12 Inches (A Secret Baby Dark Romance)(95)

It’s still early enough that dad and Jocelyn will probably still be having breakfast.

I walk down the hallway to the kitchen and breakfast nook of the townhouse and I hear voices coming from there.

I step in. Dad’s reading the newspaper and a series of whatever on his iPad. He’s not really paying any attention to Jocelyn.

He’s a fucking fool. Because she’s sitting there in a pair of black yoga pants that barely come up to her waist. And a black sports bra. Literally, that’s all she’s wearing. She’s having a cup of coffee and I look at her bare midriff and her flat tummy and curvy fucking ass. Her tits are gorgeous and my cock, which was getting ready to take a break, is back at being rock hard again.

Fuck.

“Oh, you’re up,” dad says to me as he notices me standing there. “Since you don’t work anymore, I’m going to need your help on my campaign managing social media,” he says.

I stand there watching him.

“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need to take a conference call,” dad says getting up and walking toward the opposite end of the kitchen, past the large island and refrigerator and stove. It’s like one of those cavernous kitchens with two entrances, usable by a large staff if needed to entertain. “Once I get done with my call, we’ll talk, Lance,” dad says as he steps out.

Leaving me with his gorgeous wife who’s barely wearing anything.

Fuck. What was that promise I made yesterday?





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Jocelyn





This is insane. I’m insane. Lance is insane. We’re all going to Hell.

How the hell was I even thinking I would get away with this?

And what is wrong with me? Putting something like this on? After what I did with him yesterday?

I cheated on my husband. I’ve broken the sacred vows of marriage. I bet that’s what you’re thinking when I talk to you now, isn’t it?

I know you probably hate cheating. I do too. I have a subscription to Kindle Unlimited and I’ll stop reading right there if my story has cheating in it.

At least two days ago, that’s what I would have told you. Because after six months, I forgot what sex tasted like. What it felt like. I forgot what it felt like to have a man want me. And if that man was as gorgeous and hot as Lance, well I would have never comprehended that something could happen like that to me.

Even if we left a bit awkwardly, all day I couldn’t stop thinking about Lance yesterday after what happened at Saks.

I woke up this morning and my pussy was wet from dreams I’d been having. I can still remember them. They’re burned into my brain. How I’m in something cute, like a lacey white bra and panty set, but I’m giving Lance a blowjob.

That’s right. I dreamt of giving my stepson a blowjob. Go ahead. Judge me, ladies. Tell me I’m nasty. I’m perverted. That I’m rocking the cradle. That he’s only 21 and I’m taking advantage of him at 36. That just makes me wetter when you tell me I’m not supposed to do that, okay? It makes the thoughts that I’m having in my head of turning toward Lance and spreading my legs for him to enjoy the body feel even more delicious and taboo.

Fine. I know. I’m sick. I’m twisted. Maybe I could even go to jail, who knows. Although, he’s not really even my stepson. He’s Michael’s stepson—not related to Michael at all. But just the fact that he looked at me as he was fucking me and said, “Don’t tell dad what we’re doing,” has gotten me all wet again. I can tell my cheeks are turning red.

He’s looking at me. Michael’s not here. It’s just me and Lance in the kitchen.

I hear Michael press the speakerphone on his phone in the office. The dial tone comes on. I hear numbers being pressed and then the voice of a man. Michael’s on a conference call.

He doesn’t even think to shut the door. Sure he’s down the hall but he has the volume on so loud I can hear all the way in the kitchen.

He never even considers me.

Lance is eyeing my body. I can tell. The way men used to eye me wolfishly before Michael married me.

I need to stop this. I need to stop him. Technically, we’re family.

I get up from my chair and turn around. I start to walk to the counter, feeling his eyes on me. The last thing I saw before I turned around was the bulge in his basketball shorts. He was tenting. That foot long cock.

Oh God, did I just wiggle my ass for him? Did I just shake it for him? Do I still want him?

What am I doing, hun? Why am I acting like this?

There are millions of women who haven’t had sex in six months, right? Marriage is about more than sex, right? Michael’s never so much as kissed me on the lips. In public, it’s always a pretend peck on the cheek. He’s never touched me. I’m pretty confident he blackmailed my father into forcing me to accept his marriage proposal.