26. Matthew

Chapter 26

Matthew

T he door swings shut behind me with a soft click, and I shift my weight, rolling my shoulders to release some tension. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, I tuck my hands into my pockets, trying to look casual.

Jacob walks into the room, giving me a once-over with that easy grin of his. "She'll be right down," he says, standing next to me.

I nod, keeping it cool on the outside, but inside, I'm buzzing. "Right down" better not mean forever. I swear, waiting is its own kind of torture. This is my first formal date with Dylan, and I'm way more nervous than I thought I'd be.

Ford comes bounding down the stairs, sliding to a stop next to us. "You're about to have your socks knocked off."

Before I can respond, I hear footsteps on the stairs. I glance up, and that's when I see her.

Holy. Hell.

She's wearing an emerald green cocktail dress that hugs her in ways I'm absolutely not prepared for. The silky fabric flows over her curves like it was made just for her, and her hair's pinned up, with a few loose strands framing her face. She looks… stunning. Not that Dylan doesn't always look good—hell, she makes sweats and a hoodie look hot—but this? This is different.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. My brain screams at me to look away, but my eyes aren't listening. They trail down her body, taking in every detail, from the way the dress shifts when she moves to the soft shimmer on her skin. I'm practically willing my cock to stay down, to behave. Not now. Not now, man.

She reaches the bottom step, her lips curving into that subtle, teasing smile that drives me insane.

"You good?" she asks, raising a brow, like she knows exactly what she's doing to me.

"Yeah," I croak, clearing my throat. I offer her my arm, trying to keep things together. "You ready?"

She hooks her arm with mine, and the warmth of her skin shoots straight through me. I lead her out to my car, every step a battle to keep things cool. She's my girl, but there's something about seeing her like this—so confident, so beautiful—that makes me feel like I've won the lottery.

We slide into the car, and I start the engine, the soft purr of it cutting through the silence. Dylan shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, and I catch the faintest hint of her perfume—something warm and a little spicy.

"So," she says, glancing over at me with a playful grin. "How hard is it to keep your eyes on the road right now?"

I let out a low laugh, gripping the wheel tighter. "Harder than I'd like to admit."

She laughs, and the sound feels like a reward.

The drive to the university's community center doesn't take long, but every second feels drawn out, like I'm holding my breath without meaning to. When we finally pull into the lot, I cut the engine and glance over at her.

"You look amazing, by the way," I say, because if I don't get it out now, it's going to eat at me all night.

Her eyes soften, and she leans over, brushing a quick kiss on my cheek. "Thanks, Matthew."

We head inside, and the place is decked out in gold and chocolate decorations. There are white fairy lights strung along the walls, and round tables are scattered throughout the space, each draped in dark tablecloths. The room smells like roasted meat and warm bread, and the low hum of conversation fills the air.

I keep my arm around Dylan's waist as we grab some appetizers—mini sliders for me, bruschetta for her—and do our best to mingle. She's not one for small talk, and neither am I, but we manage, sticking close to each other. It's just staff and donors here tonight. Dylan is the only student in attendance.

"Do I have something on my face?" she asks after I catch myself staring at her again.

"Just beauty," I say without missing a beat. She rolls her eyes, though I catch the way her lips twitch like she's trying not to smile.

Before we can grab drinks, I spot Coach Woosley across the room, chatting with a group of donors. He catches my eye, gives me a nod, and makes his way over to us.

"Dylan, Matthew," Coach greets us, clapping me on the back before turning to Dylan with a grin. "You ready for your big moment?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she mutters, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her purse.

Coach chuckles and gives her a reassuring look. "You'll be great. Just tell them what you told me—how hard you've worked and what this scholarship means to you."

Easier said than done, I think, but Dylan just nods, biting her bottom lip in the way she does when she's trying to psych herself up.

Coach gives me a look that says take care of her before heading off to mingle again. I lean closer, my voice low so only she can hear. "You've got this, Dyl. Just breathe, okay?"

She gives me a quick, tight nod. "Okay."

A few minutes later, the room quiets as Coach Woosley steps up to the podium and taps the mic. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here tonight. I have the pleasure of introducing one of our scholarship athletes—Dylan Murphy."

I squeeze Dylan's hand before she pulls away, straightening her shoulders as she walks to the front of the room. She looks confident, but I know her well enough to see the nerves simmering just under the surface.

She steps up to the mic, gives the room a quick scan, and then smiles—one of those genuine, no-holding-back smiles that makes my chest swell with pride.

"Good evening, everyone. Thank you to Coach Woosley for the introduction." She pauses, letting the room settle. "If anyone missed it, my name is Dylan Murphy, and I'm here at CSU on a full-ride lacrosse scholarship. No, you're not imagining things—I am a girl."

The crowd chuckles, and I can't help but grin.

"And no need to check the rule book," she adds with a playful smirk. "There's nothing saying I can't play."

More laughter follows, and I can see her relax a little at the sound.

She takes a breath, and her voice turns more serious. "Resilience isn't about being unbreakable. It's about knowing you're cracked and showing up anyway."

The room quiets as she speaks, her words landing with weight. She talks about what it means to fight for a spot on the team, to fight for this scholarship, and how the battle won't end until CSU is in the playoffs. She thanks the donors, saying that without their support, she wouldn't be standing there, chasing her dream.

By the time she finishes, the room erupts in applause and cheers. I can't help but beam as she steps away from the podium, her eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me.

I give her a thumbs-up, and she smiles, relief and pride written all over her face.

We mingle a bit more, though it's clear we're both ready to call it a night. Coach catches my eye from across the room and gives me a subtle nod—the signal that we're good to go.

I lean down to whisper in Dylan's ear. "Still up for tacos?"

She glances up at me, her lips curving into a grin. "Thought you'd never ask."

We hit up this little taco place not far from the house, tucked into a corner of the street that always smells like grilled onions and fresh tortillas. The minute we walk in, Dylan's eyes flicker over the neon lights and the buzzing crowd like she's been craving this exact thing all night.

A waitress swings by, handing us menus we don't need because we already know the plan.

"Fajitas for two?" I ask, glancing across the table at her.

"With all the extras," Dylan says, already pulling her hair into a loose bun. "And the virgin margaritas—lime, obviously."

"Obviously," I echo, grinning.

"Oh, and the churros," she adds, like she almost forgot. "With the chocolate sauce. You don't get to skip that."

I laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The waitress jots it down, giving us both a knowing smile. By the time the sizzling fajita platter arrives, we're half a margarita deep, and the place is alive with conversation and music.

Dylan grabs a tortilla, spreading guacamole over it with the back of a spoon. "So," she says casually, "what did you think of tonight?"

I shrug, watching her scoop a handful of peppers onto her tortilla. "It was good. I mean, your speech was amazing, so that's a win."

"Yeah, it went well, I think," she teases, shooting me a sly grin. "Hopefully, I at least made a decent impression."

"Decent? You were charming as hell."

Dylan snorts into her drink, and I can't help but laugh with her.

"What about school? You settling in?" I ask, rolling up my fajita.

"Eh, it's alright. Classes are fine. Professors are boring." She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before adding, "The only real excitement is you and the guys."

That catches me off guard, and for a second, all I can do is smile. "Same."

We work our way through the fajitas, talking about professors, classmates, and everything in between. When the churros finally arrive, we're leaning close over the table, dipping the crispy pieces into thick chocolate sauce, grinning like idiots.

"These are dangerous," I say, licking a bit of chocolate off my thumb.

"You're welcome," she says smugly, popping the last bite into her mouth.

Once the plates are cleared, I take a slow sip of my margarita, gathering my thoughts. I meet her gaze from across the table, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves.

"So..." I start, keeping my tone light, "you wanna come back to my place tonight?"

Her eyebrow arches and her lips pull into that smirk that always makes my stomach flip. "Are you finally gonna fuck me, Matthew?"

I choke on my drink, coughing into my hand while she watches with open amusement.

When I recover, I look at her, eyes wide. "Are you... ready for that?"

Her laugh is low and throaty, sending heat straight through me. "I think I was ready for that back at our parents' house. In the bathroom that one afternoon."

I groan at the memory, and the corner of her mouth quirks even higher.

"We'll see," I tease, leaning in close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. "If you're a good girl."

Her grin deepens, and I know there's no way in hell she's going to behave tonight. And honestly? I don't want her to.

Because I already know what's coming.

I'm going to sink inside my girl for the first time. There's no going back after this.

I'm going to fuck my stepsister.

I unlock the door, and as soon as it clicks shut behind us, she turns to me with that same look—part challenge, part invitation.

Dylan steps closer, running a fingertip down my chest. She leans up, and the moment her lips brush against mine, it's like a fuse is lit. I grab her waist, pulling her flush against me, and she lets out a soft, breathless laugh before kissing me deeper.

Her fingers twist in my shirt, tugging it over my head, and I take a second to savor the way her hands explore me—her touch sure and unhurried like she's been imagining this moment for a while.

We stumble toward my bedroom, bumping into walls and furniture, laughing between kisses the entire way. I flick on the bedside lamp, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Dylan pulls off her dress, revealing smooth skin and lace, and for a moment, I just stand there, taking her in.

"You're staring," she teases, kicking off her shoes and shimmying out of her nylons.

"Yeah," I murmur, my throat tight. "I am."

She smirks, clearly pleased with herself, and tugs me closer by the waistband of my jeans. "Your turn, Matthew."

I strip down without hesitation, my heart hammering against my ribcage. When I step out of my boxers, her gaze drops—and then her eyes widen, mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Is that..." she breathes, pointing toward the glint of metal at the head of my cock.

"Yeah." I grin, watching her reaction. "It's a Prince Albert."

Her eyes flick back to mine, wide with something between fascination and excitement. "When were you planning to tell me that ?"

"Figured I'd let it be a surprise."

Dylan lets out a soft laugh, biting her bottom lip. "Consider me surprised."

Before I can say anything else, she steps closer, her fingers trailing down my stomach, brushing lightly over the piercing. The sensation sends a jolt straight through me, and I suck in a sharp breath.

"Does it..." She tilts her head, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

"It feels good," I admit, my voice rough. "Really good."

Her hand lingers a moment longer before she pulls me down onto the bed, and then it's all heat and urgency—our mouths meeting in a frantic kiss as we press against each other.

Kneeling between her legs, my hands roam, and my fingers trail down her sides before cupping her breasts. Her skin is soft beneath my touch, her nipples already tight with arousal.

I pinch one between my thumb and forefinger, rolling it roughly, and she lets out a sharp gasp, arching into my touch.

"You like that?" I murmur, giving the other nipple the same treatment. Her breath stutters, and I lean down, catching the pebbled bud between my teeth, giving it a light nip. She writhes beneath me, moaning softly.

"Matthew..." she breathes, the sound of my name slipping from her lips like a prayer, making my cock throb in response.

Her back arches off the mattress as I continue to pinch and tease, switching between rough and soft, never giving her what she fully wants but making damn sure she stays on edge. She grabs my wrist, squeezing tightly, desperate for more.

"God, you're cruel," she whispers, her voice a husky mix of frustration and desire.

I chuckle low, brushing kisses along the curve of her breasts before sliding one hand down her body. My fingers glide through her folds, slick and warm, and I groan at how ready she is.

"You're soaked," I whisper against her skin, circling her clit with my thumb.

"I want you so bad," she husks, her voice breathy, full of longing. "You've made me wait forever."

"Patience is a virtue." I smirk, teasing her with feather-light strokes that make her hips jerk toward me.

Dylan's lips curve into a wicked grin, and her eyes darken with mischief. "So is justice... Should I go have one of my other boyfriends service me?"

She bites her bottom lip, knowing exactly what she's doing—how easily she can push me past the edge of control.

My hand moves without thinking, smacking the soft skin of her thigh with a quick, sharp slap. Her breath catches, and her eyes widen, surprise and heat blooming across her expression.

"You're real funny," I growl, my hand still gripping her thigh, my thumb brushing circles over the place I just slapped. Redness blooms beneath my touch, and the sight of it—knowing I left that mark—only stokes the fire inside me.

Dylan grins, pure satisfaction in her gaze, and the way she looks up at me makes something snap. I press her thighs open wider, settling between them.

"No more games, Dylan," I growl, the words coming out rough as gravel. "You're mine tonight."

Her breath hitches at that, her eyes never leaving mine. "Then what are you waiting for?" she challenges, her voice a soft dare.

And that's it. There's no going back now.

I dip my head, trailing kisses down her stomach while my fingers keep working her, sliding deeper, coaxing out every sound I've been dying to hear from her lips. She's squirming beneath me, gasping with every stroke, and when I finally pull away just long enough to position myself, her eyes are wide, anticipation simmering in their depths.

"You ready for this?" I ask, gripping her thigh again, giving her just enough pressure to remind her who's in charge tonight.

Her lips part, and she nods, breathless. "God, yes."

I push into her—inch by inch, her body stretching and welcoming me in— a deep, satisfied groan slipping from my throat. She's hot, tight, and perfect, and there's no question in my mind:

This was worth the wait.

I lean down, brushing a kiss along her jaw. "You okay?" I whisper.

"Better than okay," she breathes, her voice trembling with pleasure. "Don't stop."

And I don't.

I pull out, dragging the head of my cock through her folds, only to slide back in again, agonizingly slow. I grind into her, loving the way her body clutches at me, like she never wants to let me go. I already know—this is the best pussy I've ever had.

Nothing else matters now. Not the fact that she could have ten other boyfriends. Not even the fact that she's technically almost my stepsister.

She's mine. She is mine.

Dylan pants beneath me, her nails digging into my shoulders as her hips lift. "More," she gasps, her voice trembling.

I can't deny her. Not when she sounds like that.

With a low growl, I start to piston into her, harder and faster, setting a rhythm that has her moaning on every thrust. The metal of my Prince Albert piercing rubs against her inner walls, and the friction pulls a whimper from her throat. She clenches around me so tight, it feels like I could lose myself right here and now.

Her head falls back against the pillow, and her hands claw at my back, leaving stinging trails across my skin. Her breasts bounce with every thrust, and I lean down to nip at one of her nipples again, drawing another gasp from her lips.

My right hand slides down between us, and I press my thumb to her clit, stroking tight circles over the swollen nub. Her entire body jolts beneath me, and she cries out my name— my name—like it's the only thing she knows.

God, I love that sound. I want to hear it over and over again, louder, needier, until she can't say anything else.

I can't leave after this. There's no way I'll survive being away from her, not now. I'll have to move in with them. I'll tell her tonight—I'm not going anywhere.

Her body tenses under me, hips bucking wildly. "I'm gonna come," she whines, her voice breaking.

I press harder on her clit, grinding into her with every stroke. "Come for me, Dylan. Come now."

Her eyes squeeze shut as her entire body locks up. A cry tears from her throat, sharp and desperate, as her pussy clenches around me like a vise. Her grip is so tight it's almost painful, her inner walls squeezing my cock like a python strangling its prey.

The sensation is too much, too perfect. I bury myself to the hilt and still, groaning as the pressure breaks inside me. My release surges through me in waves, and I spill into her—rope after rope of hot cum filling her completely.

Her body shudders beneath me, the aftershocks of her orgasm milking every last drop from me. I can barely breathe, lost in the haze of satisfaction, her scent, her warmth—everything that is Dylan.

When I finally catch my breath, I collapse onto the bed beside her, slipping out of her. The cool air hits my skin, and I can't help but laugh, still coming down from the high.

"That was amazing," I say, chest heaving. "But way too fast."

She giggles, turning her head to look at me, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy with satisfaction. "I agree."

I grin, reaching over to brush a strand of hair off her damp forehead. "Good thing I've got you all night. I'm going to fuck you over and over again."

Dylan's grin turns wicked, and she bites her lip. "I can't wait."

"Oh, and Dylan?" I murmur, my hand sliding possessively over her thigh.

"Yeah?" she whispers, her eyes still dreamy but playful.

"I'm moving in."

Her smile softens, and she leans over to kiss me, slow and sweet. "It's where you should've been to start."

Her words feel like a promise, and I know—this isn't just a fling. This is everything I've ever wanted. And now that I have her, I'm never letting her go.