Chapter 7
Later that afternoon, I was out in the driveway working on the old car the Marshals had given us as part of our cover. Tools were spread out on the ground, and I was under the hood trying to figure out why it was making a strange noise.
Layla came out of the house carrying a glass of lemonade, looking adorable in her little sundress. But something was off. She had a pout on her face — that cute, needy little pout she got when she wanted attention.
I wiped my hands on a rag and turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She handed me the lemonade, shifting from foot to foot, her pout deepening. She didn’t answer right away, just looked at me with those big, shy eyes.
I took a sip, then set the glass down and pulled her closer by the waist. “Layla. Use your words.”
She huffed, her cheeks turning pink. “I just… I feel empty. Since this morning. And after the car earlier… I can’t stop thinking about it.”
I laughed softly, realizing what she meant. My needy little wife had been walking around all day full of my cum and still wanted more.
“You’re pouting because your pussy needs attention?” I teased, my hand sliding under her dress to cup her bare ass. “My shy little stepsister can’t even make it a few hours without getting fucked?”
She nodded, biting her lip, her pout even more pronounced.
I chuckled and lifted her up, setting her on the hood of the car. I spread her legs wide, pushed her dress up, and dropped to my knees right there in the driveway.
“Then let me take care of my wife,” I said, burying my face between her legs.
I licked her slowly at first, savoring the taste of her — still mixed with the remnants of my earlier loads. Layla moaned softly, her hands in my hair as I ate her out with long, thorough strokes of my tongue.
“You’re such a needy little brat,” I murmured against her pussy, sucking on her clit. “Coming out here pouting because you need your stepbrother’s tongue. So fucking cute.”
I devoured her right there on the hood of the car, tongue-fucking her and sucking her clit until she was trembling and moaning my name. When she came, I held her thighs open and kept licking her through it, making sure she felt every second of it.
I finally stood up, kissing her deeply so she could taste herself on my tongue.
“Better, sweetheart?” I asked, smirking.
She nodded, still breathless and flushed. “Yes… thank you.”
I kissed her again. “Good girl. Now let’s get you inside. I’m not done with you yet.”
We barely made it inside the house before I had her in my arms again.
I carried Layla straight to the living room couch and sat down, pulling her onto my lap so she was straddling me. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, our bodies pressed close together as I guided her down onto my cock.
She sank onto me slowly, taking every inch until I was buried deep inside her. We stayed like that for a moment — face to face, her forehead resting against mine, her breath mingling with mine as she adjusted to being so full.
Then I started moving, rocking my hips up into her while holding her close. The position let me fuck her deep and slow, our bodies locked together, every thrust grinding against her clit. Layla moaned softly against my mouth, her fingers in my hair as she rode me.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I murmured, gripping her ass and guiding her movements. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”
We moved together in a steady rhythm, kissing deeply, her tits pressed against my chest. I could feel every little shiver and clench as I fucked her, holding her tight in my lap.
“You feel so good,” I groaned, thrusting up harder. “So tight and wet for me. My perfect little wife.”
Layla whimpered, her legs tightening around me as she came, her pussy pulsing around my cock. I followed right after, pulling her down hard and filling her with another load, holding her close as I emptied myself inside her.
We stayed like that for a long time afterward — still connected, her head on my shoulder, my arms wrapped around her.
This safe house was starting to feel less like a prison and more like home.
Finally, she spoke, her voice small and shy.
“Ryder?” she whispered.
“Yeah, baby?”
She hesitated, then said even softer, “I know this is all pretend… the married couple thing, the safe house, all of it. But I hope we never have to come out of hiding.”
She buried her face deeper into my neck, embarrassed. “I know it’s selfish. I know it’s dangerous and wrong and we’re supposed to be step-siblings… but I like this. I like being with you like this. I like being your wife. Even if it’s just pretend.”
I held her tighter, my hand stroking her back. The confession hit me harder than I expected. I kissed the top of her head, my voice low.
“It doesn’t feel all that pretend anymore, does it?”
She shook her head, still hiding her face. “No. It doesn’t.”
I tilted her chin up so I could look at her. Her eyes were big, vulnerable, and hopeful.
“Then maybe we don’t have to pretend as much as we think,” I said, kissing her softly. “We’ve got time. And I’m not in any rush to go back to how things were.”
She smiled shyly and kissed me back, her body relaxing against mine again.
For the first time since this whole thing started, the safe house didn’t feel like a cage.
It felt like the beginning of something real.