"Mmm…ten."
"Ten, really? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
I take my own dick in my hand, fisting the base, feeling it twitch in my hand when I pump it. "Bend the fuck over," I rasp, running my other hand down his back.
Nolan bends over, bracing himself on strong arms against the bench seat along the opposite side of the shower stall. I run my cock over his entrance, watching him tense in anticipation.
"Relax…" I tell him before pushing the tip past the tight ring.
He groans, I stay there for a minute, exhaling slowly, my dick fucking throbbing, giving him a few seconds to get used to it. Then I thrust into him, pulling out slowly.
It's so fucking tight on my dick; it's been a while since I've fucked him like this. My balls tighten as I slowly thrust my hips into him, running my hands up his back, gripping his strong shoulders.
When he moans, pushing back against me, I almost fucking lose it. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good on my dick…"
"Do it," he says through clenched teeth. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard."
That's all I needed to hear. I give him every inch of my dick, pounding into him from behind, wet skin against wet skin and Nolan's groans echoing through the bathroom. Part of me wishes Ripley was on the other side of that door, listening to me tear his ass apart and how much he fucking loves it.
Fuck, I'm going to come. And from the sound of it, so is Nolan.
Without relenting in my assault on his ass, I reach around the front of him, wrapping my hand around his pulsing cock, and listen to him fucking growl.
"Fuck!" he roars.
His entire body shudders beneath me while he comes, his tight hole clenching around my dick, fucking milking me inside him. "Oh, fuck, yes…" I groan as I fill him. "Fuuuck…"
I think I could die like this. I wouldn't even be mad about it.
After he's taken every last drop of my cum, I pull out, quickly washing before leaving him in the shower. Then, I pick my phone up from the comforter and stare at the messages again, but decide not to reply. What's the point, anyway?
By the time Nolan emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed, I've buried it somewhere in the back of my mind and don't think about it for the rest of the day.
23
inside thoughts
Elias
Saige and the guys don't come home until late Sunday evening. I don't even know how to pretend it doesn't piss me off—not when I barely fucking slept and spent the entire day going through Saige's shit again, vacillating between this insufferable fucking longing, deep-seated resentment, and pure fucking rage.
I accidentally liked one of her photos from 2023 and then unliked it. I'm not sure how that works, but I hope she doesn't fucking notice.
You know what? I don't even care anymore. I want to fuck my stepsister. I want her needy and screaming beneath me. I want my hand wrapped around her throat, and I want to leave bruises all over her body. And then, I want her to cling to me like I'm her fucking salvation, and she's helpless without me.
Saige is mine—she always has been. I broke her, and I get to fucking keep her. It's time she fucking realizes that, too.
They're laughing when they come in through the garage door, and I'm just here, sitting in the dark watching hockey alone and feeling sorry for myself.
How the fuck did I become a person who feels sorry for himself? It scares me in a way—feeling like this. I don't want to get sick like my mom did.
Sometimes, I think I already am.
"Where have you guys been?" I ask.
"Princess wanted to get out of the house," Dax says.
