Page 6

“Fuck, fuck—” I cry out, legs shaking violently as the orgasm slams into me like a freight train. I come so fucking hard, gasping like I’ve been drowning—and he’s the goddamn oxygen. My body shudders, thighs tightening around his head as I cry out, rocking against his mouth, lost in the wave of it.

But he doesn’t stop. He devours me, tongue flicking, fingers pounding until I’m crying, twitching, and babbling nonsense.

Only when I’m spent and shaking does he finally pull back, his mouth wet with me. He looks up like he just claimed something that was always his.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You’re a fucking dream between your legs, you know that?”

He crawls up my body, grabs my jaw, and kisses me deep—tongue plunging into my mouth like he’s claiming it, letting me taste myself on him.

And I moan into it, because fuck… nothing has ever felt this dirty.

Or this good.

I reach between us, fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him. He doesn’t hesitate—shoving his pants and boxers down in one motion, and his cock springs free. My eyes widen at the sight of it—harder than I thought it would be.

He puts a finger under my chin, tilting my face up until our eyes meet.

“See what you do to me?” he asks, and then his eyes lower to his cock. My breath hitches at the sound of his voice, the confidence in it, the possessiveness of his touch.

My fingers curl around his cock, and I drag my hand down the thick length—once, then again—slow, deliberate, making him grunt low in my ear.

His hips jerk into my touch, his breath hot on my skin.

“Fuck, Chiara,” he groans, and I shiver at the sound of my sister’s name again, but I don’t stop.

I move up and down, flick my finger over the sensitive skin of his head, and he lurches toward me, as though he’s a beast and I’m for his taking.

The next thing I know, I feel a wetness in my fingers and he reaches down and stills my movement with a firm grip on my wrist, wrenching my hand away from his cock.

His eyes lock into mine. “If you keep doing that, this will be over before it starts,” he growls.

He leans down to kiss me again, and I whimper as he bites into my lower lip. Slowly, his hand slides behind my neck, pulling me closer until his tongue is tracing slow circles on the roof of my mouth.

I’m so swept away by that kiss that I barely notice he’s positioning himself at my entrance. It’s only when the head of his cock nudges against my pussy that my breath catches—short, rapid inhales—and he pulls away from my lips.

His eyes search mine.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks.

I break into a small smile and whisper, “Fuck me already.”

He pushes in slowly—so slowly—filling the space within me, and oh god, that stretch. I try not to cry out from the pleasure, afraid of just how loud I might be.

Inch by inch, he fills every crevice, like my body was made for this—made for him—and has been starved for too long. My breath catches at the slight burn, the perfect fullness. When he’s fully seated inside me, he pauses, letting me adjust to his size.

“So fucking tight,” he growls in my ear. “Like you’ve never been fucked right. Say no one’s ever filled you like this.”

“No one,” I gasp. “Fuck—no one, not even close.”

He starts to move, long, deep thrusts that make me whimper with every drag inside me, my walls clenching tight around him.

Then he grabs my wrists, pinning me to the mattress with one hand.

His free hand trails down my side, gripping my ass and lifting my hips to meet his thrusts—grinding into me in a filthy rhythm that makes me see stars.

I’m lost in sensation—the drag of his cock inside me, the weight of his body over mine, the slick sound of our bodies meeting again and again.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he mutters.

“Yes,” I pant.

He leans down, sucking one nipple into his mouth, wet and relentless, his teeth grazing it just enough to hurt.

I cry out, arching into him.

“Please,” I whimper.

He growls like an animal, then sits back on his heels, dragging me up with him until I’m straddling his thighs.

“Ride me,” he orders. “Rub that gorgeous little clit and show me how desperate you are.”

My hand snakes between us, fingers finding my clit. The dual stimulation is overwhelming—I’m climbing again, faster this time.

And then, just like that, the spark ignites. It spreads through me like wildfire.

I moan shamelessly, grinding down on him, my wetness soaking through, and he keeps ramming into me without mercy.

His fingers twist in my hair, yanking my head back so he can suck hard at my throat.

“Louder,” he snarls. “Let me fucking hear you.”

I’m beyond reason now.

“I’m gonna come. Fuck—I’m going to lose it!”

“You better,” he says, lifting his thigh to meet me as I ride him like an animal. His eyes trail down my body—from my eyes to where my breasts bounce for him. “Soak me, baby. Come all over me while I watch.”

“Oh my god,” I moan, closing my eyes as I dig my nails into his back. “I’m… I can’t… I?—”

“You can,” he growls, “and you will.”

His voice hits me like a jolt—low, commanding, and it goes straight to my core.

He’s relentless, fucking me with brutal precision, that spot of pleasure swelling, brimming, nearly spilling over.

My fingers circle my clit in fast, desperate motion.

Then he picks up the pace. I moan louder, eyes squeezed shut, as his fingers dig into my waist, driving into me again and again. My legs start to tremble.

“That’s it,” he growls, voice thick with hunger. “Let fucking go.”

The world explodes into stars behind my eyelids as the orgasm rips through me—sharp, brutal, all-consuming.

I cry out something filthy, and he watches me like he owns me. Like he’s the reason I exist.

I collapse backward, still twitching with aftershocks, but he isn’t done.

He flips me onto my back, slides between my thighs again.

“Did I tell you you were done?” he says.

He brings his hand to my mouth, pressing two fingers to my lips.

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.

I fall back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. I let him ruin me. After what we shared, no other man will ever compare. And somehow, that feels worse than anything—knowing I’ll always be searching for that feeling again, that perfect escape, that moment of forgetting myself completely.

And I don’t even know his name—but I’ll never forget the way he made me feel.