Chapter 3
After that, the dam broke. Ryker’s possessiveness turned feral. He claimed me everywhere.
Bent over the basement couch where he’d first interrupted Max and me, in the shower late at night while our parents watched TV downstairs, and in my bedroom late at night while I bit the pillow to quiet my screams.
And every time he fucked me, pounding into me with deep, punishing strokes, he made my pussy clench even harder around him.
In the shower, he’d press me against the cold tiles, hot water cascading over our bodies as he lifted one of my legs and fucked me standing, his thick cock stretching me open while I had to hold in my moan so no one heard.
When he’d take me in my bedroom, he’d fuck me slow and dirty, stuffing a pair of my worn panties in my mouth to muffle my cries as he filled me up again and again.
And each time he’d whisper filthy, loving things in my ear.
“This pussy was made for your big brother’s cock.”
“No one else will ever know how tight and wet you get for me.”
But my favorite was when he’d choke me lightly while he fucked me and spank my ass red then kiss the marks better.
Ryker’s hand would wrap around my throat just enough to make my head spin, stars bursting behind my eyes as he drove his cock deep into my dripping cunt.
The sharp sting of his palm cracking against my ass left me whimpering and pushing back for more, my cheeks glowing red and burning.
Afterward, he’d kiss every mark with surprising tenderness, his lips soft against the heated skin while his cum leaked from my pussy.
The constant cycle of rough claiming and gentle aftercare only deepened the fact he ruined all other men for me. Every mark he left felt like a secret brand, proof that I belonged to my own brother in the most depraved way possible.
The shame never fully went away, but I knew it was normal, natural even, to feel that way. It didn’t stop me from wanting to be with Ryker more than anything else.
It was like my body had decided he was the only one who could ever make me feel this alive, this wanted, even if my brain kept screaming how fucked up it all was.
One night while the house was quiet, he caught me looking at old family photos. They were ones of me when I was eighteen and graduated high school and others of me starting college. And in all of them, he always stood protectively beside me.
Without a word, he pulled me down onto the living room floor, taking me right there slowly and intensely, making me look at the pictures while he moved inside me. “We were always meant for this,” he said. “I’ve been protecting what’s mine since the beginning.”
Our parents weren’t home so I was loud, moaning how good it felt to have his cock deep inside of me as he fucked the hell out of me.
I was on my back on the soft rug, legs wrapped around his waist as he rocked deep into my soaked pussy.
The old photo album lay open beside us, pictures of a teenage Ryker with his arm around my shoulders at the lake the summer I turned eighteen.
Another of him carrying me piggyback after I twisted my ankle during a hike when we were both already adults.
Every slow thrust pushed me closer to the edge while I stared at those more recent but still innocent memories, the contrast making everything filthy and overwhelming.
His cock dragged perfectly along my walls, the head nudging my cervix with each deep stroke, his balls slapping wetly against me.
I came hard around him, my pussy milking his thick length as waves of shame and pleasure crashed through me, and he followed right after, flooding me with pulse after pulse of hot cum while whispering how he’d always been mine and I’d always been his.
The sight of those photos from when we were both adults while my brother’s cock was buried balls-deep in my cunt pushed me into an orgasm so intense I nearly blacked out, my walls fluttering and gushing around him as the ultimate taboo hit me full force.
Those memories of him protecting me made the reality of him claiming my pussy feel ten times dirtier and hotter.
From those intense nights forward, the days blurred into a haze of stolen touches and frantic fucking.
We grew bolder, riskier, with quick hand jobs in the hallway when our parents were in the next room, and Ryker touching my bare pussy under the dinner table until I had to excuse myself with shaking legs.
The constant fear of getting caught only heightened every sensation.
Ryker’s obsession showed in the marks he left on me, in the way he’d text me during the day demanding I send him pictures of my dripping cunt, and in how he’d pin me down and remind me over and over that no one else would ever satisfy me the way my own brother could.
The forbidden romance consumed us both, turning guilt into fuel and shame into the hottest kind of foreplay.
Every risky encounter left me soaked and terrified, my heart racing as much from fear of getting caught as from the way his fingers curled inside me or his cock throbbed in my mouth.
The guilt never faded, but it became the spark that made every stolen moment burn hotter, binding us together in our dirty little secret.
The more dangerous the sex got, the wetter and hornier I became, especially when I’d drop to my knees in the hallway to swallow his cock down my throat, only to stop when we heard footsteps approaching.
It all fed the twisted thrill. Ryker’s possessiveness only grew, marking my body and mind until I couldn’t imagine anyone else ever touching me. We were addicted to the secrecy, to the wrongness, and to the way being brother and sister made every orgasm feel like the dirtiest, most perfect sin.
There was something so powerfully intimate about knowing we were crossing a line no one else could understand. Every secret fuck, every risky touch, every time he filled me up and whispered that I was his forever just pulled me deeper into this thing we had.
It wasn’t just sex anymore. It was us against the world, wrapped up in our own private, filthy little heaven.