Being Shared Fucktoy of My Stepdad and Stepbrother Novel – Chapter 1 I still couldn’t believe this was my life now. Eighteen years old, fresh out of high school, and suddenly moving into a mansion that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Mom had married Morris only three months ago, and this was the first time I was officially moving in. The driveway alone was longer than our old apartment building. I gripped the strap of my duffel bag tighter as Morris came down the front steps to help. “Here, let me take that, Chloe,” he said, his voice deep and smooth like aged whiskey. His big hand closed over mine on the bag handle. His palm was thick, rough from years of coaching and working out, and the heat of it sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. I pulled back quickly, but not before my cheeks warmed. “Thanks… Dad,” I mumbled, testing the word. It felt weird. He wasn’t my dad. He was this tall, powerful man with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp jaw, and eyes that seemed to see way too much. Mom was already inside directing the movers. The house smelled like fresh linen and expensive wood.
Sunlight poured through massive windows, making everything feel bright and safe. For a second I let myself imagine what it would be like to actually belong here. I reached out to touch a shiny soccer trophy on a side table, just wanting to feel something real. “Chloe, stop that right now,” Mom hissed under her breath, grabbing my wrist. “You’re going to embarrass me. Touch one more thing and you can roll your ass right back to the old apartment. I mean it.” My stomach dropped. The warm fuzzy feeling vanished instantly. I pulled my hand back like I’d been burned. Morris was watching the whole thing. His gaze slid over me slowly, from my messy ponytail down my tank top, over my shorts, all the way to my sneakers and back up again. It wasn’t the look of a friendly new stepdad. It was hungry. Assessing. Like he was deciding exactly what kind of girl I was. My heart hammered against my ribs. I felt exposed, nervous… and something else. A strange little flutter low in my belly that I didn’t want to name.
I swallowed hard. I need to make this work. I need a place to sleep, food, a chance to breathe. So smile, Chloe. Be good. Be useful. Morris cleared his throat. “Let me show you around, sweetheart.” The tour was overwhelming. Marble floors, a kitchen bigger than our old living room, a theater room. Then we passed a half-open door to the basement. I heard the clink of weights and heavy breathing. Curiosity pulled me closer. Down there, under bright lights, was Julian. My new stepbrother. He was shirtless, doing crunches on a mat, sweat glistening on every cut of his abs and across the hard planes of his chest. His soccer legs were thick with muscle, veins standing out on his forearms as he moved. Each rep made the lines of his body flex and shine. I couldn’t look away. Holy shit… his body is insane. No wonder he’s the star striker. That power… He finished a set, sat up, and caught me staring. A bright, easy smile broke across his face, dimples and all. “Hey! You must be Chloe. Finally.
Come down, I don’t bite.” That smile hit me like sunshine after a storm. All the tension from Mom’s scolding and Morris’s intense stare melted. Julian wiped sweat off his brow with his forearm and jogged over, still breathing hard. Up close he smelled like clean sweat and something masculine that made my knees feel a little weak. “Nice to meet you,” I said softly, smiling back. “Welcome to the madhouse,” he winked. “If you need anything, I got you.” Sooner after, it was dinner time, the four of us sat around the long table. Mom was playing perfect wife, chatting about her new job. On the surface everything looked normal. Underneath? I could feel the current. Morris kept glancing at me when he thought no one noticed, that same heavy look from earlier, while Julian sat across from me, fork twirling in his pasta, but his eyes kept finding mine with this playful, almost teasing smile. Like he knew a secret I didn’t. I kept my head down, pushing food around my plate, but every time Julian laughed or Morris’s deep voice rumbled across the table, I felt that weird flutter again.
What the hell is wrong with me? This is my new family. Get it together. I lay in the huge new bed staring at the ceiling, the fan spinning lazy circles above me like it was mocking how restless I felt. The room was perfect—soft sheets that probably cost more than our old rent, blackout curtains, and that faint scent of lavender from some expensive diffuser. But sleep wouldn’t come. So, I grabbed my phone and searched Julian’s name. Game highlights popped up immediately. There he was, sprinting down the field, jersey clinging to his chest, sweat flying as he cut past defenders. The way his thighs powered him forward, the pure strength in every movement. When he scored, he ripped his shirt up, roaring with his teammates, abs glistening under stadium lights. Heat pooled between my legs. I bit my lip. God, he’s so awesome… My skin felt too hot. I kicked the covers off, then pulled them back up. Nothing helped. Finally I grabbed my phone, dimmed the screen brightness, and typed his name into the search bar.
Julian’s highlight reel popped up immediately. I slipped in my earbuds. There he was. Sprinting down the pitch, powerful thighs pumping, sweat flying off his skin in slow-motion droplets that caught the stadium lights like diamonds. The way his abs tightened when he planted his foot and ripped a shot into the top corner. The celebration—teammates piling on him, jerseys riding up, pure raw masculine energy exploding across the screen. I pressed my thighs together without thinking. Fuck… he’s perfect. So strong. So alive. Heat bloomed low in my belly, thick and sweet like honey poured over fire. I rolled onto my stomach, hugging a pillow under my chest. My hips moved on their own, pressing my aching pussy down against the mattress. The thin cotton of my panties dragged over my clit with every slow grind. A tiny whimper escaped me before I could bite it back. I started rocking faster, imagining it was Julian underneath me instead of expensive sheets. The friction was delicious but teasing—never quite enough.
My nipples hardened against the tank top, rubbing against the fabric until they felt like two sensitive little pebbles. I spread my legs wider, humping the bed like a desperate little slut, the wet spot on my panties growing bigger with every roll of my hips. “Mmm… Julian…” I breathed into the pillow, barely audible. But it felt so good to say his name out loud. My pussy throbbed, slick and swollen, lips parting around the soaked cotton as I ground my clit harder. The pressure built in heavy waves, like a storm rolling in over the ocean. My breathing turned ragged. I could feel my juices leaking, making everything slippery and messy between my thighs. I reached back with one hand, pulling my panties tighter against my folds so the seam rubbed right where I needed it most. Faster. Harder. My ass lifted and dropped in a needy rhythm, the bed creaking softly under me. I was so close—right on the edge, muscles tightening, toes curling— The door opened with a quiet click. “Chloe? It’s pretty late.
What are you doing still up?” Morris’s deep voice cut through the darkness like a knife. I froze mid-grind, heart slamming against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them. My hips gave one last involuntary twitch against the mattress before I could stop. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The room light from the hallway silhouetted his broad shoulders for a second before everything went dim again. I heard his bare feet on the carpet as he approached the bed. “I… I couldn’t sleep,” I whispered, voice shaky. My face burned hotter than my pussy. Morris sat on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. He was wearing only gray sweatpants, chest bare, looking even bigger and more commanding up close in the dark. “I heard you from the hallway. Those little sounds you were making… and you said his name. Julian’s.”