2. Roman #2
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and frantic, that brilliant green swallowed by pupil. I hold her there, unblinking, as I lower my mouth and drag the flat of my tongue up the slick seam of her cunt in one long, deliberate stroke.
The first taste explodes across my tongue—hot, sweet, unmistakably hers—and her back bows violently off the leather.
A raw, broken sound rips out of her throat, half gasp, half sob. Her hands fly into my hair, fingers twisting tight enough to burn at the roots. The sting only makes me hungrier. I groan against her folds, the vibration pulling another helpless cry from her lips.
I don’t rush. I map her with my tongue, learning every velvet ridge and sensitive dip, the exact pressure that makes her thighs clamp around my ears and the precise flick that forces her hips to buck against my face.
She’s soaked, dripping down my chin, coating my stubble. The obscene wet sounds of my mouth devouring her fill the quiet room, louder than her fractured breathing.
Her thighs tremble violently against my shoulders. Every short, desperate inhale lifts her ribs, pushes those perfect tits against the silk of her nightgown.
The leather creaks beneath her writhing body. She smells like musk and warm skin and raw need, and it’s driving me out of my fucking mind.
“That’s it,” I growl against her dripping pussy, the words muffled by slick flesh. “Let me hear every filthy sound you make, stepsister.”
She whimpers—high, broken, perfect.
I slide two thick fingers into her heat, slow and careful, stretching her tight walls that flutter and clamp down instantly. She’s so damn snug it almost hurts.
Her hips jerk hard; I pin her with my free palm spread wide across her quivering stomach, holding her down while I curl my fingers and suck her swollen clit between my lips.
“Roman—I—I can’t?—”
“You can. You will.”
Her head thrashes against the cushion, dark hair sticking to her damp temples.
Those small hands yank viciously at my scalp, the pain shooting straight to my aching cock. Her entire body draws bowstring tight, thighs locking around my head like she’s trying to suffocate me. Then she shatters.
Her cunt pulses violently around my fingers, rhythmic spasms that milk me as she comes with a strangled scream of my name. Hot, fresh slick floods my tongue. Her back arches so sharply I feel the strain in her spine.
I keep sucking, keep fucking her through every wave until her legs shake uncontrollably and her voice cracks into nothing but raw, gasping sobs.
Only when she collapses, boneless and whimpering, do I ease my fingers free and press one last, almost tender kiss to her over-sensitive clit. Her thighs fall open, trembling. She stares at the ceiling with her chest heaving, lips parted and wet, looking utterly wrecked.
Beautiful.
Mine.
I strip out of my shirt first, the cotton dragging roughly over my heated skin before I shove my jeans down and kick them aside. The moment my cock springs free, heavy and flushed, her green eyes widen, pupils blowing wide with a mix of raw hunger and genuine alarm.
That perfect little mouth parts on a sharp inhale.
"That's not going to fit."
The corner of my mouth twitches. "It will."
"Roman—"
"Trust me."
I loom over her, forearms braced on either side of her head, caging that petite frame beneath mine.
The heat radiating from her skin licks against my chest as I claim her mouth again. She tastes herself on my tongue—sweet, musky, addictive—and the broken, needy whimper that vibrates from her throat shoots straight down my spine to my aching cock. My balls draw up tight at the sound.
Reaching between us, I fist myself, notch the blunt head against her slick entrance, and push. Her gasp fractures in the quiet room as her body resists, that impossibly tight ring of muscle fluttering around just the tip.
Her nails bite into my shoulders like tiny brands, the sting only feeding the fire raging under my skin.
"Breathe," I command against her lips, voice low and steady even as every muscle in my body screams to drive home.
She obeys on a shaky exhale. I sink deeper, inch by torturous inch, watching every flicker across her face—lashes fluttering, brows drawing together, that plush mouth dropping open on a silent cry.
The velvet clutch of her cunt is almost unbearable, rippling and squeezing like she’s trying to push me out and pull me in at the same time.
Sweat beads along my spine. My jaw locks so hard I hear my teeth grind.
"Good girl," I murmur, the praise gravel-rough. "Look at you, stretching so pretty around your stepbrother's cock. You’re taking every thick inch like you were made for it."
Her eyes snap open at that, bright with challenge and something dangerously close to tears. She stares up at me like she can’t decide whether to curse me or beg for more. The sight makes my cock throb inside her.
I ease back, then drive forward again, feeding her another inch until my hips finally kiss hers. Her breath explodes out in a broken cry that echoes through the living room.
She’s trembling beneath me now, but the shakes have shifted—looser, hotter, her body surrendering by degrees. Her hips begin to roll, tentative little circles that grow bolder, chasing the friction I’m deliberately rationing.
"That’s it," I growl, the words scraped from somewhere deep. "Fuck yourself on me. Take exactly what you need, sweetheart."
A raw moan spills from her, the sound so filthy it nearly undoes me.
I drop my mouth to the frantic pulse in her throat, dragging my tongue over salt-damp skin, tasting the frantic flutter of her heartbeat. She arches violently, pressing those perfect tits harder against my chest.
The hardened points of her nipples drag across my skin like brands. Impatient, I hook a hand under the hem of her nightgown, yank it up and over her head, and fling the silk away.
Nothing underneath. Just smooth, flushed skin, tight pink nipples, and the lush curves I’ve been starving for.
My lips close around one sensitive peak, sucking hard enough to pull another sharp cry from her throat. Her fingers twist in my hair, tugging until fresh sparks of pain ignite behind my eyes.
"Faster," she gasps, voice cracking. "Go faster. Don’t—don’t you dare hold back on me."
Something inside my chest fractures—control, restraint, every careful wall I’ve built since the day she walked into this house. I pull out until only the head remains, then slam back in with one brutal thrust.
Her scream is raw, beautiful, torn straight from her lungs. Those sharp nails rake down my back, leaving burning trails that only make me drive harder. Her legs lock around my waist, heels digging into my ass like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
I brace one hand beside her head, the other fisted in the cushion above her, and I fuck her exactly the way I’ve imagined since the moment she stepped through that front door—hard, deep, relentlessly possessive.
The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, obscene and perfect. Her cunt flutters and clenches around me with every punishing stroke, creamy slick coating my shaft and dripping down to soak my balls.
"My stepsister," I rasp against the shell of her ear, teeth grazing the delicate lobe. "You have no fucking idea how many nights I’ve lain awake thinking about ruining this tight little pussy."
A broken sob tears from her throat. Her whole body bows tight beneath me.
I slide a hand between us, find her swollen clit, and rub tight, ruthless circles. Her walls clamp down so viciously I see white at the edges of my vision.
Then she shatters—cunt pulsing, milking me in violent waves, her scream muffled against my shoulder as fresh tears slip down her temples.
The sight, the feel, the sound of her coming apart because of me snaps the last thread. I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her cries as I bury myself to the hilt and follow her over.
My cock jerks hard inside her, spilling pulse after pulse of hot come deep into that fluttering heat while her name rips from my throat.
We stay locked together, chests heaving, sweat-slick skin glued. My forehead drops to hers, our breaths mingling in the charged air between us. Her hands tremble where they rest on my back, fingertips tracing the fresh scratches she’s left like she can’t quite believe what just happened.
Knox’s voice slices through the heavy quiet, low, amused, and edged with raw hunger.
"My turn."