Mom grabbed her keys and said she was heading next door to help with the new curtains. She figured it would take at least an hour. The second the front door shut, the house went quiet. My stepdad was still at the kitchen table. He looked up, set his phone down, and nodded toward the basement door. “Come downstairs with me.” I followed him. The air got cooler as we went down the stairs. He flipped on the single bulb over the workbench and the rest of the basement stayed dim. He didn’t say much. He just turned me so I faced the bench, put a hand between my shoulder blades, and bent me forward until my palms were flat on the wood. His other hand pulled my shorts and underwear down together. They caught around my knees. Cool air hit my skin. I heard his belt, then the zipper. He stepped in close behind me and ran the head of his cock up and down between my legs until he was slick. I was already wet. He pushed in slow at first, stretching me open, then sank the rest of the way in one steady thrust. I had to grip the edge of the bench. He started moving right away. Long strokes that pulled almost all the way out before he drove back in. One hand stayed on my hip. The other reached around and found my clit, rubbing in tight circles while he fucked me. The bench creaked under us. Every time he bottomed out I felt the full length of him. My breathing got louder. He leaned over my back, chest against me, and kept the same deep rhythm. His fingers never stopped on my clit. I pushed back to meet him and the wet sound of his cock moving in and out got clearer in the quiet basement. He picked up the pace. Hips snapping harder, the slap of skin filling the space. My legs started to shake. The pressure built fast. When I came I clenched around him hard and a broken sound slipped out before I could stop it. He didn’t slow down. He fucked me through it, fingers still working, until my thighs were trembling and I was half-collapsed over the bench. A few more rough thrusts and he pulled out. I felt the hot pulses land across my lower back and ass. He stayed pressed against me for a second, breathing hard, then reached for an old shop rag on the shelf and wiped me clean. He pulled my underwear and shorts back up, fixed his own clothes, and turned the light off. “Go upstairs and put something on the TV,” he said. “Act like we’ve been up there the whole time.” I nodded. My legs felt unsteady on the stairs. By the time Mom’s car pulled into the driveway I was on the couch with the volume low, still feeling the ache between my legs and the faint stickiness he’d missed on my skin.