Chapter 7 The Final Days of Restraint

Lucy stood in front of her closet on Monday morning, heart already racing with anticipation. Elena’s trip was now just forty-eight hours away, four full days of empty house, empty rules, and Marcus’s crumbling willpower. She had barely slept, replaying the almost-kiss on the couch until her body ached with unmet need. At twenty, she had never waited this long for anyone, but the wait only made her wetter, more desperate. She chose a thin white tank top that clung to her breasts like a second skin and a pair of tiny athletic shorts that barely covered her ass cheeks. No bra. No panties. The outfit screamed casual, but she knew exactly what it would do to him.

Downstairs, the smell of bacon greeted her. Marcus was at the stove, back turned, broad shoulders tight under a plain black tee. He hadn’t looked at her properly since the phone call interrupted them yesterday. Good. Let him feel the pressure building.

“Morning,” she said lightly, sliding onto a stool. Her shorts rode up as she sat, cool air kissing her bare pussy. She parted her thighs just a fraction, enough to feel exposed.

Marcus glanced over his shoulder. His hazel eyes darkened instantly, jaw flexing. “Morning.” The word came out clipped, like he was forcing it through clenched teeth. He turned back to the pan, flipping eggs with more force than necessary.

Elena breezed in from the hallway, suitcase half-packed already. “You two are lifesavers for holding down the fort. I’ll call every night, I promise.” She kissed Marcus quickly, then hugged Lucy. “Be good, okay?”

Lucy smiled against her mother’s shoulder, eyes locked on Marcus over Elena’s back. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

The front door clicked shut behind Elena a few minutes later. Silence dropped like a heavy curtain.

Marcus set a plate in front of her without a word, bacon, eggs, toast. Perfect, domestic. But his hand lingered near hers on the counter, knuckles brushing her skin. Lucy didn’t move away. Instead she picked up a strip of bacon and bit into it slowly, letting grease shine on her lower lip.

“You’re really going to keep pretending?” she asked, voice soft but edged with challenge. “Two more days and we’ll be completely alone. No one to walk in. No one to stop whatever this is.”

He sat across from her, fork stabbing into his eggs. “This isn’t happening, Lucy. I told you, we stay out of each other’s way. I’m not risking my future with your mother for a college girl’s fantasy.”

She laughed quietly, the sound low and throaty. “Fantasy? You felt how hard you were against me at the sink. You almost kissed me yesterday. That wasn’t my fantasy, Marcus. That was you wanting to bury yourself inside your future stepdaughter.” She leaned forward, nipples pressing visibly against the thin tank. “Admit it. You’ve been thinking about it every time you look at me.”

His fork clattered against the plate. He stood up fast, chair scraping. “Finish your breakfast. I have work calls.” But his sweatpants did nothing to hide the thick bulge straining against the fabric. Lucy’s mouth watered at the sight. She had always loved cock, craved the stretch, the fullness, the way a man lost control when he was buried deep. Marcus’s looked perfect. Heavy. Promising.

She finished eating alone, thighs slick, already planning the next push.

Marcus disappeared into his study after breakfast, door half-closed like a weak barrier. Lucy waited twenty minutes, then padded down the hall. She knocked once, softly, and pushed inside without waiting. He was at his desk, laptop open, but his eyes lifted the second she entered. The room smelled like him, woodsy cologne and warm skin.

“Need something?” he asked, voice rough.

She crossed to the desk and perched on the edge, legs swinging. Her shorts rode so high the bottom curve of her ass rested on cool wood. “Just checking if you’re surviving. You looked… tense at breakfast.”

Marcus rubbed his face, exhaling hard. “Lucy, get off the desk.”

She didn’t. Instead she spread her legs a little wider, giving him a clear view of how bare she was underneath. “Make me.”

His gaze dropped exactly where she wanted. A low curse slipped from his lips. He gripped the arms of his chair like he might bolt. “You’re soaked,” he said, almost to himself, voice cracking. “Jesus, Lucy… you’re dripping on my desk.”

The words sent a fresh gush of heat between her thighs. She reached down and traced one finger along her slit, slow and deliberate, showing him the shine. “All for you. Four days, Marcus. You could have this every morning. Every night. No one would ever know.”

He stood so fast the chair rolled backward. In two strides he was in front of her, towering, chest heaving. His hands hovered at her waist, fingers twitching. She could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the raw want in the air. For one electric second she thought he would lift her onto the desk and finally take what they both needed.

Instead he stepped back, fists clenched. “Out. Now. Before I do something we can’t undo.”

Lucy slid off the desk, legs shaky, and brushed past him so her breasts grazed his arm. “Two more days,” she whispered at the door. “Then you won’t have any excuses left.”

The rest of the day passed in charged silence. Marcus buried himself in work. Lucy lounged by the pool in the backyard, wearing the smallest bikini she owned, strings barely holding it together. She knew he could see her from the study window. She stretched out on the lounge chair, applying sunscreen slowly, hands gliding over her breasts, down her stomach, between her thighs. Every movement was for him.

When she finally came inside for water, he was in the kitchen again, staring out the window. His eyes were dark, haunted. “You’re going to break me,” he said quietly, without turning around.

Lucy set the glass down and stepped behind him, pressing her barely covered body against his back. Her arms slid around his waist. “I don’t want to break you. I want you to let go. Just once. Feel how tight I am. How wet I get when you call me your good girl.”

His hands covered hers, not pushing away. For a long moment they stood like that, his breathing ragged, her cheek against his shoulder blade. She felt his cock twitch against her stomach through his pants, thick, hard, throbbing. Then he gently pried her arms free and turned, eyes tortured.

“Elena lands Thursday night,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Until then… I’m trying, Lucy. I’m really fucking trying.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth, soft, quick, gone before he could react. “Try harder tomorrow.”

That evening they ate takeout in near silence, the TV flickering some mindless show neither watched. Elena called midway through, cheerful and oblivious, asking how the wedding plans were coming. Marcus answered smoothly, but his free hand gripped the couch cushion until his knuckles went white. Lucy sat beside him, thigh pressed to his, heart hammering.

When the call ended, he stood up fast. “I’m going to bed. Early flight stuff tomorrow.” He paused at the foot of the stairs, looking back at her one last time. The hunger in his eyes was no longer hidden. It was raw. “Stay out of trouble, Lucy.”

She stayed on the couch until she heard his bedroom door close. Then she went upstairs, stripped completely, and lay on her bed with the door cracked open. Fingers plunged deep inside herself, she didn’t bother staying quiet. Soft moans carried down the hall, his name on her lips, over and over. She came hard, back arching, imagining his thick cock stretching her instead.

Afterward, breathless and glistening, she heard it: the faint creak of his door opening down the hall. Footsteps paused outside her room. She held her breath, thighs still trembling. The knob didn’t turn. But the pause felt endless, loaded with everything still unsaid.

Lucy smiled into the dark. One more day. Then the house would be theirs. And Marcus’s restraint? It was already hanging by a thread so thin it was almost invisible.