4. Rhett #2
She starts to move. Tentative rolls of her hips at first, testing, learning the drag of my cock against her swollen walls. Her hands brace on my shoulders, nails already biting crescent moons into muscle.
I can’t look away from her face—the way her brows pinch in fierce concentration, the parted lips glistening with moisture, the deep pink flush that crawls from her chest up her freckled cheeks and across the bridge of her nose.
Every micro-expression etches itself into my memory like ink under skin.
My palms glide up her ribs, thumbs grazing the soft undersides of her breasts. They’re heavy, perfect, nipples pebbled tight from the night air and the water cooling on them.
She arches with a sharp inhale, head tipping back so the moonlight paints silver across her throat and the wet strands of copper hair clinging to her shoulders.
The motion pushes her tits closer to my mouth and I take the invitation, closing my lips around one tight peak. Salt, chlorine, and the unmistakable taste of her skin flood my tongue. I suck hard, swirling, then graze my teeth across the sensitive bud until she cries out, hips stuttering in my lap.
The sound she makes—half-laugh, half-desperate moan—shatters whatever restraint I had left. I switch to the other breast, devouring it with the same filthy attention while my hand kneads the first, rolling the wet nipple between fingers still slippery from the jacuzzi.
Her cunt flutters wildly around me, rhythmic pulses that threaten to drag me under. I can feel how close she is, the way her thighs tremble and her rhythm turns frantic, uncoordinated.
I know what she needs.
My hand slips between our slick bodies, finding the swollen pearl of her clit. The first firm press of my thumb makes her jolt like she’s been shocked. “Oh God?—”
“That’s it.” I circle it in tight, relentless strokes timed to the slap of her hips against mine. “Let me feel you come, Nora. I want to feel every fucking pulse from my stepsister's pussy.”
She snaps. Her whole body locks rigid, spine bowing so violently I have to brace her with my free arm. A raw, strangled cry tears from her throat as her pussy clamps down on my cock, milking me in powerful, fluttering waves that nearly rip my own orgasm from me.
I keep my thumb moving through every shudder, drawing it out until she’s whimpering, until her forehead drops to my chest and her breath comes in ragged sobs against my tattoos.
I’m right there—balls tight, spine tingling, vision sparking at the edges—but I lock it down. I hold her through the comedown, stroking her back, pressing kisses to the damp curls at her temple while her walls continue to twitch around me.
When she finally lifts her head, eyes hazy and sex-drunk, the soft smile she gives me cracks something vital in my chest. “Your turn,” she whispers, voice hoarse and tender.
I don’t answer with words. I wrap my arms around her, stand straight out of the water with her still impaled on my cock. She gasps at the shift, legs instinctively locking around my waist, inner muscles clenching tighter at the new angle.
Water cascades off our bodies in noisy sheets, splashing back into the jacuzzi as I carry her the few steps to the wide stone ledge. I set her ass on the cool, smooth edge, keeping her thighs spread wide around my hips.
Then I drive back in—one long, relentless thrust that buries me to the root. The new position lets me sink even deeper, the head of my cock nudging against that spongy spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back.
I can see everything now: the way her tits bounce with each snap of my hips, the sheen of sweat and water between them, the way her freckled stomach quivers every time I bottom out. Her gaze stays locked on mine, steady and trusting even as her mouth falls open on a silent cry.
“You’re staring again,” she manages, the words punched out between thrusts.
“I told you. I want to remember every single second of me fucking you. Tell me you like your stepbrother's cock. Tell me, Nora.”
"I like your cock. I like it so much."
I fuck her harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the humid night.
Pleasure coils viciously at the base of my spine.
My stepsister. The thought surfaces through the roaring in my ears and instead of guilt it brings only savage certainty—I’d burn the world down to have her like this again. To keep her.
“Rhett.” Her voice is soft, urgent, fingers threading through my wet hair. “It’s okay. Let go.”
So I do.
The orgasm crashes into me like a breaker against the reef. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, hips jerking erratically as I empty myself deep inside her in heavy, pulsing spurts that leave me blind and shaking.
She holds me through it, whispering my name like a prayer against my temple, her lips brushing the damp strands of my hair while aftershocks rip through both of us.
When I can finally breathe again, when my heart stops trying to punch through my ribs, I pull back just far enough to look at her.
She's smiling. Small and soft and real. And something in my chest cracks open.
"Come on." I lift her carefully, mindful of how her legs must feel, and wrap her in my arms. "Let's get you inside."
She fits against my chest like she was designed for it.
That's the thought that won't leave me as I carry her from the terrace through the sliding glass door into the villa. Her head rests in the curve of my neck, her breath warm and steady on my skin, and her body is soft and heavy in a way that makes my arms refuse to let go.
I take the long route to my room. Not consciously. Just slower steps, savoring the press of her bare breasts against my chest, the faint scent of sex and chlorine and her shampoo clinging to us both.
The villa is dark and hushed. Everyone else is asleep—Cade, Jude, probably passed out hours ago—and the silence wraps around us like velvet.
It makes everything feel private. Sacred, almost. Just her quiet breathing, the soft pad of my damp feet on cool marble, and the distant, rhythmic hush of waves against the beach beyond the glass walls.
My bedroom door is already open. I nudge it wider with my shoulder and carry her across the threshold like she belongs there. Because she does.
"Set me down," she murmurs. "I'm getting you all wet."
"I don't care."
But I do set her down. On the edge of the mattress, her legs dangling, while I grab a towel from the bathroom. When I come back she's watching me, and there's something in her expression I can't quite read. Not regret. Not doubt. Something softer.
I kneel in front of her.
She blinks. "What are you?—"
"Let me." I drape the towel over her shoulders first, rubbing gently to soak up the water from her hair.
It's darker when it's wet — more auburn than red — and it curls at the ends where it touches her collarbones. I dry her arms next. Slow, careful strokes down to her wrists, over her hands, between her fingers. She watches me the whole time. Doesn't speak. Just watches.
I move lower. Dry her stomach, her hips, her thighs. Lift each leg to get her calves, her ankles, the arches of her feet. The intimacy of it hits harder than the sex did.
This is different. Quieter. No heat to hide behind. Just me on my knees drying water from her skin because I want to, because the idea of her being cold makes something twist in my chest.
When I'm done, I toss the towel aside and stand. Pull back the sheets.
"In."
She slides under without argument, curling onto her side, and I follow. The mattress dips under my weight and she shifts closer without opening her eyes. Her hand finds mine under the sheets. Laces our fingers together.
I stare at our joined hands on the pillow between us.
She's already half-asleep. I can tell by her breathing, by the way her grip loosens incrementally.
In another minute she'll be gone. Out completely.
And I'll be here. Watching her. Memorizing the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks in the dim light from the bathroom.
The freckle just below her ear that I didn't kiss but want to.
The particular curve of her mouth when it's relaxed, unguarded.
I should be tired. I should close my eyes and let sleep take me. But I can't stop looking at her.
She shifts. Presses closer. Her forehead finds my chest and her breath evens out completely, and I know she's gone. Asleep in my bed.
I lean down. Press my lips to her hair. Soft. Barely a kiss at all. Just contact. Just the need to be closer even though there's no space left between us.
I'm in trouble.