I took a step back. "Don't... come close." But he came, pinning me against the wall. His body heat, memories of the night. "You know, and I know. What was that last night?" His voice hoarse. I pushed, but weakly. "You are his son. My sister is his wife. We can't..." Guilt made my eyes wet. But Henry grabbed my chin, forcefully. "Don't. I don't care about that. You... you are mine." His lips brushed against my neck, a soft kiss. I arched, desire awakening. "Henry, no... someone will see." But he didn't stop, his hands on my waist, pulling me in. Our kiss was intense—tongues mingling, breath heavy. California's forbidden romance-like, but dark. His hands slid inside my top, on my breasts. I moaned, "Oh..." But I realized. "Stop. We can't risk it." He backed away, frustrated. "This is crazy. But I can't stop thinking about you." Our eyes locked—attraction strong, but confusion deeper. "What about your dad? His business... I heard things." Henry's face darkened. "Don't go there. He's not what you think." But there was hesitation in his voice—mystery.
We stepped out, separately. I spent time with Elisha—we had girl talk, shared old memories. "Remember those Berkeley parties?" she said, smiling weakly. But her face had no bruises, but emotional scars were clear. "Here, it's different. He... he takes control." I hugged her, but Henry's thoughts distracted me. Evening came, Blackwell returned home. Everyone at the dinner table—tension still there. Henry avoided me, but glances were exchanged. Blackwell started talking, "Evelyn, stay a week. Family time." I nodded, but inside was fear. At night, I took my room—but couldn't sleep. Henry's text came: "Come to the garden. Need to talk." My heart raced. It was risky, but I went.
San Francisco nights have always been cool and mysterious, where fog blurs the city lights, and people hide their dark secrets in mansions built on hills. Blackwell Mansion's garden spread in the backyard, by the infinity pool, where you could hear distant sounds of Pacific Ocean waves. California's rich people spend time in such spots—drinking wine, watching stars, but today's mood was different. I walked softly in slippers, the salty scent of the ocean mixed in the air. The garden lights were dim, like some romantic setting, but tension was in my mind. Henry was sitting on a wooden bench, phone in hand, face serious. He was in college jeans and a hoodie, like a typical Berkeley student, but his eyes had that darkness that seemed to come from the Blackwell family.
I reached him, heartbeats so fast it felt like he'd hear them. "What is it, Henry?" I asked in a whisper, looking around. No servants or security cameras. He stood up, looked at me—his eyes a mix of confusion and desire. "Ev, I'm thinking... your sister is now my stepmom. What do we call this relationship?" he said, voice low but intense. Hearing this, my heartbeats increased more. I didn't know myself what was going to happen next. Our relationship—which started as college friendship, changed into that intimate moment at night—had now become a taboo. In California, people have open relationships, talk about polyamory, but this... this was dark, tangled in family ties. I sat beside him, worry lines clearly visible on both our faces. There was a chill in the air, the pool water reflecting. "I don't know, Henry. It feels... wrong, but..." I said, but words got stuck. He turned toward me, his eyes locked into mine.
Just then, Henry got an idea. He suddenly slid his hand under my skirt, into my panties. I was startled, "What are you doing?" I whispered, but my body was reacting. His fingers started caressing my pussy, in circular motions. The feeling was intense—warm, tingling. "No matter what, you are only mine," he said, his voice husky. He slowly inserted one finger inside, then another. I started getting hot, my breaths fast. The garden's silence, only the ocean's sound and my light moans. After a while, I reached climax—my pussy released water, sticky, hot. Henry's hand was soaked. We both started laughing loudly seeing this, but that laugh was nervous, of relief. "See? Nothing changes," he said, kissing me. But inside, tension was still there—would Blackwell find out? Or Elisha? Such moments are common in California nights, after parties, but this was home, where family secrets are buried.
Just then, Henry's phone rang. "Dad" was flashing on the screen. He picked up, "Yes, Dad?" From the other side, Blackwell's voice—crisp, commanding. "Henry, you need to go to your uncle's place tonight. He's not well, and his family is out of town. Take care of him." Henry agreed, but his face became tight. "Okay, Dad. I will leave now." Phone cut. He looked at me, "I have to go. But... we will talk later." He gave me a deep kiss, his lips soft but urgent. Then, he left—taking car keys. I sat in the garden for a while, confusion in my mind. The risk was increasing, but so was the attraction. I got up, back to the mansion. The house lights were on, but the silence was frightening. I saw, in the living room, Elisha was sitting alone, on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket. It was past 10 PM. She looked pale, her hair disheveled.
"What's the matter, sis? Why are you sitting here alone?" I asked, sitting beside her. Elisha sighed, "Blackwell is coming back from the office in an hour. I'm just... waiting." Her voice was weak, fear in her eyes. I held her hand, "It's okay. Come on, let's go to bed." I was feeling scared alone—the house so big, and Blackwell's presence everywhere. We went to her master bedroom, where red rose petals were still scattered. The room was luxury—king-size bed, ocean view windows, and a fireplace giving electric glow. California's rich homes are like this, but today it felt like a jail. We both lay on the bed, side by side. We talked about random things—college memories, Los Angeles trips, time spent on the beach. "Remember that time we went to Malibu?" I said, trying to lighten the mood. Elisha smiled, but fake. "Yeah... good times."
Then, I said, "Sis, I'm sleepy. When Blackwell comes, wake me up. I will go to my room." She nodded, "Okay, sleep now. I will wake you." My eyes closed, from exhaustion. In dreams, Henry was there—his touch, the garden scene. After a while, the door opened. Blackwell came, his footsteps heavy. He woke Elisha, "Wake up, dear." His voice low but dominating. Elisha woke up, "What... oh, you are back." Blackwell started removing her clothes, unbuttoning her blouse. Elisha tried to stop, "Wait... Evelyn is sleeping here." Blackwell looked at me, was startled. "What is she doing here?" His eyes narrowed. Elisha explained, "She was scared alone. I told her to go back when you come." Blackwell said angrily, "Then send her back now."
Elisha tried to wake me, shook my shoulder. But I was in deep sleep—or maybe pretending. She gave up. Blackwell got furious, "Fine!" He angrily tore Elisha's clothes—blouse, skirt, everything. Now she was completely naked, her curves glowing in the light. Elisha tried to hide, but Blackwell removed his clothes—his body muscular but cruel. He made Elisha lie face down on the bed, on the other side of the bed, because I was sleeping on one side. Then, he climbed on top of her, inserted his member inside and started thrusting forcefully. Elisha was moaning, "Stop... Ev will wake up." But Blackwell didn't stop, his grunts echoing in the room. The entire bed was shaking, like an earthquake. Suddenly, my eyes opened. But I pretended to sleep, covered my head with the blanket, and was peeking from one corner. The scene was intense—Blackwell's dominance, Elisha's submission. Her moans, moans of pain and pleasure. Blackwell was caressing her breasts, pinching nipples. This went on for quite a while—sweat, heavy breathing. Then, he got tired, stood up.
He took out a wine bottle from the closet—expensive red wine from a California vineyard. Started drinking, made Elisha drink too. "Drink, it will relax you." Elisha took a sip, then a glass. After a while, intoxication set in. Elisha fell asleep, naked. Blackwell back to bed, his member still hard. He looked at Elisha, cursed, "Damn it." Intoxication took over, he fell on the bed—beside me. He took me in his arms, mumbling in intoxication—"You... sweet thing..." I tried to break free, but his grip was strong. I felt disgusted, his body hot and sweaty. I was helpless. I turned over, alcohol stench coming from his mouth. He tried his member on my backside, but failed in intoxication. Still, he was touching—uncomfortable. I diverted my attention, fell asleep. Maybe he also fell asleep.
At 5 AM, Elisha's eyes opened. She looked around, panicked. Quickly wore clothes—bra, panties, robe. Then, saw Blackwell—naked, his member touching my back. She was in panic mode, shook him. "Wake up! Ev will see." Blackwell woke up, in hangover. Elisha made him wear clothes, "Go to office early. Don't let her see." From embarrassment, she pushed him. Blackwell left, grumbling. After a while, noise woke me up. Elisha was combing her hair, nervous. "Good morning, sis. Where is Blackwell?" I asked. She lied, "Oh, he didn't come home last night. Office work." I understood—embarrassment. "Okay, sorry." But my eyes on the bed—sheets wet, sticky, blood spots. "Sis, what is this?" She panicked, covered it. "Nothing... just... spill." She took me to the living room. We started having breakfast—organic fruits, yogurt. But the mystery was growing.
On the other side, Blackwell in the office—Silicon Valley style tower, glass office. He was making a call, "I don't care. I need 50 girls. This 20 million contract is mine." From the other side, "But sir, one guy is blocking." Blackwell cruel, "Eliminate him and his family." "But Commissioner Lucas is with him." "I will handle Lucas. Just do it." Phone cut. Then, called a politician, "Remove Commissioner Lucas from my way." "Done." Phone cut.