MR. BILLIONAIRE WANTS HER LOVE BACK

SCARLETT’S POV

“Oh… Jax… fuck, yes, right there…”

The moan came through the wall like a deliberate temptation, loud and filthy, the headboard slamming in perfect rhythm.

Another girl. Another night of listening to my stepbrother wreck someone who wasn’t me.

I hated her. I hated how she got to feel him stretch her pussy wide, hated how she screamed his name like he belongs to her. My thighs clenched under the covers, pussy already throbbing, slick and aching from the second I’d heard his bedroom door shut about an hour ago.

I should have stayed in my room. I should have put my earbuds in, turned the music up, pretended I didn’t care.

Instead I was in the home gym at three in the morning, sweat dripping between my tits, rowing so hard my arms burned, trying to outrun the sound of her moans while Jax fucked her brains out.

Another scream. “Jax! I’m gonna come.”

My stroke faltered. The machine rolled back and I collapsed forward, forehead pressed to the cool handle, panting. My tiny black sleep shorts were soaked through, not from sweat. I could feel my arousal sliding down my inner thighs every time I moved, the fabric clinging to my swollen lips like a second skin.

I hated him more than I hated her.

Because I knew exactly what he looked like right now: shirtless, abs flexed, that thick cock glistening as he pounded into her from behind. I’d seen it. Too many times. Through cracked doors, through the glass wall of the pool house, through the gap in the blinds when I was supposed to be asleep. I’d watched him grip hips, slap asses, shove fingers into mouths to shut girls up while he fucks them hard.

And every single time I’d come home, locked my door, and fucked myself raw wishing it was me.

The moans stopped. A door slammed upstairs. I could the sound of heels on marble, her leaving. Then silence.

I couldn’t breathe.

I started rowing again, harder, faster, my thighs spreading wide on the seat, the seam of my shorts rubbing my clit with every pull. I was so desperately horny already, just from listening, just from imagining. One more stroke and I could come.

The gym door clicked shut behind me.

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His scent hit me first, sweat, the exact smell of after-sex, and that stupid expensive cologne.

“Hey, little sister.”

His voice was rough from fucking, low and mocking.

I froze, my hands griped the handles so tight my knuckles went white.

Jax stepped into the mirror in front of me. Shirtless. Gray sweats hanging low on his hips, the outline of his half-hard cock was nearly impossible to miss. A sheen of sweat made every cut of muscle gleam. His eyes, dark, cruel, amused, locked on mine in the reflection.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, tilting his head. “Or did the show keep you up?”

My face burned. My pussy clenched so hard I almost moaned.

He walked closer. Slowly. Like he knew exactly how wet I was. When he stopped behind me, his thighs brushed the backs of mine. Heat rolled off him, and I could smell the different scent of her on him, sweet perfume and sinful fluids.

“Answer me, Scarlett.”

“I was working out,” I lied, voice shaky.

“Bullshit.” His hand settled on the back of my neck, thumb stroking the sweat there. “You were listening. Again.”

I tried to stand. He pushed me back down, firm but not gentle, keeping me bent over the rower.

“Jax.”

“Shh.” His other hand slid down my spine, slow, possessive. When he reached the waistband of my shorts he didn’t ask. He just hooked his fingers inside and peeled them down to mid-thigh in one tug.

Cool air hit my soaked pussy and I whimpered.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice darker now. “Look at this greedy little cunt. You’re dripping down your legs, baby sister.”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. His hand cupped me from behind, two thick fingers sliding through my folds without warning, spreading my wetness everywhere.

“Soaked,” he growled against my ear, breath hot. “This all for me? Or were you thinking about someone else while you listened to me fuck her?”

I shook my head frantically. “You. Always you.”

He made a low, satisfied sound and pressed those two fingers inside me in one smooth thrust.

My back arched. A broken cry tore out of my throat as he stretched me open, curling them deep, thumb settling right on my clit.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped, pumping slow and filthy. “This pretty pussy’s been waiting for me, hasn’t it? Every time you heard me upstairs, you were in here touching yourself, pretending it was my cock.”

“Yes,” I sobbed, pushing back, trying to take more. “Please, Jax.”

He added a third finger, scissoring them, stretching me until it burned so good I saw stars. His thumb rubbed tight, ruthless circles on my clit, exactly how I did it when I imagined him.

“That’s it,” he crooned, cruel and sweet. “Ride my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.”

I was. God, I was. My hips rolled shamelessly, chasing the pressure, the stretch, the way he owned every inch of me without even trying. My pussy fluttered around him, sucking him deeper, so close.

He stopped.

Yanked his fingers out and left me clenching around nothing, a pathetic whine spilling from my lips.

“No, no, please.”

He brought his hand to my mouth, shoved those three glistening fingers past my lips without asking.

“Suck. All of it,” he ordered.

I did. Eagerly. Licking myself off him, tasting how filthy I was for him, how desperate.

He watched in the mirror, eyes black with lust, cock straining against his sweats.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free with a wet pop. “But i still won't make you come.”

I spun around, or tried to. He held me in place, bent over, ass exposed, shaking.

“Jax, please.”

He leaned down, lips brushing my ear, voice dripping with promise and punishment.

“Brothers don’t put their dick in their little sisters, Scarlett.” His hand came down hard on my bare ass, once, twice, three stinging smacks that made me gasp and gush even more. “So you don’t get my cock. You don’t get to come. You just get to ache for me like you’ve been doing. Be a good girl.”

He stepped back. Adjusted himself like it was nothing.

“Clean up your mess,” he said, nodding at the puddle I’d left on the seat. “And Scarlett?”

I looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes.

“If I catch you touching this pussy without my permission again, I’ll tie you to that machine and fuck a girl in that room right. Understand?”

I nodded, trembling, and ruined.

He smirked, turned, and walked out.

The door clicked shut.

I slid to the floor, thighs slick, pussy throbbing so hard it hurt, and cried.

Because I already knew I’d be bad again tomorrow.

And I couldn’t wait for my stepbrother to punish me for it.