Roman Todd Is Better Than Benvi’s Mom
Of course, this is fantasy, but can you imagine having a stepfather like Roman Todd?! Benvi’s movie character is totally lucky to have such a sex symbol for a stepdad. Benvi leans against the fridge, ice clinking in his lemonade glass as he watches Roman’s shoulders tense through the thin cotton of his work shirt. The man’s been pacing the kitchen since the shouting match with Benvi’s mom three hours ago–her slammed door still vibrating upstairs. Roman’s jaw flexes, stubble catching golden streaks of late sun, and Benvi’s gaze drifts lower. Those carpenter’s hands. That scar snaking down his forearm from Iraq. Fuck.
“She’ll cool off,” Benvi says, voice syrup-slow, setting his drink down. Roman glances over, exhaustion warring with the coiled energy in his stance. “You sure about that, kid?” The way he says kid makes Benvi’s dick twitch.
He steps closer, fingertips skimming Roman’s belt buckle. “Let me help you… relax.” Roman’s throat bobs. “Benvi–wait. Your mother–“
But Benvi’s already sinking to his knees on the hardwood, popping the button on Roman’s jeans. The musky scent of sweat hits him first as he pulls out Roman’s thick cock, already half-hard against olive-toned skin. “Which part’s off-limits?” Benvi taunts, tongue swiping the slit. “The part where I almost failed Calc II last semester? Or the part where you’ve been staring at my dick print in gym shorts since March?”
Roman’s groan rumbles like thunder as Benvi takes him deep, gagging theatrically before hollowing his cheeks. “Fuck–Jesus–” Roman’s fingers fist in Benvi’s messy dark curls, hips jerking involuntarily. Benvi works him harder, spit dripping down his chin as he fists the base. He knows the exact moment Roman stops thinking about his mom–the sharp inhale, the tremor in those thick thighs.
“Upstairs,” Roman grits out, dragging Benvi to his feet. But Benvi yanks him toward the living room instead, shoving him onto the leather couch. “Nah. Right here. In her spot.” He straddles Roman, grinding down as he rips his own shirt off. Roman’s calloused palms map his smooth chest, lingering at his nipples. “You’re a goddamn menace,” Roman growls, flipping him onto his back.
Benvi’s laugh cuts off when Roman spits into his hand, slicks himself, and slams in bare. “Oh shit–! Wait, wait, are you–?” Roman drills deeper, the burn brutal, Benvi’s legs trembling around his waist. “Thought you wanted to play grown-up,” Roman snarls, gripping Benvi’s hips hard enough to bruise.
Benvi arches, clawing at Roman’s back as the pace turns punishing–every thrust grinding his prostate. Roman’s mouth claims his, teeth drawing blood from Benvi’s lip. “Say it,” Roman demands, pistoning faster. “Say you’ve wanted this since I moved my shit into your mom’s closet.”
“Fuck–yes, fuck, Dad–” Benvi chokes out, dizzy with the blasphemy. Roman’s rhythm stutters, then goes feral, slamming Benvi’s ass red against the cushions. It’s too much, not enough–Benvi cums untouched, streaks hot across his stomach as Roman roars, filling him deep.
They’re still gasping when the garage door creaks. Roman pulls out with a wet sound, tucking himself away just as Benvi’s mom calls out, “Honey, I got the wine!”
Benvi licks cum off his fingers, grinning at Roman’s panic. “Relax,” he purrs. “We’ve got all night.”
