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Chapter Seven

Kai

I step into the dimly lit club, the air thick with cigarette smoke, weed, sex, and cheap perfume. The pulsing bass of the music vibrates through the floor beneath my boots as I make my way through the crowd, unnoticed behind my neon Ghostface mask. Black leather jacket, black cargo pants, hanging low on my hips, and the long-sleeved turtleneck clings to my frame, concealing every inch of skin. Even my hands are covered by black gloves.

It’s been months since she came back, months of watching her slip back into our life, like she never left. And I’ve been waiting—waiting for the perfect moment to remind her who she belongs to. She’s expecting Ghostfacepussykilla tonight, and that’s exactly what she’ll get—even if it pisses me off that she’s willingly letting some masked stranger fuck her. You’d think our shared trauma would have made her the pure, good girl I should be protecting. But no, my little sister is a dirty fucking adrenaline junkie. And fuck, I love chasing that high just as much as she does. But she doesn’t know. She can never know that it’s her big brother’s cum that’ll be dripping out of her perfect pussy tonight.

My pussy.

The sickness twists inside me, but I don’t fight it anymore. I’ve stopped pretending to be anything but what I am—a man who needs her more than I need air. She’s mine, and tonight, she’s going to feel it.

From the shadows, I watch her on stage. Her body moves like sin, bare except for white platform boots and a neon green thong bodysuit. The butterflies tattooed on her back and the words ‘Daddy’s Slut’ stamped across her ass make my blood boil. Tokyo looks irresistible—too damn tempting for anyone, even me, to resist.

Especially me.

Her hair’s pulled into two messy space buns, her face sparkling with glitter and neon eyeshadow. She’s a fucking masterpiece of filth, and every sway of her hips taunts me, challenging me. The strobe lights flicker, casting her in flashes of red and black as she spins with the music, lost in the rhythm. My fists clench in my jacket pockets, trying to restrain the urge to storm the stage, grab her, and claim what’s mine.

But not yet. Let her perform, let them watch, let them want what they’ll never fucking have.

She’s always been mine, even if she fights it. That blood bond between us only makes the pull darker, more twisted. I don’t give a fuck what society says. She’s my sister, and that just makes it all the sweeter. No one else deserves to have her. Especially that abusive asshole who beat on her, the one I’m sure kept her away from me. But she’s back now. Back in Cin City. Back where she belongs—with me. And she’s not leaving. I’ll make sure of it.

Her scars might have healed, but the damage runs deep. I see it in her eyes, in the way she dances like she’s trying to burn herself alive. She’s daring the world to hurt her again, but I won’t let it. If anyone’s going to break her, it’ll be me.

Her eyes scan the room, oblivious to my presence, and that’s exactly how I want it. The fantasy she’s selling is to be fucked by a masked stranger. My girl wants to be terrified, to be used. And fuck, if she wants to play, I’ll make all her dirty little fantasies come true. Call me Mr. Genie. I’m here to grant every twisted wish.

The song changes to “Pain” by Boy Harsher, the thumping beat making the crowd move like they’re in heat, bodies grinding and almost fucking on the dance floor. I lean back, waiting, watching as Tokyo finishes her set. Her hips sway and her ass jiggles as she walks offstage.

She thinks she’s in control. She’s wrong.

I make my move. As she opens the dressing room door, I slip up behind her, my gloved hand covering her mouth and nose in one swift, practiced motion. Her gasp is muffled as I press her into the bathroom, locking the door behind us. The dim lights buzz overhead, casting shadows over her shocked, wide-eyed reflection in the mirror.

She’s scared.

And I fucking love it.

Her breath comes out in heavy pants, eyes darting between me and our reflection. Her body tenses, unsure whether to fight or surrender. My grip tightens over her mouth, and my free hand slides down her body, stopping just above the heat between her legs. Her skin is burning through the thin fabric of her thong, wet already. I bite back a groan as I push the material aside, parting her slick lips with my fingers. She moans into my gloved hand, her body trembling, betraying her. I start slow, teasing her clit with just enough pressure to make her squirm, then plunge one gloved finger deep inside her.

Fuck, I wish I could feel her slickness, looking down at my finger as I pull it back, I see the glistening smear of her arousal before pushing it back in. Her pussy clamps down on me immediately, like it’s trying to swallow my finger whole. Her brown eyes lock onto mine in the mirror, wide with a mixture of fear and need. She’s terrified, but her body tells a different story—one that I know all too well. She rides my hand without thinking, desperate for the release I’m teasing just out of her reach. I push in a second finger, curling them inside her, hitting that sweet spot that makes her moan again, louder this time. My cock is hard, pressing painfully against the fabric of my pants but I watch her face flush in the mirror. Waiting just for the right time.

She’s close, her hips grinding down against my hand, but I pull my fingers out, leaving her on the edge. Her muffled cry of frustration only spurs me on as I push her forward, pressing her face into the dirty mirror.

“Look at yourself,” I whisper, disguising my already deep voice with a low growl against her ear.

She whimpers as I tug her thong to the side, the fabric snapping against her thighs. With one hand, I free my cock from the confines of my pants while the other presses firmly against her lower back to keep her in place. My palm comes down hard on the side of her ass with a loud, sharp smack, the sound echoing in the small space. She barely has a moment to register the sting before I thrust into her, raw, because that’s the only way I’ll ever fuck what’s mine.

Her body tenses for a split second before she arches her back, a choked moan escaping her lips and vibrating against the mirror in front of her. Her pussy clamps around me, tight, slick, and burning hot, taking every inch of me like she was made for this—for me. Every movement pulls me deeper, the sheer intensity of her grip driving me to the edge.

I thrust hard, my hips slamming into her as her ass jiggles with every stroke. She stares at our reflection, her lips parted, the neon eyeshadow and glitter on her face now smeared on the mirror. She’s trying to keep it together, but the sounds spilling from her mouth tell me she’s falling apart. Each slam of my hips drives her closer to an edge she can’t pull herself back from.

The thought of how wrong this is—the fucked-up nature of us, of her —just makes me harder. I pound into her, my fingers digging into her hips as I fuck her like I’ve dreamed about for years.

Mine.. so fucking mine.

The room fills with the wet, obscene sounds of her pussy, her moans cutting through the air like a melody only I can hear. When she finally comes, her body convulsing around my cock, my name spills from her lips—not that she knows it’s me. And my name isn’t God. But to her, I am, and will always be, her God. Her protector. Her tormentor.

Her body shakes, her walls tightening and gripping me, pulling me deeper, milking me for everything I’ve got. But I’m not done. Not yet. She wants me to fill her, to claim her, and she’ll have to work for it. My hands grip her hips as I pull her back to meet my thrusts, watching the way her ass bounces with every movement.

“Fuck,” she moans, her hand gripping the edge of the vanity for support. Her pussy tightens again, choking my cock, urging me on. Harder. Deeper. She comes again, trembling beneath me, her body unraveling. But I don’t stop. My thrusts grow rougher, faster, until the tight coil in my stomach snaps.

With a guttural groan, I bury myself deep inside her, gripping her hips so tight I’ll leave marks. She gasps, her eyes widening as she feels me filling her. Her body tries to pull away, but I hold her there, locked in place as I keep her full of me. I watch as her body softens, as she submits, and a dark satisfaction rolls through me.

She’s mine. My cum belongs inside her. She can’t run from that—not now, not ever.

Finally, I pull out, my cock already missing the warmth of her body. I leave her there, bent over the sink, her legs shaking, my cum seeping out of her. Without saying a word, I zip up my pants, fix my mask, and walk out.

I make a beeline for the exit, slipping back into the crowd as if nothing happened. The bass of the music vibrates against my chest, the lights casting neon streaks over the faces of strangers grinding against one another in oblivion. They’re drunk, high, lost in their own worlds. None of them will ever know what just happened in the back.

Once I’m outside, the cool night air hits me, and I tug off the Ghostface mask, my chest heaving as I inhale deeply. As I make my way down the street, the smell of oil and exhaust from the nearby street mingles with the faint trace of her scent still clinging to my gloves. My hands itch to reach for her again, but for now, I settle for the memory. She’s mine, and she doesn’t even know it yet.

I hop into the neon blue Nissan Skyline parked down the street, the engine rumbling beneath me like a caged beast. My cock is still hard, my body still thrumming with the energy of her. I grip the wheel tight, my knuckles whitening as I let the car idle for a moment. My phone buzzes in the cupholder, and I pull it out with one hand, the other drumming against the steering wheel impatiently.

Lovergirl666: You weren’t supposed to cum inside me.

I smirk, my fingers tapping out my response.

Ghostfacepussykilla: My cum belongs inside you, little cum bucket. Let it drip.

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Lovergirl666: Fuck you.

Ghostfacepussykilla: You already did now leave my cum dripping out of you. If you’re a good girl, I’ll visit you again.

I toss the phone on the passenger seat, not waiting for another reply. She’s probably pacing in that dressing room, torn between being pissed and turned on. I can almost see it—her biting her lip, glaring at her phone like it holds the answers to the questions she’s too afraid to ask. She’ll think about me all night now, her body still throbbing from what I did to her.

I pull off my gloves and throw them in the backseat, replacing the turtleneck with a black V-neck cotton shirt that hugs my frame. The cargos are swapped for camo pants, but the boots stay. Tossing the discarded clothes into the back, I grab my other phone and send a quick text.

Me: Be there in five.

Tokyo: Okay, grab a beer or something.

Me: Can’t. Gotta race.

Tokyo: Oh fuck yeah. On that note, hurry.

I smirk as I rev the engine, the roar of the Skyline drowning out the muffled thrum of the club behind me. For a moment, I pause, fingers gripping the shifter as the image of her bent over the sink flashes through my mind again. Her body trembling, my cum dripping out of her like a mark that can’t be erased.

You can try to forget, Tokyo. But I’ll make sure you never can.

I pull onto the street, the tires squealing against the pavement as the Skyline takes off, neon lights blurring in my peripheral vision. The city feels alive tonight, electric with the same pulsing energy that courses through me. Tokyo will never know it was me. But she’ll feel me—dripping out of her for hours, seeping into her thoughts, until I’m all she can think about.