Jake stops. Turns.
The fire in his eyes hits me like a punch. Hot and sharp, hungry enough to swallow me whole.
I’m still naked on the floor, arms wrapped around my legs, knees pulled tight to my chest. Every inch of my skin hums, flushed and trembling. Not from cold. From him.
He looks at me like nothing else exists. And it ruins me.
Because he’s not mine.
He’s Susan’s.
My sister’s.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. And definitely shouldn’t be letting it happen.
But I am.
His gaze pins me. It burns over my skin, sinks straight to my core, and settles deep. I feel it in my stomach, between my legs, everywhere.
I’m so turned on it hurts to stay still. My whole body’s tight, strung up like it’s holding its breath, just waiting for him to touch me.
If I stay like this, he won’t come any closer.
I ease my grip on my knees. My arms fall away, slow and uncertain. I start to uncurl, just enough to let him see me.
My chest rises with each shaky breath, nipples tight and tingling under the weight of his stare, so sensitive it almost feels like he’s touching them.
Jake doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.
I let my legs part. Just a little.
His eyes trail down. I catch the moment it hits him. The flicker. The crack in his control. The way his mouth opens like he’s about to say something but can’t.
He sees.
The pink, slick softness between my thighs is impossible to miss.
His jaw tightens as his eyes lock on the wet mess pooled beneath me, dripping slowly from my pussy to the curve of my ass.
He swallows hard, chest rising like it’s taking everything in him not to pounce.
His gaze snaps to mine, darker, barely restrained.
“Becks.”
Just my nickname. But the way he says it—soft, intimate—lands on my skin like a touch. Like a promise I have no right to want.
But I do. With everything in me.
“I want to,” I whisper.
The words taste like a confession. Bitter. Honest. I hate how true they are. How long I’ve felt this.
Even though I know better.
Even though he’s hers, not mine.
Even if it wrecks everything.
I still want him.
And that’s what guts me.
Because I’d take him anyway.
Even if it makes me the worst kind of person.
Even if it means hurting my sister.
I want him. And I can’t stop.
Jake steps toward me. No hesitation now.
He holds out his hand.
A dare.
I take it.
His palm is warm, a little damp. The second our skin touches, it hits me like a spark—sudden, hot, alive—lighting up everything inside me.
He pulls me up, slow but sure, eyes locked on mine. It feels deliberate. Like he’s giving me one last chance to back out.
I don’t.
He doesn’t let go of my hand. His grip stays firm, grounding me while my heart races out of control.
His gaze drops, trailing down my body. He lingers at every place that aches, like he feels it too.
Then he looks up, eyes locking with mine like he’s still waiting for a sign.
I step closer.
My nipples graze his shirt, tight and over-sensitive, the fabric rough against them. Every breath makes them catch and drag, each movement sending sparks shooting low in my belly.
His inhale stutters.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
“I want it,” I breathe.
“What?” he presses. He’s not letting me look away.
“You.”
His whole body goes tense, like he’s hanging on by a thread. His hands slide to my waist, fingers pressing in. There’s a tremble in his grip.
“Becks…” he says, voice low, almost a warning. “You sure?”
I nod, throat tight, the yes stuck behind my tongue.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “I need to hear it.”
His eyes stay on mine, darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“Yes.”
That’s all it takes.
His mouth crashes into mine. His tongue pushes in, hot, starving, and I open for him without thinking.
I melt. Everything else fades. The apartment, Susan, the guilt… gone.
Right now, it’s just Jake. Just this.
And I don’t want it to stop.
He backs me up, step by step, until the backs of my legs hit the couch.
One look from him, and I drop onto the cushions. Heart hammering. Breath shallow.
He strips off his shirt, and my mouth goes dry. That chest, broad, solid, makes my hands move on instinct.
I reach for his waistband, fingers sliding under both shorts and boxers, and yank them down in one smooth pull.
And there it is.
His cock. Thick and flushed, veins bulging under tight skin, each one seeming to pulse with need. For me. The head is swollen, dark purple, slick with precum that beads and slowly drips. It looks desperate.
So am I.
My thighs press together like it’ll help the heat raging between them. It doesn’t.
Jake just stands there, watching. Waiting. Letting me decide how far this goes.
I reach out, fingers wrapping around the base. He’s hot in my hand. The skin is smooth, stretched tight with desire, pulsing under my grip.
I look up, meet his eyes.
Then I lean in. Mouth open. Tongue out.
A string of spit slips down as I lower my head.
“Fuck,” he grunts, when my lips wrap around the tip.
My tongue moves, slow and curious, tracing the ridge. I swirl it under the head and feel it throb against me. His fists clench at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to grab my head and thrust.
I take a little more, inch by inch. My lips stretch around him as I suck, testing the weight, the shape, the heat of him on my tongue.
Jake groans. His hips jerk once, then go still. He’s holding back, letting me take my time, letting me learn him.
I hollow my cheeks and ease back, then glide forward again, deeper this time. I settle into a rhythm, my lips sliding wet over him, tongue pressed firm along the underside.
His breath stutters.
There. He likes that.
I keep going, lips snug, tongue working as I stroke the rest of him with one hand, matching the pace of my mouth.
The stretch burns, jaw already aching, but I don’t stop.
His body responds. Every inhale sharper, thighs taut, stomach tensing under the control it’s taking not to move.
The head pulses, swelling thick on my tongue, stretching my lips tight around him until it’s hard to breathe. Each inch pushes deeper, brushing the back of my throat. I fight the reflex, jaw aching, and take just a little more.
“Becks,” he whispers.
I pull away, lips slick and swollen, still stretched around him until I let go with a soft pop. When I look up, his eyes are glassy, jaw slack.
He’s ready.
And I know exactly what he wants.
I grin and lean back, scooting into the cushions. My spine hits the couch as I sink down, legs spreading wide for him without a second thought.
Jake pauses, eyes roaming like he’s drinking me in.
“I should get a condom,” he says, though the look in his eyes says he’d rather not.
“I’m on the pill,” I lie, too eager to feel him bare.
I can always grab the morning-after pill. Like I did with Tim.
Jake grins. Then he drops between my thighs.
His mouth takes mine like it’s his, like he’s done pretending he can hold back. His lips are warm, famished, and when his tongue slides in, it doesn’t ask. It takes.
His hand cups my jaw as he kisses me harder, tilting my head just how he wants it. I moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound like he needs it more than air.
Then his hands are on me. Confident. Rough. Greedy. They slide up my sides, thumbs skimming beneath the swell of my breasts before he grabs them full. My nipples are already hard, tight, swollen from how badly I want this. His grip is rough, like he’s been dying to get his hands on me.
He squeezes, fingers digging in, then drags his thumbs slow over the pink tips.
It stings. So good.
Then he twists them, and I gasp. They throb in his grip, raw and swollen, making me writhe.
He watches all of it. The way I squirm. The way my back arches. The way my nipples twitch under his fingers.
Then he lets go.
His hands slide down, dragging over my stomach, across my hips, fingers dipping lower until he’s between my thighs. I’m dripping. My clit pulses, every throb a demand, my pussy swollen and begging for his touch.
He pushes my legs wider, exposing me further, then slips his fingers between my slick folds, parting me open with a slow, deliberate drag.
A sharp breath claws out of me, half a gasp, half a moan.
He finds my clit and starts rubbing. Slow. Focused. His touch is exact, like he’s reading every shiver, every breath, dialing into the pressure that makes my legs shake.
Tim never touched me like this.
He was awkward. Fast. Always checking in—“Is that okay?”—like sex was a team project he didn’t want to fail. He’d finish before I even got close.
Jake doesn’t ask. He knows.
One finger pushes inside me. Deep. Smooth.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
Then another finger slips in alongside it, stretching me wider. My back arches. I can feel how soaked I am, feel it coat his knuckles as he fucks me slow with his hand.
His thumb keeps circling my clit, never losing pace. The friction’s perfect, dragging heat through me like it’s wired straight to my spine.
I bite at his shoulder, moaning into the curve of his neck, nails digging into his back.
His mouth trails lower. Down my throat. Across my collarbone.
Then he sinks his teeth into the side of my breast, just enough to make me jolt, and follows it with his tongue, licking a path to my nipple.
One flick. Then a full suck, deep and rough.
I cry out. No control. My hips grind into his hand like I need him to finish what he started.
Jake chuckles low, wicked. Like he’s proud of how wrecked I am already.
He pulls his fingers out, dragging them from me, knowing exactly how badly I want them back.
I’m trembling beneath him, legs spread, skin flushed, pussy throbbing with every pulse of need.
And he hasn’t even fucked me yet.
“Jake,” I breathe, barely holding it in.
He grins down at me, smug as hell. “What?”
“You know.”
He tilts his head like he doesn’t. “Hmm?”
“Come on,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Please what?”
I bite my lip, burning.
“Fuck me.”
His smile widens, eyes dark with heat.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
He shifts, settling between my legs.
I feel the weight of him, thick and slick with precum, dragging slow against my entrance. My core pulsates, thirsty for him.
Then he pushes in.
The stretch is deep and merciless. My pussy clenches around him, trying to pull him in even faster than he gives. Every inch forces me open, fills me until I’m whimpering into his shoulder, nails digging into his arms, back arched.
I can’t think. There’s nothing but the heat of him, the size, the slow grind as he sinks fully into me.
He groans low in my ear, voice rough. “Fuck, Becks,” he breathes. “You feel… incredible.”
He starts to move, hips rolling in a rhythm that’s tuned to me. Each thrust feels like he’s reading my body, learning exactly where and how I need it.
And I give it all to him. Every moan, every shaky breath, every curl of my toes when he hits just right.
This isn’t like before. It’s slower. Focused. Like he wants to make me feel every second. Every inch.
And I do.
I lose myself in the feeling. Every thrust hits deeper, the pressure building sharp and hot until I can’t hold it.
Then he shifts. Hips angling just slightly.
And that’s it.
The tension shatters. My stomach coils tight, my spine arches off the couch in a helpless curve, and I explode.
My pussy clamps around him, milking him as the orgasm tears through me like a violent tide. My breath catches, broken somewhere between a sob and a moan, trembling and raw, and all I can feel is him—deep, heavy, buried so fucking deep inside me—dragging every raw spasm out until I’m nothing but sensation.
First time.
First time I’ve ever cum with a man.
Jake groans against my neck. He thrusts deep, hard, and holds.
I feel the twitch. Then the flood.
His cock jerks inside me, spurting hot cum deep in my belly. I feel every thick pulse, every messy gush filling me up.
He groans again, louder this time, his breath stuttering like he can’t keep it together.
Then he slumps over me, still buried, body shaking with the aftershock. His chest crushes into mine for a second before he braces himself, arms shaking under the effort.
I feel him everywhere. The sweat, the weight, the slick mess still leaking out of me, the warmth between my thighs.
He pulls out slowly, careful. Like he doesn’t want to break whatever this is.
But the second he’s gone, I feel it. The emptiness. The wet slide between my legs.
It makes everything feel real. Too real.
Jake gets off me and drops onto the couch. His chest rises fast, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
We lie there.
Breathing.
Not speaking.
The silence stretches. It doesn’t feel close. It doesn’t feel connected.
It just feels… weird.
He runs a hand through his hair. Still won’t look at me.
“I should, uh… probably go to bed.”
I nod. My throat tight. “Yeah. Right.”
He shifts like he’s about to stand up.
I don’t want him to. Not yet.
“Wait,” I say. “Can you… stay? Just for a bit?”
He glances over. There’s something in his eyes—soft, almost surprised.
“Yeah,” he says. “For a little.”
I turn to my side, and he moves in behind me. Close, but not touching. His body radiates heat, cutting through the lingering tremor in my blood.
For a minute, I let myself pretend this is okay.
I close my eyes.
Just for a second.
A door slams.
Hard. Loud.
My eyes snap open. My heart spikes.
Shit.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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