The air in the house felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks—thick, heavy, ready to snap. Mom’s two days off had turned our quiet suburban home into a pressure cooker of stolen touches and lingering looks. Every time Marcus walked past me in the hallway, his hand would brush my ass or his body would press just close enough for me to feel the heat of his massive frame. I was constantly wet. Aching. My pussy throbbed with this constant, humiliating need that made me hate myself a little… and crave him more.

That afternoon, after the backyard grill session where he’d fingered me shamelessly while Mom was...