Sleeping With My Step Daddy

My head pounded like a drum as I blinked awake. Where the hell— The silk sheets weren't mine. The scent—whiskey, expensive cologne, and something dangerously familiar—wasn't mine either. And the arm slung possessively over my bare waist? Definitely not mine. I froze. Bast—Sebastian Vaughn, my stepfather—lay beside me, his breath warm against my shoulder. His chest rose and fell slowly, his grip tightening, almost as if he were afraid I'd slip away. The soft morning light danced across his skin, highlighting the scar on his collarbone I'd *licked* last night— Oh God. The memories hit me like a freight train: His hand sliding too low at the gala. Me, giggling, drunk off whiskey. The low, gruff sound of his voice—"This is a bad idea, Kai." * before carrying me to bed. And yet, I had let it happen. I had kissed him first. I should've slipped away before things went too far. Should've pretended none of this ever happened. But then, Bast stirred. His arm around me tightened, pulling me closer. "Morning, kid." His voice was rough from sleep—low, dangerous. I swallowed hard. "How much did we…?" He smirked, slow and wicked. "Enough to ruin us." The words wrapped around my chest, constricting. I sat up quickly, the sheet clinging to my chest. "This was a mistake." Bast didn't move. Just stared at me with that maddening calm. "Is that what you're going to call it?" I looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. What else should I call it? He leaned forward, his voice soft yet piercing. "You kissed me first." My heart stuttered. I wanted to argue, to tell him he had pushed me too far, but the truth was... I'd wanted it. "I was drunk." My words came out weak. He stayed quiet for a beat, then slowly shook his head. "You wanted it." I didn't deny it. I couldn't. The truth was that I did want it, but that didn't change how wrong it was. "I'm going to be sick," I muttered, swinging my legs off the bed. But Bast's voice, soft and urgent, stopped me. "Kai… look at me." I hesitated but finally turned to face him. His dark eyes—half-lidded from sleep, filled with something unreadable—pierced through me. There was no regret there. Not in his touch, his voice, or the way he watched me. Only quiet possession. The same way he had looked at me for years. The same way he had tried to get me to see him, to want him. It had started when I was just ten—his smile, his charm, the way he always seemed to know what I needed, before I did. But I never wanted him. Not then. Not now. And yet, here we were. His voice was barely above a whisper. "This doesn't have to be a mistake, Kai." I stood, shaking my head. It already was. But deep down, a part of me knew. This wouldn't be the last time.