Possessive Stepdad's Age Gap Pregnancy Obsession: A Spicy Age Gap Stepdad And Step Daughter Stepfather Forbidden Stepdad Shorts Possessive Stepfather Stepdad Romance Possessive

My body has been betraying me for two weeks.

It started with the lactation — no baby, no explanation, just my chest deciding to do something I never asked it to do. The doctor called it stress-induced. I call it the universe's worst joke on a twenty-one-year-old with a useless business degree and nowhere to go.

Then the nurse called about Marcus Miller.

I barely remember my mom's ex-husband. Their marriage lasted six months — just long enough for me to meet him at the wedding and file him away under "tall, quiet, kind to me when he didn't have to be." Now he's post-surgery with a torn ACL and no one to help him recover, and I'm standing on his porch because he's the only person in the world who might need me as much as I need somewhere to be.

I wasn't expecting him to look like that.

At the wedding, he was polished and distant. A stranger in a suit. Now he's six-five with tattoo sleeves and a jaw that could cut glass, and the moment I walk through his door, my brain stops working and my body starts making decisions I haven't approved.

He's gruff. Stubborn. Doesn't want help.

I'm anxious. Broke. Can't leave.

And I have a secret that's getting harder to hide — one that involves locked bathroom doors and a breast pump that's about to become the most important broken appliance in the history of bad timing.

When Marcus discovers what I've been hiding, he doesn't flinch. He doesn't pity me. He offers to help in a way that crosses every line we're supposed to keep between us. And the moment his mouth is on me, I know two things: I'm never going to be the same, and I don't want to be.

He's seventeen years older. He was married to my mother. He has no business looking at me the way he does, touching me the way he does, whispering the things he whispers about what he wants to do to me — about filling me up, about watching my body change with his child.

I should run.

Instead, I stay. I run his business. I sleep in his bed. I let him turn my greatest shame into something I crave. And when my body starts doing something new — something that has nothing to do with stress and everything to do with the man who can't keep his hands off me — I realize this was never just proximity.

It was always going to be him.