Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I close my eyes, but the scene plays behind them on a loop. Trevor’s big body, Cassie’s pendulous breasts, the sounds, the smell, the look in Trevor’s eyes when he thought no one could see.
I try to forget. I fail.
By the time we get home, my heart is still racing, and I’m more certain than ever that I will never, ever get over my stepbrother.
Unfortunately, the evening’s not over yet. At least not for me. Sure, the house is silent, my parents long since tucked away in their own wing of the house, but my mind’s still swirling with the memory of what I saw today.
I lie on my bed, covers thrown back, still wearing the dress. The zipper pinches at my ribs, but I don’t have the energy to take it off. The window is cracked, letting in a hush of June air, thick with the scent of honeysuckle and the distant tang of ozone. In the darkness, I can barely see my own hands. Only the LED on the smoke alarm glows, pulsing red above my head like a wound.
I can’t stop thinking. Not just about Trevor and Cassie and what I saw, but about everything that has come before—every dinner, every family vacation, every moment he called me kiddo or tousled my hair or ignored me completely. The puzzle pieces click into place: all the little signals I never noticed, or pretended not to. The way he watched people. The way he wanted me to see.
My thighs are sticky, and my cheeks are still flushed, and my heart hasn’t slowed since I walked in on them. I press the heel of my hand into my sternum, as if I could tamp it down, but it only makes things worse.
I roll onto my side, then onto my back, restless. I close my eyes and let the reel run again:
The crack of the door, the amber slice of light. The sound of skin on skin, the gasp, the cry. The shine of Cassie’s hair, her back arched, her legs shaking. Trevor’s hand in her hair, the other pinning her to the wall. His jaw clenched, his eyes flat with need. The monstrous thing he drove into her, over and over, like he couldn’t help himself.
He was using her like a fucktoy, and oh god, but I want to be that fucktoy so bad.
I bite my lip, hard. My hand goes under the hem of my dress, my fingertips skating over my bare thigh, feather-light. I trace the edge of my panties, damp already, and shiver. There’s a thrill in this, a kind of self-loathing, but it only makes me hotter.
At first, I picture Cassie—her red lips parted, the greedy way she begged for more. But in my head, the image flickers, shudders, and then it’s my hair in his fist, my body bent over to reveal my pussy to him, my face in the mirror, eyes wild. I’m the one he pins, the one he uses like a brutal fuckdoll and leaves shaking.
I slide two fingers inside my panties and find myself already wet. The touch is electric. I close my eyes and see Trevor’s mouth, see the mark he left on Cassie’s shoulder, imagine the press of his teeth against my skin. I remember the way his hand looked on her hip—so big, so confident, so sure of what she wanted. Of what I want.
I rub, slow at first, circling my clit with practiced ease. My other hand goes to my breast, squeezing through the satin, wishing it was him, that he’d just tear the thing open and take what he wanted. The tension builds fast, like my body was waiting for permission. I let the fantasy spin out:
He finds me in the hall, pushes me into the sitting room, tells me to be quiet, not to let anyone hear. He yanks my dress up, shoves my panties aside, tells me how long he’s wanted this, how long he’s watched me. His voice is low, rough. He makes me beg, just like Cassie did, only I’m ten times more desperate, more eager to please. He fucks me so hard I forget my name.
“Ooooh, Trevor,” I moan. “Yes yes yes.”
My breath stutters. My hips lift off the mattress, chasing the friction. I moan, barely a sound, but in the quiet of the house it seems obscene. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. The pressure inside me coils tight, tighter, until I break.
I come with my face pressed into the pillow, my free hand tangled in the sheet. It’s quick, fierce, not gentle at all. My pussy pulses hard, the spasms making me shake as I cry out with pleasure, imagining my stepbrother looming over me in the dark. I ride it out, back arching, toes curling, every muscle fluttering.