3. Wren #2
"That," he says, standing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "is what you do to me. You make me lose my fucking mind."
He kisses me again and I taste myself on his tongue, which should be disgusting but instead just makes me want him more.
His hands are back on my thighs, lifting me, and I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct.
The angle presses me against the hard line of his cock through his pants and I whimper into his mouth.
"You want more?" His voice is rough against my ear.
"Yes."
"You want me inside you."
"Yes."
He shifts me higher, pinning me against the wall with his hips, and reaches between us to undo his belt.
The metal clinks and then I hear his zipper, and reality crashes back in for half a second—this is happening, this is really happening—but then I feel him, hot and hard and bare against my entrance, and all the doubts evaporate.
"This is going to hurt," he warns.
"I don't care."
"You will." He notches himself against me, just barely breaching, and his jaw clenches. "Tell me if it's too much."
He pushes in so fucking slow it feels like he's carving me open from the inside out, every thick inch dragging against sensitive walls that have never been touched before.
The stretch is a living burn, white-hot and relentless, forcing my body to yield around something far too big.
I gasp, the sound raw and broken, my nails sinking deep into the solid muscle of his shoulders through his shirt until I feel the give of fabric and the heat of his skin beneath.
He stops instantly, buried only partway, his massive frame locked rigid against mine.
"Breathe," he says, that clipped voice low and steady even now, like he's reporting a fact instead of splitting me in two.
I try. God, I try. My lungs hitch, the burn sharpening into a bright, tearing sting that makes my eyes water.
Tears slip free, hot against my cheeks, but I don't tell him to stop.
I don't want him to stop. The thought circles frantically in my head, tangled with the dizzying awareness of how full I already feel, how his cock throbs inside me like a second heartbeat.
This is Lev. My stepbrother. The one who watches everything. And I want him to ruin me. The pain is filthy and perfect and mine, a price I'm desperate to pay.
"More," I manage, my voice a wrecked whisper.
He sinks in another inch and I bite down on my lip until copper floods my tongue, sharp and metallic. The sting intensifies, radiating outward in pulsing waves that make my thighs tremble around his waist.
Then—suddenly—something inside me shifts, the pain melting and twisting into a deep, liquid heat that makes my toes curl tight and my breath catch on a helpless moan. My pussy flutters around him, greedy now, pulling him deeper even as it protests.
"Fuck, you're tight." His forehead drops against mine, sweat-slick skin meeting mine, his whole body vibrating with the brutal effort of holding back. "So fucking tight."
"Don't stop." The words spill out before I can think, needy and shameless.
He doesn't. He keeps pushing, slow and inexorable, until he's fully seated, his hips flush against mine.
The sensation is overwhelming—impossibly full, stretched so wide around his thick cock that I feel every ridge, every vein, the blunt head pressed against something deep and devastating inside me.
It's too much and not enough, bordering on pain but blooming into a dark, addictive pleasure that makes my head spin.
We stay like that, locked together, both of us panting hard, the air licking at the sweat on my neck and the bare curve of my ass where my dress is bunched up.
His breath is hot against my lips, his hands like brands on my thighs, gripping so hard I know I'll wear his fingerprints tomorrow.
Then he starts to move.
The first thrust drags a sound from my throat I've never made before—a high, keening cry that echoes off the lake house porch.
The second slams my head back against the rough wooden wall, the impact sharp against my scalp.
By the third, I'm clinging to him like he's the only real thing in the world, my nails raking down the broad expanse of his back, scoring lines through the thin fabric of his shirt.
The pleasure is building again, sharper this time, more vicious, coiling tight in my belly with every relentless drag of his cock. It hits that perfect spot inside me over and over, sending white-hot sparks shooting up my spine until my vision blurs.
"That's it." His voice is pure filth, low and possessive, vibrating against my ear. "Take it. Take all of me."
I can't answer. Can't do anything except hold on, my legs locked around his waist, heels digging into the firm curve of his ass as he fucks into me harder, faster.
The wet slap of skin on skin fills the night air, obscene and loud, mixing with my broken gasps and his low, guttural curses. We're outside. The realization flickers somewhere in the spiraling haze of my mind—the dark lake glittering beyond the trees, the distant idle of an SUV on the gravel.
Anyone could walk around the corner. Anyone could hear me getting fucked by my stepbrother like a desperate slut. The thought should horrify me. Instead it floods me with fresh heat, makes me clench tighter around him.
"You like this?" he growls against my ear, the words scraping over my skin like gravel. "You like being fucked by your stepbrother where anyone could see?"
"Yes." The word rips out of me, half-sob, half-prayer.
"Dirty girl."
His filthy praise shoves me right over the edge. My second orgasm slams into me like a freight train, crashing through every nerve ending until I'm crying out, my pussy spasming violently around his thrusting cock.
The pleasure is brutal, blinding, wringing me out in wave after wave as I shake and squeeze him. He groans, low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine, and his hips stutter once, twice.
Then he buries himself to the hilt one last time, so deep I feel him in my throat.
His cock pulses inside me, thick and hot, and I feel every spurt of his come flooding my pussy—wet, claiming heat that spills deep and makes me shudder all over again.
It's too much. Too intimate. The slick mess of it, the way he keeps me pinned there, cock still twitching as he empties himself completely.
We stay pressed together, both of us shaking, the cool night air sharp and biting against my overheated, sweat-slick skin.
My legs are still locked around his waist, thighs quivering with exhaustion.
His hands haven't left my thighs. I can feel him softening inside me, the warm trickle of his come already starting to leak out around his cock, dripping down my ass in sticky rivulets that make my face burn.
The reality of what we just did—what I just let my stepbrother do—is crashing over me now, heavy and irreversible.
Oh god. What did we just do?
I am so screwed. Literally. Figuratively. In every possible way. And the worst part is, with his breath still hot on my neck and his come still leaking out of me, I already want it again.