Straddling His Lap

POV Eden

I open my eyes the next morning with a massive smile stretching across my face. The sunlight streaming through my unfamiliar bedroom window should remind me of the daunting reality ahead—starting over at a brand new school, living in a house that isn't really mine yet. Instead, all those anxieties are eclipsed by the explicit, vivid memories of last night. My thighs still carry a subtle ache. Every time I shift under the covers, I remember exactly how Declan felt moving inside of me. I remember the weight of his body pinning me down, the raw friction, the sheer size of his cock stretching my pussy out. Taking a quick shower, I let the hot water wash away the lingering sweat, but it does nothing to wash away the flush on my skin. I throw on some comfortable clothes, eager to start the day.

I skip down the winding staircase, my bare feet padding lightly against the hardwood floor. The smell of frying bacon and melting butter hits me before I even reach the landing. I step into the sprawling kitchen to find my mom standing over the stove, humming softly to herself.

"Morning," I say, hopping up onto one of the tall barstools at the kitchen island.

"Hey, honey," Mom greets, glancing over her shoulder with a bright smile.

I lean forward, eyeing the mountain of food covering the counter. There are stacks of golden pancakes, a massive platter of crispy bacon, sizzling sausage links, scrambled eggs, and golden-brown hash browns she is flipping in a cast-iron skillet. "Are we feeding an army or something? This is insane."

She laughs, using a spatula to playfully gesture at me. "No, sweetpea. I just want to make sure there’s enough for everyone. Teenage boys eat a lot. Why don't you grab the plates and set the table? Garrett just went upstairs to wake them."

I grab a stack of plates and start laying them out. Mom makes a joke about hiding the bacon before the boys descend, and we both burst out giggling. It feels good. Normal.

Then, the sound of heavy footsteps interrupts our laughter.

Not just one pair of feet. Multiple heavy, synchronized thuds descend the stairs.

Garrett walks into the kitchen first, beaming with pride. "Look who finally dragged themselves out of bed," he says.

Behind him trail four towering boys.

I freeze, the ceramic plate in my hands slipping dangerously close to the edge of my grip.

*Holy. Fudgesticks.*

They are identical. Four massive, athletic, striking boys. But my eyes don't scan the group. They lock onto the one standing on the far left. Dark hair, sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes.

Declan.

The boy who had his tongue down my throat last night. The boy whose dick was buried deep inside my pussy just hours ago.

Two of the brothers drop their jaws in shock as they process who is standing in their kitchen.

"Declan, Lachlan, Corbin, Beckett," Garrett announces, gesturing proudly toward my mom and me. "This is Elowen. And her daughter, Eden. Ladies, these are my boys."

Declan starts coughing, a harsh, choking sound, as his eyes widen in mutual horror.

Panic sets in, tight and suffocating around my throat. I can't breathe. *Declan and Lachlan are my stepbrothers.* The reality crashes into me like a freight train.

I stare at them, my bottom lip trembling as my mind spins out of control. I need to get out of this room. Right now.

"I—excuse me," I stutter out, not waiting for a response.

I spin on my heel, drop the plates on the counter, and sprint toward the stairs. I take the steps two at a time, ignoring my mom calling my name. I burst into my bedroom and slam the heavy wooden door shut, sinking to the floor. The cold wood presses against my spine as I pull my knees to my chest, gasping for air.

I hear their muffled voices echoing up the hallway.

"Did you know?" one of them demands.

"Fuck," another brother swears.

"What’s going on?" a third voice asks, dripping with confusion. "Yeah, what are we missing here? Dec? Lach?"

A door shuts nearby. "Fucking hell," someone groans.

"What are you going to do, Dec?" That voice is concerned. Lachlan, probably.

"Fuck if I know," Declan mutters, his gruff voice carrying through the thin drywall.

My chest heaves as I crawl away from the door, dragging myself toward my unmade bed. The sheets still smell like the laundry detergent from my old house. I climb under the covers, curling into a tight ball. The hot, stinging tears I’ve been trying to fight back break free. They spill over my cheeks, soaking into the cotton pillowcase. I bite down hard on my own knuckle to muffle the ugly sounds escaping my throat.

I’m not angry at him. I’m not even mad at the situation itself. It isn't his fault, and it isn't mine. But a profound, devastating sense of disappointment crushes my chest. I felt something real with him. I thought I had found a lifeline in this new town. The universe just played the cruellest joke on me.

Suddenly, the mattress dips. A heavy, solid weight settles near my waist.

I flinch, expecting my mom to be sitting there, ready to ask what just happened downstairs. But then, soft, warm lips press gently against my trembling shoulder.

"Eden…"

The gruff whisper sends a jolt straight to my core.

I turn my head. Declan sits on the edge of my bed. His broad shoulders slump forward. His striking face is tight with stress, his jaw clenched, and his blue eyes storming with a dozen conflicting emotions.

Seeing the raw turmoil on his face breaks the last thread of my composure. I roll toward him, burying my wet face directly into his solid chest. His gray t-shirt smells like clean soap and that intoxicating, masculine scent I inhaled all night.

"I had no idea," I cry out, my voice muffled against his pecs. "I didn’t know who you were."

"I know," he murmurs, his large hand coming up to stroke the back of my hair. His touch is grounding, sending dangerous shivers down my spine. "I didn’t either. It’s okay."

"No, it's not," I sob, shaking my head against him.

He sighs, a heavy sound that rattles his chest. He gently slides his fingers under my chin, applying just enough pressure to tilt my head up. He dips his own head down until our faces are inches apart, forcing me to hold his intense gaze.

"Do you regret what happened between us?" he asks, his voice thick and rough.

*I don't. That's the problem.* Even right now, knowing the twisted reality of our situation, my body craves him. I want to feel his heavy weight on top of me again. I want his thick cock buried deep inside me. The lust is undeniable.

"No," I say matter-of-factly, sniffing back the lingering tears. I refuse to look away from his striking blue eyes. "I don’t regret it, Declan. Not at all, but—"

"No buts," he interrupts, his voice dropping an octave. "This changes nothing, because I don’t regret it either."

Before I can process his stubborn declaration, his hand slides to the nape of my neck. He leans in and fiercely claims my mouth. It isn't a gentle, comforting kiss. It is desperate and demanding. His tongue sweeps against the seam of my lips, begging for entry, tasting like morning mint and pure male aggression.

I pull back, tearing my mouth away from his. I hold up a shaking hand, pressing my palm flat against his hard chest to physically stop his advance.

"Wait," I demand, my breathing ragged. A sudden, fierce wave of jealousy hits my chest, burning hot and fast. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

His thick brows knit together, forming a deep V over his nose. "What?"

"The framed photo on your nightstand," I push, remembering the dark-haired girl staring back at me while I lay naked in his bed.

His confusion morphs into frustration. He reaches out, wrapping his large hand around my wrist to pull my blocking hand away from his chest. I try to yank my arm free, but his grip tightens, locking me in place.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he snaps defensively, his tone sharp.

"I find that hard to believe!" I shoot back, my voice rising. "Guys don’t just leave pictures of girls next to their bed if they aren’t important to them. If your dick needs attention, why don't you go find her?"

He drops my hand. A sharp flash of deep, raw hurt transforms his striking features, erasing the frustration in a split second. The shift is so drastic it makes my stomach drop.

"She used to be my girlfriend," he whispers. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his chest expanding as he tries to mask the underlying pain. "But she’s not here anymore. I keep it there as a reminder."

The heavy sorrow in his words hangs in the space between us. Before I can question what that cryptic statement means, before I can ask where she went or what happened, his demeanor shifts again. The vulnerability vanishes, replaced by predatory heat.

He lunges forward. He closes the distance between us, crashing his lips against mine.

For a heated moment, I lose myself. I let my eyes flutter shut, tasting him, feeling the slide of his tongue against mine. The kiss is deep, wet, and intoxicating. But the cold reality of the house we are sitting in forcefully shatters the haze.

I push against his shoulders, breaking the kiss.

"Okay, so you don’t have a girlfriend," I pant, staring at his swollen lips. "Which is good. But we still can’t do this. You’re my stepbrother. This changes *everything*, Declan."

"Because," he mutters, ignoring my protests. He leans in, pressing another wet, open-mouthed kiss to the corner of my lips. "We’re not blood-related."

He doesn't give me a chance to argue. He wraps a large, possessive hand behind the back of my head. With effortless strength, he forcefully readjusts our bodies, dragging me forward until I am straddling his muscular lap.

I push against his chest, trying to pull back, fighting through the heavy haze of lust clouding my brain. My thighs bracket his hips, and the position is dangerous.

"We can’t do this, Declan," I plead, my voice lacking conviction. "We just can't."

He drops both of his hands to my waist, his long fingers digging into my hips, holding me firmly in place against him.

"Yes, we can. We’re not doing anything wrong," he states, his voice a dark rumble. He moves one hand up, cupping my warm cheek, his thumb brushing over my jawline. He forces me to hold his blazing gaze. The hunger in his blue eyes is feral.

"I want you so fucking bad, baby," he growls.

To prove his point, he thrusts his hips aggressively upward.

Even through the layers of our clothes, I feel the massive, thick ridge of his erection. It rubs directly against my core, pressing hard right against my pussy. The friction hits the exact spot he pounded into submission last night.

An immediate, helpless moan falls from my parted lips. My hands, which were meant to push him away, curl instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

"Do you feel what you do to me, baby?" he whispers hoarsely.

He shifts his attention downward, trailing open-mouthed, hot kisses down the sensitive column of my neck. His teeth scrape lightly against my pulse point.

"Declan…" I moan helplessly.

He answers by thrusting his hips upward again, rolling his hard cock firmly against my wet pussy. A deep, throbbing ache rapidly grows between my thighs with his every dominant movement, melting away my resistance.