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I part them willingly, letting him slide in. I suck them deep, slow, wrapping my tongue around each one like I know exactly what he plans to do with them.

“Good girl,” he breathes.

Then he drags them out—slick and glistening—and pushes them between my legs.

He spreads me open, and then his mouth is on me.

Licking. Sucking. Fucking me with his tongue until I can’t think.

I scream again. I beg. I sob. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.

I’m shaking uncontrollably. My legs kick, and he pins them down with his arms, holding me in place, forcing me to take it all.

“You look so pretty falling apart,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now. You get that?”

I nod like a lunatic. “I’m yours. Please?—”

And when I’m nothing but raw nerve and soaked sheets, he lifts my hips and slams into me again.

Deeper. Vicious. Like he owns every inch.

This is possession. This is dominance.

His cock pounds into me like he’s claiming territory, and when I come again, I swear I black out.

The world explodes behind my eyelids for the second time as the orgasm tears through me.

I scream as my body convulses around him, and then he groans, deep and guttural, his cock pulsing inside me as he lets go.

He collapses on top of me, his weight a comforting pressure.

His heart beats against mine—fast, steady.

As our breaths slow, he rolls off me and pulls me into his side, arms wrapping around me, holding me close.

And that’s when I realize: I still don’t know his name.

And he doesn’t know mine—not really. He thinks I’m my sister.

I should feel guilty.

I just had sex with a man who thinks I’m someone else.

But I don’t feel guilty.

I feel… free.

Nobody had ever looked at me like I was worth protecting.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I snuggle closer, allowing my heavy eyelids to close. The last thing I register is his arm tightening around me, his steady heartbeat beneath my ear.

I wake in the darkness, momentarily disoriented. A warm body is pressed against my back, an arm draped over my waist. The events of the night rush back—the men breaking in, the violence, the sex.

I should feel shame now, in the quiet darkness. But his arm tightens in his sleep, pulling me closer, and I let myself drift back to unconsciousness, postponing reality for a few more hours because just for one night, I feel safe.

When I wake again, light is streaming through the thin curtains. I reach across the bed, but my fingers find only cold sheets. I sit up, scanning the room. His clothes are gone. The only evidence he was ever here is the pleasant ache between my legs and the faint scent of his cologne on my pillow.

I press my face into it, inhaling deeply. Whoever he is—whatever he is to my sister—he’s gone. Vanished as completely as if he’d never existed.