7. Chloe #2
Trying to shut it down immediately. But he doesn't take the hint.
"Boyfriend, huh? Don't see him around."
"He's just grabbing something."
The guy leans closer. "His loss, leaving you alone. Someone might steal you away."
Another step back. "Not interested, sorry."
"Come on, don't be like that. Just trying to be friendly."
His hand reaches for my arm. I pull away sharply.
"I said I'm not interested."
"Playing hard to get? I like that."
"No, I'm taken. Please leave me alone."
"He doesn't have to know. Just give me your number."
He's getting aggressive now, closing the distance I try to maintain. My heart pounds. Where is Cade?
"Get your fucking hands off her."
Cade's voice cuts through the tension like a blade. He crosses the street in seconds, dangerous grace in every movement. The guy turns.
"Whoa, man, just talking."
"She doesn't want to talk to you." Cade steps between us, blocking me completely. His shoulders are tense, hands already fisting. "So walk away. Now."
The guy puffs up, not backing down. "Or what? You going to do something?"
"If I have to."
"This your boyfriend?" The guy sneers at me. "You could do better, sweetheart."
That's the final straw. Cade drops the drinks, hands fully fisted now.
"Say that again. I fucking dare you."
The testosterone is thick enough to choke on. I try to de-escalate, touching Cade's arm.
"Cade, he's not worth it."
But Cade barely hears me. His focus is laser-locked on the guy who touched me.
"Apologize to her."
The guy laughs. "For what? Complimenting her?"
"For touching what's mine."
"Yours? She's not property, dude."
"She's mine. And you put your hands on her." Cade shoves him backward. "So apologize or I break your fucking face."
The guy sees genuine violence in Cade's eyes. Realizes he's outmatched—Cade's got height, weight, and barely controlled rage on his side.
"Whatever, psycho. She's not even that hot."
He starts backing away. Cade snarls after him.
"Yeah, walk away. Before I change my mind about letting you."
The guy practically runs, disappearing into the crowd. Cade watches until he's completely gone before turning to me. Adrenaline still pumps through him—I can see it in the wildness of his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.
He grabs my face, checking me over. "Did he hurt you?"
"No, I'm fine. He was just?—"
"Just touching you. Hitting on you. Right in front of me—well, near me." His breathing is hard, hands shaking slightly. "I wanted to fucking kill him. Still want to."
I see the need in his eyes. Possession, protectiveness, the desperate hunger to reclaim what's his.
"Cade, I'm okay. Really."
"I'm not. Seeing him touch you—" He breaks off, jaw clenching. "Need to touch you. Need to?—"
"Okay. It's okay." I take his hand, lacing our fingers together. "Come on."
I lead him away from the main street, down quieter side streets. Looking for somewhere, anywhere private. His grip on my hand is almost painful.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere private."
"Need to remind you I'm yours?"
"Yes. Fuck yes."
I spot an alley between buildings—narrow, shadowed, mostly hidden from the main street. The brick walls tower on either side, creating a secluded pocket away from the festival crowds. It's perfect. Private enough.
"Here."
"Here? Chloe, anyone could?—"
"I don't care." My voice comes out fierce, surprising even me. The adrenaline from the confrontation still courses through my veins, mixing with something deeper—the need to erase that guy's touch, to remind both of us who I belong to. "You need me. I need you."
I pull him into the alley, my fingers tight around his.
The moment we're in the shadows, he slams me against the brick wall.
The rough texture bites into my back through the thin fabric of my sundress, but I don't care.
His mouth crashes against mine, violent and desperate.
Our tongues battle for dominance as his hands roam everywhere—my waist, my hips, my thighs—touching, claiming, reestablishing ownership with every possessive stroke.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth, the word vibrating through me.
"Yours," I confirm breathlessly, the admission sending heat pooling low in my belly.
"Say it again." His voice is rough, demanding. His gray eyes are wild with need.
"I'm yours, Cade. Only yours."
Something feral flashes in his expression. He hikes my sundress up around my waist with rough, impatient hands, bunching the fabric. The cool evening air hits my exposed thighs. Then he tears my panties aside—literally rips the delicate fabric with a sharp sound that makes me gasp.
"Cade!"
"I'll buy you new ones." His breathing is harsh, ragged. "Right now I need inside you."
The sound of his zipper cuts through the air.
He frees his cock—already hard and leaking, thick and ready.
My mouth goes dry at the sight. I glance nervously toward the alley entrance, where the golden light from the street lamps filters in.
Voices drift past, laughter from the festival crowds just feet away.
"Someone could see?—"
"Good. Let them see you're mine."
He lifts me effortlessly, his hands gripping my ass as he presses me against the wall.
The brick digs into my back but the discomfort is distant, drowned out by anticipation.
I wrap my legs around his waist, opening for him.
Then he slams inside me in one brutal thrust, filling me completely, stretching me around his thick cock.
"Ahh!" I cry out.
"Fuck—" he groans, the sound guttural.
We're both too loud, not caring about the noise, not caring about anything except this—the connection, the claiming, the desperate need to erase everything else.
"Fuck—Cade—yes?—"
He pistons into me immediately, no gentleness, no building up—just raw, primal need. Each thrust erases the memory of that guy's touch, drives away the feeling of unwanted hands. He's reclaiming me in the most visceral way possible, his cock pounding deep, the angle making me feel every thick inch.
"Whose pussy is this?" His voice is a dark growl against my ear.
"Yours—god—yours—" The words tear out of me between gasps.
"Who fucks you like this?"
"You! Only you!"
"That's fucking right." His rhythm is brutal, unforgiving, his hips snapping hard enough to make my whole body jolt. "No one else touches you. No one else gets to have this. Only me, Chloe. Say it."
"Only you—fuck—only you, Cade?—"
Footsteps pass on the main street. The sound makes my heart leap into my throat.
Voices nearby—people walking past the alley entrance, oblivious or choosing to ignore what's happening in the shadows.
The thrill of possibly being caught mixes with fear, a heady cocktail that makes everything hotter, more intense.
My pussy clenches around him involuntarily.
"Someone's going to see—" My voice is high, breathless with panic and arousal.
"Don't care. Need you too badly."
He puts his hand over my mouth, muffling the moans I can't stop making while he keeps fucking me hard.
His palm is warm, slightly rough, and the act of being silenced while he takes me like this makes something dark and forbidden coil tighter inside me.
It's impossible to stay quiet—each brutal thrust punches sounds from my throat that his hand barely contains.
The orgasm builds faster than expected. The adrenaline, the danger, the possessive way he's claiming me—it all pushes me higher, faster, until I'm teetering on the edge.
"Cade—I'm close—oh god?—"
"Come for me." His words are rough against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. "Come on my cock right here. Where anyone could see what a good girl you are. Taking my cock in public. Letting me claim you where the world can see."
The orgasm explodes through me like a lightning strike. I bite down hard on his shoulder to muffle the scream that rips from my throat, tasting cotton and salt. My pussy clenches and spasms violently around him, gripping his cock in rhythmic pulses as pleasure crashes through every nerve.
"Ahh—fuck—" He groans feeling me come, his whole body going rigid. A few more brutal thrusts—erratic now, losing rhythm—and then he buries himself deep, grinding against me, his cock pressed as far inside as it can go.
"Mine—fuck—mine?—"
He releases inside me with a harsh grunt, his cock pulsing as he fills me with his cum, marking me internally.
Hot spurts flood my pussy, making me feel claimed, owned, his.
We're both panting, pressed together so tightly there's no space between us, his forehead resting against mine as we come down.
His heart pounds against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
"You're mine, Chloe. Mine." His voice is raw, almost broken with the intensity of it.
"Yours. Always yours." I mean it with everything in me.
We slowly disengage, both of us shaky and unsteady. He helps me fix my dress while still holding me up, his hands gentle now, careful. The tenderness after the brutality makes my throat tight. My ruined panties lie abandoned on the ground, a scrap of torn fabric I don't bother retrieving.
"Can you walk?" His voice is concerned, eyes searching my face.
"I think so."
He sets me down carefully, keeping his arm around my waist for support. My legs are weak, trembling, and I'm grateful for his steadying presence. His cum leaks down my inner thighs, warm and wet, a physical reminder of what just happened.
"We just had sex in an alley." The reality of it hits me, making my cheeks burn.
Cade grins, the adrenaline finally fading from his expression, replaced by satisfaction and something almost boyish. "Yeah, we did."
"Someone could have seen."
"But they didn't. Or maybe they did and were smart enough to keep walking."
I laugh despite myself. "You're insane."
"Only about you, stepsister."
We retrieve the abandoned drinks—miraculously still there and unopened. Make our way back to the motorcycle. His cum leaks down my thighs with no panties to catch it. He definitely notices when I climb on the bike behind him.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "Riding my bike with my cum inside you. Where it belongs."
The motorcycle ride home feels different. Satisfaction hums between us. My arms tight around him, trusting completely. The sun sets, bathing everything in golden hour light.
At a red light, he turns his head slightly. "You okay?"
"Better than okay."
"Good. Love you, stepsister."
"Love you too."
The light changes and we accelerate toward home.
We pull into the driveway as the sun disappears completely. The empty house waits for us. One more night before reality returns.
Inside, we remove helmets and jackets. Standing in the entryway, I turn to him.
"Thank you for today."
"Even the crazy parts?"
"Especially the crazy parts."
He kisses me softly, no urgency this time. Just tenderness.
"This is just the beginning," he says against my lips. "Tomorrow changes things, but not us. Never us."
"Hungry?" he asks.
"Starving, actually."
"Order food?"
"Perfect."
We move to the kitchen, comfortable together. Ordering delivery, choosing a movie, doing normal couple things. Ignoring tomorrow's complications. Living in tonight's simplicity.
Later, after food and a movie we barely watched, he pulls me close on the couch. Kisses me slow and deep, hands tangling in my hair. No rush. No desperation. Just us, together, making the most of our last night alone.
When we finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, he rests his forehead against mine.
"Bed?"
"Yours or mine?"
"Mine. Want to fall asleep with you."
"Then let's go."
We head upstairs hand in hand, ready to make the most of whatever time we have left.