Living With My Demon Stepsister

It was too quiet.

Mom and Dad were in their room. Lights out. No sound.

But my head wouldn't shut up.

I lay in bed, covers kicked off, shirt twisted from tossing too much. My body still felt warm—leftover tension from everything that happened. Lila's cousin, Marissa's glowing eyes, the frozen plate, the smirk when she caught me watching.

That hadn't been normal. None of it was.

And now? Now I couldn't stop thinking.

I sat up, rubbed my face, and whispered into the dark, "Is Dad even safe?"

> "Why wouldn't he be?"

I jumped.

She was already inside. Lila. My demon stepsister. Wearing my hoodie, hood down, nothing else. Just her bare legs and that smug look on her face as she closed the door behind her.

"I seriously need to start locking my door," I muttered.

She smiled and tilted her head. "Why? You don't want me sneaking in anymore?"

I didn't answer. Mostly because my brain was short-circuiting.

She walked over, slow and swaying, and climbed onto the bed like she owned it—like she owned me.

I tried again. "Is he safe? With Marissa, I mean?"

She settled beside me, hips pressed to mine under the sheets, voice lazy. "He's fine. She's a General. She wouldn't do anything he didn't want."

A pause. She looked me in the eye and winked. "And trust me—if she wanted him to want something? He would."

I blinked, disturbed—and a little too aware of how soft and warm she felt beside me.

"You're spiraling again," she whispered, brushing my hair back. "You've got all these little thoughts in your head. What's real, what's safe, who's who…"

Her fingers traced my chest, slow, teasing.

> "You think too much, Eli."

I opened my mouth to speak, but she straddled me before I could get a word out. Her hoodie hiked up slightly, exposing smooth thighs and the smallest flash of skin underneath.

And that's when I knew.

She wasn't wearing anything beneath it.

My mouth went dry.

"I'm serious," she said softly. "I don't like seeing you afraid."

Her hands moved—one on my stomach, slow, fingers grazing just enough to make my muscles jump. I was already hard. Embarrassingly so.

"You need a distraction," she whispered.

"Lila…"

> "No more talking."

She leaned down and kissed me—soft, deep, like she meant to pull me under completely. I grabbed her waist without thinking, pulling her closer.

She rocked gently against me, slow and maddening. The fabric of my shorts tightened unbearably—until they didn't.

They vanished. Just like that.

I gasped. "What the hell—"

She grinned. "Shh. Let me take care of you."

Her hand wrapped around me—warm, perfect, sinful. She didn't rush. She never rushed. She worked me slowly, like she had all the time in the world.

"You're mine, Eli," she whispered in my ear. "Do you get that yet?"

I couldn't answer. Not when she was doing that.

> "Say it."

"I…"

> "Say it, or I'll stop."

"You… You're mine. I mean, I'm—I'm yours."

She kissed my cheek and kept going. "Good boy."

It didn't take long. I came hard, body shaking under her, muscles clenching, her name falling out of my mouth like a prayer.

And she didn't stop.

She kept stroking, slow, until I couldn't breathe, until it was too much. All the while, she whispered things in my ear—soft, dangerous things about how easily she could break me. How good she'd be at it.

Then suddenly, she stopped. Kissed me one last time. Curled up against my side.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you, you know," she murmured, voice soft and sleepy. "You're safe with me."

I wasn't sure if that made me feel better.

But her skin was warm. Her leg was thrown over mine.

And I didn't want to move.

Not even when her breathing evened out and she drifted off, still holding me.

Still mine.