Chapter 7: Role-Play Seduction
The morning light crept through the blinds in thin, pale slices, painting stripes across the ceiling that Adam traced with lazy eyes. He was still half-tangled in the sheets, the phantom warmth of Lindsey's body lingering beside him, though the space where she'd slept was empty. He could hear water running in the bathroom, the muffled sound of her humming something he almost recognized.
He stretched, the ache in his back a pleasant reminder of the night before. The couch had been too small for both of them, their limbs tangled and their skin stuck together with sweat, but neither of them had complained. She'd fallen asleep with her face pressed against his chest, her breath warm through his shirt, and for the first time in weeks, he'd slept without dreaming.
The bathroom door opened.
Lindsey stepped out wrapped in a towel that barely covered her, her dark hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. She smiled when she saw him awake, that private smile that made his chest tighten.
"Good morning," she said, padding across the room.
"Morning." He watched her, the way the towel slipped precariously with each step. "You're still here."
She paused, tilting her head. "Did you think I'd leave?"
"I didn't know what to think."
She sat on the edge of the bed, her knee brushing his thigh. "I told you I was going to try, Adam. That means staying for breakfast." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Even if I'm terrible at making it."
"I have cereal."
"Perfect." She stood, letting the towel drop without ceremony, and walked to his dresser with the casual confidence of someone who'd been in his space for years. She pulled open the top drawer, rummaging through it with the ease of familiarity, and he watched her with a mixture of amusement and something deeper.
"Looking for something?"
"Clothes." She pulled out an old band t-shirt, holding it up with a critical eye. "This is soft. I'm taking it."
"You can have it."
She smiled, pulling it over her head. The shirt hung loose on her, hitting mid-thigh, and she looked so perfectly rumpled and comfortable that he felt something crack open in his chest.
"Cereal?" she asked.
"Cereal."
The kitchen was small, the morning light filtering through the window that faced the water. She found the bowls without asking, poured the cereal, and splashed milk into both with an efficiency that spoke to a familiarity he hadn't noticed before. He stood in the doorway, watching her move through his space like she belonged there.
"What?" she asked, catching his gaze.
"Nothing." He crossed the room, taking the bowl she offered. "Just trying to figure out if you're real."
She laughed. "I'm real. I'm also terrible with relationships, chronically late, and I snore when I'm exhausted. You should know what you're getting into."
"I already know what I'm getting into."
She looked at him, her expression softening. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I guess you do."
They ate in comfortable silence, the sounds of the city waking up drifting through the open window. She finished her cereal and pushed the bowl aside, propping her chin on her hand.
"I should probably go soon," she said. "I have that thing."
"What thing?"
She waved vaguely. "The thing I told you about. The thing with—" She stopped, frowning. "I don't actually have a thing. I was going to make one up because I'm scared of how comfortable this feels."
Adam set his bowl down. "Lindsey."
"I know, I know." She sighed. "I'm doing the thing I said I wouldn't do. The running thing." She met his eyes. "I'm trying not to."
"Then don't."
She laughed, a frustrated, helpless sound. "It's not that simple."
"It can be."
She stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. Then she stood, crossing the kitchen, and pressed her body against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips finding his in a kiss that tasted like milk and cereal and the faint sweetness of her lip balm.
"Distract me," she murmured against his mouth.
"From what?"
"From my brain." She kissed him again, harder. "From all the reasons this is a terrible idea. From the voice in my head that tells me to leave before I get hurt."
He pulled back, his hands finding her waist. "I can't distract you forever."
"I know." She pressed her forehead against his. "But you can distract me for today."
He kissed her instead of answering, his hands sliding under the band t-shirt she'd stolen. She gasped against his mouth, her hips pressing into his, and he walked her backward until her thighs hit the kitchen counter.
She hopped up, wrapping her legs around him, and pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, turned hungry, and she moaned into his mouth as his hands slid further up her thighs.
"Adam," she breathed.
"Yeah?"
"I want—" She stopped, biting her lip.
"What do you want?"
She looked at him, her eyes dark and searching. "I want to try something. But I need you to trust me."
"Okay."
She slid off the counter, taking his hand, and led him back to the bedroom. She paused at the dresser, pulling open the top drawer again, and this time she dug deeper, past the t-shirts and socks, until her fingers closed around something he'd forgotten he owned.
She pulled it out—a sheer white lace bra and matching thong, delicate and practically see-through, still wrapped in tissue paper from a store he'd never visited. He'd bought it on a whim months ago, for a woman whose name he couldn't remember, and had never found the right time to use it.
Lindsey held it up, examining it with a raised eyebrow. "Yours?"
"Technically."
"It's not your size."
"No."
She smiled, slow and wicked. "Good."
She turned her back to him and pulled off the band t-shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Her skin was pale and smooth in the morning light, the curve of her spine a line he wanted to trace with his tongue. She reached behind her, unhooking her bra, and let it drop. Then she stepped into the thong, pulling it up over her hips, and reached for the lace bra.
It was too big. The cups gaped slightly, slipping on her small chest, the underwire sitting wrong against her ribs. She made a small sound of frustration, adjusting the straps, but the fit didn't improve.
"It's too loose," she said, pouting at her reflection in the mirror.
"Lindsey—"
"Wait." She turned to face him, the bra still too big, the thong riding high on her hips. She posed, one hand on her hip, the other trailing down her stomach, and despite the ill-fitting bra, she looked utterly devastating.
"Look at me, Adam." Her voice dropped, took on a different quality—playful, teasing, nothing like the woman who'd eaten cereal with him ten minutes ago. "I'm your stepsister, Lauren. And I've been a very naughty girl."
Adam blinked. "What?"
She stepped closer, her hips swaying, the sheer lace shifting with every movement. "I've been thinking about you every night. Touching myself in this tiny thong, imagining what it would feel like to have you inside me." She crawled onto his lap, straddling him, the thin fabric of the thong pressing against his hardening cock. "Do you want to fuck your stepsister, Adam? Do you want to bend me over and take me from behind?"
He stared at her, his brain struggling to catch up. Her hands were on his shoulders, her hips already grinding against him, and she was looking at him with that dark, hungry expression he knew so well.
"Lindsey," he started.
"I'll let you do anything, baby." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a dirty whisper. "Just don't tell Mom."
She grabbed his hand and shoved it between her legs. She was soaked, the lace of the thong clinging to her slick folds, and she gasped as his fingers pressed against her.
"Feel that?" she breathed. "That's what you do to me."