Isabella’s cries were muffled by my palm, but they still escaped with each frantic thrust.
Could anyone hear?
I scanned the gathering through the grimy woodshed window.
The guests were clustered near the fire pit on the estate, oblivious.
Thank God.
No one glanced toward the shed.
I tightened my grip over her mouth and kept moving.
“God, I love this,” I whispered, my lips brushing her cheek.
Isabella moaned in response.
Outside, relatives, friends, and business associates mingled under the harsh midday sun.
They were here for Kate’s wake.
She died that night.
Three days since the accident.
Three days since I’d last been with Isabella.
Those days had been a blur of formalities—police, doctors, funeral plans.
This stolen moment was a necessary release.
Isabella was mine.
My stepdaughter. My secret. My driving force.
She was the energy I needed to navigate my grief and steer Blackwood Intel Tech into the future.
This was our first chance to slip away.
The plan was simple.
Isabella claimed she felt unwell and retreated to the house.
She then doubled back to the shed.
I took a fake phone call and drifted out of sight.
We met in the shadowy, isolated woodshed.
I took her from behind, savoring the feel of her.
Isabella leaned against a stack of firewood, her skirt bunched at her waist.
I hadn’t even bothered with her panties, just moved the fabric aside.
My trousers pooled at my ankles.
One hand cupped her breast. The other stifled her sounds.
I kept one eye on the window.
The guests were a safe distance away.
But I couldn’t stay missing for long.
This had to be quick.
Her body clenched around me tightly.
Perfect.
“Shit.”
My other stepdaughter, Chloe, home from Boston, looked directly toward the shed.
It felt like her gaze pierced the glass.
I ducked slightly but didn’t stop.
Isabella continued to moan into my hand.
I kept my head low, just my eyes above the sill.
Damn it.
Chloe was walking this way, leading some guy with her.
I had to finish. Now.
Too risky.
I pulled out, leaving a wet, dark stain on my suit pants.
“Code red, sweetheart,” I said, yanking up my boxers and trousers. “Your sister’s coming.”
“Chloe always ruins everything,” Isabella hissed, adjusting her clothes. “Can’t mind her own business.”
“She’s just protective.” The stain was obvious. Worse, I was still painfully hard.
Thinking fast, I grabbed a tin bucket full of kindling and held it in front of myself.
The shed door creaked open.
“Dad? There you are… Isabella? I thought you were sick. You look flushed.” Chloe stepped inside, her eyes narrowing. She touched Isabella’s forehead. “You’re burning up. And you’re sweating.”
“I felt guilty leaving everyone,” Isabella recited smoothly. “I called Dad. He said he was starting the fire and it might make me feel better. So I came to help.”
“Don’t blame her, Chloe. My mistake. I shouldn’t have let you overexert yourself, darling,” I said, planting a light kiss on Isabella’s brow.
“See?” Isabella hugged her sister.
Chloe’s nose wrinkled slightly. Could she smell it?
“Go back to the house and rest, sis,” Chloe said, her voice firm. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready. You’ve been through hell. You need to take care of yourself.”
“No argument here. Call me then. I’ll be asleep,” Isabella said, slipping out the door.
“How are you holding up, Dad?” Chloe asked, turning to me. “We haven’t really talked.”
“I know, darling. It’s been chaos. I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet. Staying busy helps. It’s how I cope.”
“When it does hit, I’m here for you.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon,” I said, pulling her into a hug.
The bucket between us felt awkward. Chloe pulled back, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.
“Bad timing, I know,” she said. “I tried to put him off, but there’s a Detective Foster from Portsmouth PD outside. He has a few questions about the accident. Says it won’t take long. Should I tell him to call tomorrow?”
“No. Tomorrow’s packed. I’ll handle him,” I said, stepping outside with her.
The detective was poking around near the shed.
“Mr. Blackwood. Detective Foster, Portsmouth PD. My condolences.”
Sure they are.
“I apologize for the intrusion.”
“What do you need, Detective? Chloe, give us a moment.”
“I’ll be close by if you need me, Dad,” Chloe said, walking back toward the guests.
“Mr. Blackwood, my team completed a thorough sweep of the crash site. We found some things that raise questions. I was hoping you could clarify.”
“I gave a full statement the morning after. I told your people everything I remember.”
“Understood. This will only take a minute. Then you can return to your guests.”
“What is it?”
“Must you hold that like that?” Foster asked, his eyes dropping to the kindling bucket still shielding my crotch.
“Is that your question, Detective? You’re wasting the minute you promised.”
“Right. We found blood about a hundred feet from the car. It matches your stepdaughter’s type. But her ER report shows no open wounds. Just scrapes. That concerns us. Any idea where that blood came from?”
Her virginity, you idiot. “Your guess is as good as mine, Detective,” I said, holding the man’s gaze.
“We also found semen with the blood. Would you be willing to provide a sample, Mr. Blackwood?”
“You’re overstepping, Detective. Unless you’re charging me with something, I have a wake to attend.”
“Speaking of which, you don’t seem overly grieved by your wife’s passing.”
“It’s a cruel world. I take solace knowing she’s at peace.” I motioned to the butler. “Benjamin. Please see Detective Foster to his car.”
“Of course, sir. Detective?” Benjamin gestured toward the driveway.
“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Blackwood,” Foster said, turning to leave.
“Oh, Benjamin. One more thing.” My voice dropped.
“Sir?” Benjamin returned as the detective walked away.
“Ensure Detective Foster does not make it back to the station today.”
“It shall be done, sir,” Benjamin said, pulling out his phone as I rejoined the gathering.
“What was that about, Dad?” Chloe asked, approaching me again. “Is there a problem with the accident investigation?”
“No, no,” I said, slipping an arm around her waist. “Just bureaucratic nonsense. They invent work to justify their budgets.”
“Oh, Dad. This is Tony, a friend from college. He drove me up from Boston. He’s been incredibly supportive.”
“Thank you for helping my daughter,” I said, crushing the young man’s hand in a vise-like shake.
“Happy to help, sir,” Tony winced.
“Dad, let me take that bucket for you…”
“Damn, look what it did to my trousers. Excuse me while I change. Tony,” I pulled the young man aside, out of Chloe’s earshot. “How do you know my daughter?”
“We met through campus ministry. We pray together on Wednesdays.”
“You’re not screwing my daughter, are you?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Keep your dick in your pants. Understood?” I stepped on Tony’s sneaker, leaning in close. “Understood?”
“Dad, what’s wrong with you?” Chloe said, returning to us.
“Just imparting some wisdom. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I walked toward the house, catching Benjamin’s eye. “Benjamin.”
“Sir?”
“Make sure Chloe and her friend have separate rooms. Preferably on opposite ends of the house.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“And find that kid something to do. I don’t want to see his face again.”
“Certainly, sir.”