His arm wraps around my middle, tight enough to hurt, and then he moves—rolling us. I end up face down, him over me, my arms pinned behind my back, my cheek pressed into the bed. When he drives back into me, the sound that leaves me isn’t even a word.
There’s nothing held back now—no restraint—just him right on the edge of it with me taking everything he gives.
“You fucking brat sister,” he says, voice wrecked.
“Don’t stop,” I manage into the mattress. “Don’t stop.”
“I’ll come inside you if I don’t.”
“I don’t care. Don’t stop.”
I feel it when it hits him—the break, the shift, the sound he makes—and then the heat of it inside me. Something about knowing it’s happening, knowing exactly what it means and not stopping it, feels too good.
My body follows, completely—shaking, tightening around him, pulling everything out of him as I come apart.
“Aahh—Dane?—”
After, neither of us moves.
He eases some of his weight, but I stay where I am, his hold still firm on my arms, both of us breathing hard. I can still feel him inside me, softening. I close my eyes and just stay there.
“Charlotte.”
“I know.”
“We shouldn’t have?—”
“I know.”
I take a second before I speak. “When you said you were going to come, something shifted. I didn’t want you to stop. I just—didn’t want you to stop.”
He exhales slowly. “I know exactly what you mean. I can’t explain it, but I understand the pull.”
I roll onto my back beside him, both of us staring up at the cabin ceiling, and his hand finds mine.
“We can’t keep doing that, Char.”
There’s a line we cross, and after that there’s no logic left. Knowing we shouldn’t only makes it more tempting.
“Our self-control is shit.”
He chuckles. “You don’t have to tell me, babe.”
“I don’t know why I get off on having your cum inside me.” But I do.
“You still need to see a doctor. We can’t keep putting it off. If we—if another pregnancy happens?—”
“I know.” I exhale. “I just... dread it. With everything going on, the thought of sitting there and explaining myself to someone who’s going to judge me makes my skin crawl.”
“If you get pregnant again, there’ll be a lot more judging than that.”
I stare at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t have to name the father. No one could make me.”
“We shouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
“I know, but a baby—” I stop because there are some lines we can never choose to cross.
“We have enough going on without adding a pregnancy to it. The world would lose its mind. We’d never get a second of peace.”
