hurting stop.”

I wanted nothing more in the world than to stop all the hurting.

“What’s that smell? Like burning rubber.”

“Oh my God, the car!”

Flames flickered underneath the chassis, growing brighter.

“Baby, we have to move. Can you walk?”

Isabella sat up with my help. She swayed on her feet. “I don’t know. Everything spins.”

“I’ll carry you.” I hoisted her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. My left hand gripped her legs; my right, purely by luck, cupped the firm, perfect curve of her ass. My fingers sank into the cleft.

I turned and ran into the woods.

WOOMF!

A fireball erupted behind us, lighting up the night. The car was fully engulfed. I ran, branches whipping at us, until we reached a riverbank a couple hundred yards away. I set her down on a large, flat rock sheltered by an overhang. The rain lessened to a drizzle.

“Wait… Mom…” Isabella sobbed, the full reality crashing down. She’d lost her dress straps during the carry and sat beside me, the top of her dress fallen to her waist, bare-chested and shivering. “We have to get to her.”

“Here, put this on.” I shrugged out of my button-down, soaked but warmer than nothing, and helped her into it. “Isabella… we will. But we need to get help first. We’re alive. We have to hold onto that.”

She buried her face in my bare chest. I held her, kissing the top of her tangled hair. It smelled like rain, smoke, and fear. We stayed like that until her violent shivering subsided.

“Daddy?” She looked up, her eyes wide and lost. “What do we do now?”

“We need to get help.” I patted my pockets. No phone. It was on the console. “Do you have your cell?”

She checked weakly. “No. It must be in the car.”

“I think I saw a gas station light back down the road a ways. We should try to reach it. But we need to rest for a minute. You’re in shock.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m so scared she’ll be gone before we get there.”