Novels by Maxwell

Monday morning the house still smelled like sex. Sheets were stained. My thighs were sticky every time I moved. Jordan had fucked me three more times since Saturday—once on the living room couch with the blinds half-open, once bent over the kitchen counter while the coffee maker hissed, and once slow and deep in his old bed with my ankles on his shoulders. I could still feel him. Every step reminded me. Mom’s shift ended at six. We had hours left and we both knew it. I found him in the garage around noon, shirtless, working on the old lawnmower like nothing had happened. Sweat ran down the line of his spine. I walked up behind him, pressed my tits to his back, and slid a hand down the front of his shorts. He was already half-hard. He didn’t stop what he was doing. Just let me stroke him while he kept turning the wrench. “You’re addicted,” he said. “You started it by posting your dick for strangers.” He set the wrench down, turned, and pushed me against the workbench. Grease

Mom left for her weekend shift early Saturday morning. The house went quiet the second the garage door shut. I was still in bed, already wet just from knowing we were alone. I heard Jordan’s door open. Footsteps down the hall. The bathroom door clicked. Water started running. I got up, pulled on the shortest shorts I owned and a tank with no bra. My nipples were already hard. I walked straight to the bathroom and pushed the door open without knocking. Steam hit me first. Then the sight of him under the spray, back to me, one hand braced on the tile, the other slow-stroking his cock. He was hard as fuck. Thick, flushed dark, the head shiny. He didn’t turn around right away. Just kept stroking like he’d been waiting for me to show up. “You always walk in like that?” His voice was rough. “You always leave the door unlocked?” He looked over his shoulder. Water ran down his chest, over that mole, down the line of hair I knew by heart now. His eyes dropped to my tits, then lower

I found him by accident. Scrolling through that anonymous site at two in the morning because I couldn’t sleep and my body was restless. Just one of those nights where the heat in the apartment felt like it was sitting on my skin. I was clicking through profiles, half-bored, half-horny, when the username popped up—something generic, numbers and letters, nothing special. But the first photo stopped me cold. It was his chest. Same mole just under the left nipple. Same faint scar from when he wiped out on his bike when we were kids. I zoomed in so hard the pixels almost broke. My stomach dropped and my cunt clenched at the same time. I knew that body. I swiped. Full frontal. Cock hanging heavy, thick even soft, the head a little darker than the shaft. Balls full. That trail of hair leading down from his navel exactly the way I remembered from the summer he turned eighteen and started walking around the house in just shorts. Only now there was nothing covering him. He was hard in

He didn’t even pull all the way out when his phone lit up on the nightstand. I was still on my back, legs shaky, his cum leaking out of me in slow thick drips that ran down between my cheeks and soaked into the sheet. He reached over with one hand, checked the screen, and that slow grin spread across his face. Then he put the phone on speaker and kept fucking me in lazy, deep strokes while it rang. Someone picked up on the other end. “Yo.” “Get the guys,” my step-brother said, voice still rough from using me. “Party’s on. Bring beer if you want. She’s already wet and full of my cum.” There was a short pause, then a low laugh. “No shit?” “Come see for yourself. Door’s unlocked. We’re in her room.” He hung up without waiting and looked down at me, still buried to the hilt. “You heard that. Three of them. They’re coming over to use this pussy too.” I didn’t say no. My stomach flipped hard, but my walls clenched around him anyway. He felt it and smirked, giving me one ha

He didn’t give me time to catch my breath. One second he was still half-hard and leaking out of me, the next he was flipping me onto my stomach like I weighed nothing. My face hit the pillow. He yanked my hips up until I was on my knees, ass in the air, chest flat on the mattress. Cum was already running down the inside of my thighs. I felt it drip. He didn’t warn me. Just shoved back in. The stretch was different this way—deeper, meaner. He bottomed out on the first thrust and stayed there a second, grinding like he was trying to rearrange something inside me. Then he started fucking. Hard. No warm-up. Just the wet slap of his hips against my ass and the filthy sound of his cock punching through the mess he’d already left. Every thrust forced another little grunt out of me into the pillow. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled until my back arched. “Look at this,” he muttered, voice rough. “Pussy’s still gaping from the first load and you’re taking it like you need i

I was half under when I felt it. Something thick and warm sliding in and out of me slow 'n steady. Fingers. Two of them, maybe three. Wet sounds filled the quiet of my room—slick little squelches every time they pushed deep and dragged back out. My legs were already open. I didn’t remember spreading them. I kept my eyes shut and tried to keep my breathing even. My heart was slamming so hard I was sure he’d hear it. I cracked one lid just enough. There he was. My step-brother. Kneeling between my thighs on the bed, shirt off, jeans shoved down just enough. His face was focused, jaw tight, watching his own hand disappear inside me. Two fingers buried to the last knuckle, pumping in a dirty rhythm. The third one joined a second later. I felt the stretch and bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t make a sound. He didn’t notice I’d looked. He just kept going, curling those fingers like he was trying to scoop something out of me. His thumb found my clit and started rubbing rough

I didn’t hear him come home. That’s the stupid part. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you think you’re safe. My bedroom door was half-open. I was on my hands and knees on the bed, ass up, face in the pillows, and Jake was behind me, balls-deep, fucking me like he was trying to break something. My skirt was shoved up around my waist. My panties were somewhere on the floor. I was dripping, making wet, dirty sounds every time he slammed in. I moaned into the pillow. “Harder… fuck, Jake—” Then the door swung all the way open. I froze. Jake froze. For half a second nobody moved. Daddy stood there in the doorway. Still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up, keys in one hand. His eyes went from my face to Jake’s hands on my hips to the stretch of my cunt around Jake’s cock. His face didn’t change much. Just that quiet, cold look he gets when he’s about to lose it. Jake scrambled backward so fast he almost fell off the bed. His dick slapped against his stomach, shi

Monday morning the house still smelled like sex. Sheets were stained. My thighs were sticky every time I moved. Jordan had fucked me three more times since Saturday—once on the living room couch with the blinds half-open, once bent over the kitchen counter while the coffee maker hissed, and once slow and deep in his old bed with my ankles on his shoulders. I could still feel him. Every step reminded me. Mom’s shift ended at six. We had hours left and we both knew it. I found him in the garage around noon, shirtless, working on the old lawnmower like nothing had happened. Sweat ran down the line of his spine. I walked up behind him, pressed my tits to his back, and slid a hand down the front of his shorts. He was already half-hard. He didn’t stop what he was doing. Just let me stroke him while he kept turning the wrench. “You’re addicted,” he said. “You started it by posting your dick for strangers.” He set the wrench down, turned, and pushed me against the workbench. Grease

Mom left for her weekend shift early Saturday morning. The house went quiet the second the garage door shut. I was still in bed, already wet just from knowing we were alone. I heard Jordan’s door open. Footsteps down the hall. The bathroom door clicked. Water started running. I got up, pulled on the shortest shorts I owned and a tank with no bra. My nipples were already hard. I walked straight to the bathroom and pushed the door open without knocking. Steam hit me first. Then the sight of him under the spray, back to me, one hand braced on the tile, the other slow-stroking his cock. He was hard as fuck. Thick, flushed dark, the head shiny. He didn’t turn around right away. Just kept stroking like he’d been waiting for me to show up. “You always walk in like that?” His voice was rough. “You always leave the door unlocked?” He looked over his shoulder. Water ran down his chest, over that mole, down the line of hair I knew by heart now. His eyes dropped to my tits, then lower

I found him by accident. Scrolling through that anonymous site at two in the morning because I couldn’t sleep and my body was restless. Just one of those nights where the heat in the apartment felt like it was sitting on my skin. I was clicking through profiles, half-bored, half-horny, when the username popped up—something generic, numbers and letters, nothing special. But the first photo stopped me cold. It was his chest. Same mole just under the left nipple. Same faint scar from when he wiped out on his bike when we were kids. I zoomed in so hard the pixels almost broke. My stomach dropped and my cunt clenched at the same time. I knew that body. I swiped. Full frontal. Cock hanging heavy, thick even soft, the head a little darker than the shaft. Balls full. That trail of hair leading down from his navel exactly the way I remembered from the summer he turned eighteen and started walking around the house in just shorts. Only now there was nothing covering him. He was hard in

The door opened. Mason stood there in a black t-shirt and jeans, backpack still on one shoulder. His eyes went from my face to the phone glowing with his bare stomach, to the hoodie clutched against my chest, to my hand still shiny and buried between my legs. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The only sound was my breathing and the soft wet noise when I finally pulled my fingers out. I should have closed my legs. I should have apologized, scrambled for the robe, said something that could still fix this. Instead I stayed exactly where I was—robe open, thighs wet, his sheets dark under me—and looked at him. “Shut the door,” I said. He stepped inside and closed it. The latch clicked. He dropped the backpack without looking away from me. “Victoria…” His voice was low. Not shocked the way it should have been. Like part of him had already known he’d walk in on something like this some day. The guilt sat heavy in my chest, thick and unmistakable. I felt it with every heartbeat. I s

Sunlight cut through the half-open blinds in thin stripes across the bedroom carpet. I lay there longer than I should have, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The other side of the bed was already cold. He always got up first now. Used to be he’d stay, hand on my hip, mouth against the back of my neck. That had stopped months ago without either of us ever naming it. I sat up slowly. My body felt heavy in that particular way that comes after bad sleep. Forty-one and still waking up hoping the man next to me might reach for me. Pathetic. I pushed the covers off and stood. The hardwood was cool under my feet. In the bathroom mirror I looked tired. Not old exactly, but worn. I brushed my teeth, pulled my dark hair into a loose knot, and put on the same silk robe I’d been living in for the past week. Downstairs the coffee machine was already running. He stood at the counter in his work clothes, scrolling his phone, back to me. The kitchen smelled like grounds and the lemon