All Chapters of Wet & Wicked: Forbidden Collection Of Lust: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Damian’s POV~ I hid behind the morning paper, but the words were just black blurs on a white page, swimming before my eyes like meaningless insects. Across the rim of the newsprint, I watched her walk in. Skylar. My step-daughter. The girl I was legally bound to protect, to raise, to steer toward a good life. She looked like sin wrapped in that cheap cotton. Those flimsy shorts, flimsy enough that I could see the shadow of the cleft of her ass when she moved, and that loose t-shirt that gaped at the neck, showing the delicate curve of her collarbone. It was a mockery of modesty. It didn't hide the curve of her hips or the way her nipples were already hardening into tight, desperate peaks under the fabric in the cool morning air. I’m her father, I told myself, gripping the paper until the edges crinkled and threatened to tear. I signed the papers. I promised her mother I’d keep her safe from the world. But the world wasn't the problem. I was the problem. And down there

Rafe’s POV~ I stood by the window, but I wasn't looking at the rain. I was looking at the glass reflection, watching the room behind me like a hawk watching a field mouse that had wandered into the snake pit. Dex was whispering in her ear, his breath hot and wet against her skin. Damian was gripping that silver toy, her toy, like he wanted to crush it into dust, his knuckles were white. And Skylar... she was trembling. Good. Let her shake. I felt a slow, sick heat uncoil in my gut. It wasn't even in a rush; it was a thick, heavy sludge of lust that had been building, layer by layer, for four years. It was more like a tar pit, and I was sinking into it willingly. People think I'm the quiet one. The calm one. The intellectual. They don't know that since the day she turned eighteen and her curves started filling out those innocent little sundresses, I haven't been able to look at a woman without comparing her to Skylar and finding them lacking. They don't know that I have

Damian’s POV~ I said argue later, and then I closed the distance between my mouth and her cunt without giving either of my brothers the chance to draw another breath. The room was so quiet I could hear the fabric of Dex’s jeans shift as he squeezed his own bulge, and then there was nothing but the sound of my breath hitting the wet, swollen mess I had made of her. I did not tease her. I did not press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh like some patient lover from a book she should never have been allowed to read. I dragged my tongue straight through her slit, right from the tight little pucker of her ass all the way up to the stiff peak of her clit, and I tasted the exact mixture I had engineered, her own cum, still sticky from the orgasm she’d just had on my fingers, and the saliva I had spat into my palm and rubbed into her like a brand. She jerked so hard against Dex’s grip that her shoulders came off the sofa, and the broken sound she made was not a word, only

Dex’s POV~ I heard Damian’s voice behind me, calmly like he was handing me a goddamn file instead of a dripping, marked, begging girl. “She’s yours now. But she’s still mine. Don’t let her cum. Not until I say.” My cock kicked hard in my jeans at those words. Four years of watching her walk around in those fuck-me shorts, four years of pretending to be the fun uncle, and now she was laid out on the leather sofa, cum on her stomach, her pussy open and aching, and her Daddy said she was mine to play with. I didn’t wait. I dropped her wrists, Rafe still had a fist in her hair, keeping her head tilted up, and that was fine, he could hold her still while I did the rest. I stood, kicked the chair out of the way, and undid my jeans with one hand. The button popped, my zipper went down, and my cock sprang out heavy and angry, already leaking at the tip, flushed red and thick from all the fucking denial I’d watched. “Your daddy said don’t let her come,” I muttered, more to mysel

Skylar’s POV~ The blindfold slipped off. Rafe’s hand untied the silk slowly, like he was unwrapping something he’d paid for in years of silence. When my eyes adjusted to the amber light of the study, I saw all three of them standing over me, Damian in his suit, calm as a god, his trousers already tented, Dex with his jeans open and that devil grin that always made my stomach drop, and Rafe, kneeling by my leg, his dead eyes were hungry, the clamps were still in his pocket from earlier. I wasn’t scared. I was dripping. I’d wanted this since I was nineteen. Since Uncle Dex’s arms in the garage, grease on his forearms, me in denim cut-offs. Since Daddy’s voice came in the hall, low and owned. Since Uncle Rafe’s silence was right outside my door at 3am, and the click of his camera in the dark. Damian leaned down, one hand was on my chin, forcing my face up to his. “Ceremony,” he said, his Daddy-voice was thick and controlled, like he was reading a vow. “You wante