Gunnar Bishop lingered in the doorway of Evie's room like a shadow with unfinished business, his broad shoulders tense under the faded band tee that clung to his frame, those piercing blue eyes—mirror images of his old man's—locked on her with a mix of accusation and something darker, hungrier. The air between them hummed with the kind of forbidden electricity that had been crackling since they were thrown together under one roof, stepsiblings by decree but bound by bloodier secrets. "Evie," he started, voice low and gravelly, like tires crunching over broken glass, "did Dad really catch you... you know, touching yourself? He wouldn't shut up about it at breakfast, all red-faced and sputtering like he'd seen a ghost."Evie Christian lounged on her unmade bed like a panther in repose, one leg draped lazily over the other, her tiny tank top riding up just enough to tease the soft undercurve of her breasts, nipples pebbled against the thin fabric from the chill of the AC or maybe the thrill of his gaze—hard to say. She arched a perfectly manicured brow, her full lips curving into a smirk that was equal parts venom and velvet, dark hair tumbling wild over one shoulder like she'd just rolled out of a dream she wouldn't share. "Oh, Gunnar, sweet little brother," she purred, drawing out the words like smoke from a forbidden cigarette, patting the mattress beside her in mocking invitation. He hesitated, then stepped closer, the floorboards creaking under his weight, close enough now that she could smell the faint cedar of his cologne mixed with the salt of his nerves. "There's always more to the story with Daddy Dearest, isn't there? He didn't just 'catch' me. That slimy bastard was playing peeping Tom, lurking in the hallway like some desperate voyeur from a bad thriller, eyes glued to my door crack while I had my fingers buried deep, chasing that sweet, shuddering high on my silk sheets."She shifted then, uncurling her legs with deliberate slowness, letting her thighs part just a fraction—enough to make his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides. The room felt smaller, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds in golden bars that painted her skin in stripes of temptation. "I was arching off the bed, Gunnar, moaning your dad's name? No, honey—not even close. But him? He stood there, panting like a dog in heat, hand probably down his pants, getting off on the show without a single shred of balls to step inside and claim it. I saw the shadow of him, felt his stare burning holes through me as I circled my clit, slick and swollen, legs trembling, building to that edge where everything blurs into white-hot bliss. And what does he do? Nothing. Zilch. The pussy slinks away like a coward, leaving me hanging, pussy throbbing and empty, dripping onto the duvet from the tease of it all."Gunnar's breath hitched, his cheeks flushing that telltale crimson as he dropped onto the bed's edge, close enough that their knees brushed—a spark, a dare. "Fuck, Evie... that's messed up. He just... watched?" His voice cracked on the last word, eyes dropping to the hem of her shorts, where a faint damp spot betrayed how the retelling stirred her anew.She laughed then, a throaty, wicked sound that wrapped around him like chains, leaning in until her breath ghosted his ear, lips brushing the lobe just enough to make him shiver. "Watched and wasted it, baby bro. No decency to burst in, pin me down with those big, strong hands he never uses right, and fuck me senseless—pounding into me until I screamed his name for real this time, filling me up with that thick cock he's hiding under those khakis. But nope, Daddy's all talk and no thrust. A total blue-baller, leaving his little girl—well, stepdaughter, but you get it—frustrated and feral." Her fingers trailed lightly up his arm, nails grazing skin, testing boundaries as her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? If he's too chickenshit to take what's practically gift-wrapped on a platter, maybe the family's got another option right here... What do you say, Gunnar? You gonna finish what he started, or are you cut from the same limp cloth?"
