4. IVAN #3
Her whole body convulses, back arching clean off the bed, and she screams my name as she comes—loud and broken and so fucking beautiful. Her pussy clamps down on me like a fist, milking my cock, and I lose it.
I bury myself to the hilt and come hard—groaning her name as I empty myself inside her. Hot spurts of cum flood her cunt, and I keep thrusting through it, riding out every last pulse until I'm completely drained.
We collapse together, both gasping for air, and I ease out of her slowly. Cum immediately leaks from her swollen pussy, trickling down her thighs, and I catch it with my fingers—scoop it up and push it back inside her.
She whimpers, oversensitive, but I don't stop until every drop is back where it belongs.
"You okay?"
She hums something that might be a yes, eyes already half-closed, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. Her whole body has gone boneless, melted into my sheets like she's never moving again.
I shift to her side, pull her back against my chest, and wrap my arm around her waist. She fits perfectly—small and warm and mine. I press my lips to the curve of her neck, feel her pulse thrumming beneath soft skin.
"Sleep."
"Mmm." She's already drifting, breath evening out, those wild curls tickling my jaw.
I tighten my hold, burying my face in her hair. She smells like chlorine and sweat and something purely her—something I've been craving since the moment I saw her walk down that aisle in her bridesmaid dress.
Finally.
Finally, Iris is mine.
Not just in my bed, not just marked with my cum leaking between her thighs. Mine in every way that matters. No more pretending it's about that dipshit highschool crush. No more excuses.
She sighs in her sleep, presses closer, and I kiss her neck again—slow, possessive.
Mine.
I wake to gray morning light filtering through the blinds and Iris still wrapped around me like she belongs there. Her breath fans warm against my chest, one small hand curled between us, dark curls a wild mess across my pillow.
Mine.
The word settles deep in my chest, heavy and right. I brush a curl back from her face, trace the delicate line of her jaw with my thumb, and she stirs—just slightly—pressing closer in her sleep.
Can't help myself. I lean down, press my lips to her temple, trail kisses down to her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. She makes this soft, sleepy sound that goes straight to my cock, and I kiss her properly—slow and deep until those amber eyes flutter open.
She blinks up at me, dazed, and then smiles. That sweet, genuine smile that makes my chest tight.
"Morning."
"Morning." I cup her face, thumb stroking her bottom lip. "Remember last night? You're mine now."
The smile vanishes.
Her whole body goes rigid, eyes widening like she's just been hit with cold water. She pulls back—scrambles back—and the sheet tangles around her legs as she sits up.
"Oh god." Her hands fly to her mouth. "I'm yours? Ivan, this can't be."
"Iris—"
"This is so wrong." She's shaking her head now, curls bouncing wild. "We can't—Ivan, we're stepsiblings. What we did was?—"
"What we did was inevitable." I sit up, reach for her, but she flinches away. That stings more than it should. "You wanted this as much as I did."
"That doesn't make it right!" Her voice cracks, tears pooling in those doe eyes. "We can't do this again. We can't. It's wrong and—and we have to forget it happened."
Forget it happened.
Like I could ever forget the way she felt beneath me, the way she screamed my name, the way her pussy clenched around my cock like she was made for me.
"You don't mean that."
"I do." She's clutching the sheet to her chest now, knuckles white. "Ivan, please. This was a mistake. A huge mistake and we just—we have to stop. Just think what our parents will say."
Heat floods through me—anger mixing with hurt, bitter on my tongue. I stand, grab my jeans from the floor, yank them on harder than necessary.
"A mistake." The word tastes like acid. "That what you're calling it?"
"Yes." But her voice wavers, betrays her. "It has to be."
I turn to face her, jaw clenched so tight it aches. She's sitting there looking small and scared and guilty, and something inside me snaps.
"You know what? You're still that same uptight, innocent girl who can't be honest with herself.
" I drag a hand through my hair, shoulders rolling with the effort to keep my temper in check.
"I see the way you look at me, Iris. Have since the wedding.
We both felt it—felt this—and you're too scared to admit it. "
"Ivan—"
"No." I cut her off, voice harder than I intend. "You want to pretend last night didn't happen? Fine. You want to keep lying to yourself about what you feel? Go ahead."
Tears spill down her cheeks now, and it takes everything in me not to cross the room and kiss them away.
"Is that what you want?"
She nods, miserable, and wraps her arms around herself like she's trying to hold the pieces together.
"Yeah. Okay."
I grab my shirt off the floor, don't bother putting it on, and head for the door. My hand closes around the knob and I pause—just for a second—giving her one last chance to take it back.
She doesn't.
I leave.