I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.
The house was silent. Every breath I took felt too loud in the dark. My heart wouldn't slow down—not since I left his room. Not since he said I should go. Not since he said he wouldn't stop next time.
My skin still burned from the brush of his hand. The way he covered my mouth. The weight in his voice.
If I closed my eyes, I could feel him again. I could imagine him grabbing my waist, pulling me in, breathing against my neck until I couldn't think anymore.
But I didn't touch myself. I just lay there in a haze of shame and heat and something that tasted like want.
I thought sleep would never come.
But eventually, it did.
And only moments after it found me, I felt it—
The bed dipping behind me.
A weight settling near my back.
A warm hand sliding under the covers, curling around my waist, pulling me into a chest I knew too well.
Logan.
He said nothing.
His arms wrapped around me tightly, slowly, like he couldn't wait anymore. His palm slid across my stomach, flat and strong, fingers tracing the line of my waistband before moving lower. I didn't stop him. I didn't say a word.
His mouth found my neck.
Hot breath behind my ear.
Then a kiss—wet, slow, possessive.
His teeth grazed the lobe and bit down just enough to make me gasp.
Still, I said nothing.
I melted.
He shifted behind me, his body flush against mine, hard lines pressing into soft ones. His hips rolled forward once, and I felt it—thick, hot, heavy against me. He was already hard. Already leaking. Already past the point of hesitation.
One hand slid up beneath my shirt, finding bare skin. His fingertips grazed my ribs, my chest, my throat. He didn't rush. He explored. Slowly. Intimately. Like he was memorizing me.
He pressed his mouth against the back of my neck and kissed a trail downward. My whole body arched into him.
My cock was throbbing against the sheets, trapped and aching. I could feel the wet spot already forming at the tip.
His hand moved lower again, slipped under my waistband, and wrapped around me. My breath stuttered, but I didn't speak. I didn't want to break the moment.
He stroked me slowly. Firm, practiced, knowing.
Then he stopped.
Let go.
Tugged my shorts down to my thighs.
I was naked under him now, exposed, breathless.
He didn't ask for permission. Didn't need it. I had already given him everything.
He moved behind me, lifting one of my legs slightly, and then I felt the weight of his cock press against my entrance.
Thick. Hot. Heavy.
He rubbed it there, back and forth, teasing, spreading spit and precum until I was slick and trembling.
Then he pushed in.
Slowly.
Too slow.
The stretch made me whimper.
My fingers clutched the sheets.
He kept going.
Filling me.
Deeper.
Until my body shook.
Until he was buried all the way inside.
And still he didn't move.
He just held me there, wrapped around me like fire, breathing hard against my skin, his cock pulsing deep inside me.
I was shaking.
And then he began to move.
Slow thrusts. Deep. Controlled.
Dragging himself out, inch by inch, only to push back in with the kind of force that left me gasping.
He kept one hand on my waist, anchoring me.
The other roamed—stroking my chest, brushing my lips, curling around my throat without squeezing.
Just holding me there.
Pinned.
Owned.
Every time he thrust, my cock twitched against the mattress, untouched and dripping.
I couldn't think.
Couldn't speak.
Could only feel.
The sound of him was everywhere—his breathing, the slap of skin, the wet sound of him sliding in and out of me.
He leaned in again, biting the nape of my neck softly, moaning low in his throat.
He was unraveling.
I was already gone.
My body bucked back against him instinctively.
Needing more.
Needing all of it.
He moved faster.
Harder.
His cock struck deeper, hit something inside me that made my toes curl and my eyes roll back.
I reached down to touch myself, but he caught my wrist, pinned it to the bed.
Not yet.
His rhythm shifted.
More pressure.
More need.
He fucked me like he was trying to bury something inside me.
Like I was his escape.
Like I was his ruin.
I let him.
I gave him everything.
My legs were shaking.
My mouth was open in a silent cry.
I was going to cum.
Just from this.
From being taken.
From being used.
From the thick weight of him pounding into me over and over until my body couldn't take it anymore.
He let go of my wrist just in time for me to reach down and stroke myself once, twice—
And I came.
Hard.
Messy.
All over the sheets.
My body locked up.
And he kept going.
Still thrusting.
Still chasing his own release.
His pace faltered.
He grabbed my hip hard enough to bruise.
And then he buried himself deep one last time—
And came inside me.
Hot.
Pulsing.
Endless.
I could feel it spilling out around him as he groaned against my ear.
Still no words.
Just breath.
Just weight.
Just heat.
When it was over, he stayed there, still inside me, his chest pressed to my back, his arms around me like he didn't want to let go.
Neither did I.
I closed my eyes and let myself fall.
His cock still hard inside me, throbbing every few seconds, pouring every last drop inside with every throb.
I turned my head slowly toward him—eyes locking now.
He kissed me like he owned me... Because he did.
Our tongues tangled. Hot breath and saliva. We closed our eyes and enjoyed each other.
I reached for the back of his head, getting a firm grip of his hair.
It awoke something primal in him—he started kissing me more aggressively.
It didn't take long enough for him to grab me by my waist once again and start thrusting his rock-solid cock deep in me.
"You smell like your sister," he whispered in my ear "but you're a prettier girl than her."
I froze.