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“You’re my stepbrother.” I clench my thighs. Fuck, it feels so good. Fuck, his fingers are deeper, his thumb goes faster, and fuck, fuck,fuck. “I owe you my life. For ruining yours.”

“Poor, rich girl.” He raises the bottom of his mask. There it is, the hint of his perfect lips. His sculpted chin. “You think I need anything from you?”

“I—I—” Yes. No. Maybe. “Please. Please. Stop this. Stop, Kaleb, I’m begging you. It can’t feel good. I can’t want it when you hate me. But yes, I owe?—”

Can’t finish a sentence. Can’t catch my breath. The pads of his fingers are demanding an orgasm from me. It’s building in my stomach. I’m trying to cling to my sanity. To the part of me that knows how wrong this is.

We can’t be together. Never. Too much has happened.

And on top of that, he’s my stepbrother.

“Your life? No, thanks. Don’t need it.” He sits up, spitting on my pussy. His thumb flicks on my clit, and I wish I could scream. Wish I wouldn’t care about him being caught. I do. I do. “Your cunt, though?”

When he presses his fingers harder, dragging them in and out of me, I nearly black out. He’s pleasuring me and I won’t give in to him. Won’t let him have my orgasm.

Just tell me you don’t hate me.

“Your cunt wants it.”

“No.” My vision blurs around the edges. That need, I’ve never felt anything close to this. This tidal wave that consumes everything in its wake. “Please, let me go, Kaleb. Kill me instead. Kill. Me.”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” The third finger he adds is the death of me. I’m stretched and full. He pushes deeper, and there’s pressure there. Like he’s going to break through a barrier. “I didn’t murder those two losers because I had nothing better to do that day. Everything I’ve ever done, I did it for you. Only you. So no. I’m not here to kill you. But I have been feeling a little neglected. And this virgin pussy is so fucking pretty. I want it. I want all of you, but I’m taking this part first. So you’re going to start by apologizing to me. By being a good whore and opening your legs for your stepbrother.”

My lungs are about to explode. I’m holding on to my orgasm and it hurts. It hurts worse when he says things that make my toes curl. Looking into his mask makes me hotter. It’s depraved and fucked-up and I’m so turned on.

It’s agony.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Tight and clenching around me. When I decide?—”

I whimper in pain, cutting him off mid-sentence. It’s impossible to hold on to a nuclear bomb. It’s torture. It’ll be humiliating when I let go.

“WhenIdecide to take your cunt.” He won’t listen. Won’t stop. Just like he didn’t when I reminded him we were stepsiblings. When I said I didn’t want this. “You’ll feel so good around my cock. Squeeze out of every drop of my cum.”

The worst and best thing happens then, at his filthy words. With his fingers invading me. His thumb that flicks and rubs and demands my orgasm.

I come, shuddering around his fingers. The bones in my body melt for him. My skin is set on fire. The intense,unrelenting pleasure pushes moans out of me. Feral ones, ones that an animal would make.

That’s how good it feels. How decadent and wrong and terribly consuming.

“Kaleb, stop. I can’t take it anymore.”

When I think it can’t hurt any worse, that it can’t get any better, it does. Another spit on my pussy and I almost tear my rug beneath my fingers. It’s wrong that his mask makes me want things. It’s wrong that it’s his hate that drives him to do these things to me.

“Go on.” There’s an edge to his voice. It’s rugged. Raw. “Tell me how much you hate this. Tell me how you can’t stand it. I dare you to. While your pussy sucks my fingers in.”

“Please, I don’t want it when you’re like this.” My denial is quieter. Pathetic. He might kill me once he milks me for all I’m worth. “We shouldn’t be doing this. I told you. I can pay you back with my life.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. No time to analyze what it means. No time to escape when Kaleb moves on top of me.

He’s a force, taking both my wrists and locking them together with one hand. He’s merciless as he shoves them up and over my head.

“You don’t want this, huh?”

“We can’t. Not when you hate me.” Such a futile denial. A miserable one, since I don’t put up a single ounce of a fight. “Wrong. So wrong.”

“Is that so?” His hard cock is pinned to where I’m wet and sensitive. I can feel how big he is through his jeans. His freehand closes on my breast. A punishing grip. A sensual one. “Then why are you ruining my jeans? Why”—he rolls his hips, a jerky movement that sends another aftershock rippling through me—“you keep coming on my cock?”

“You don’t want this. You hate me.” I pause. “Don’t you?”