Shared Bed Sins 2

The words hung between them like smoke—thick, impossible to ignore.

“Then don’t.”

Brielle’s voice was barely a whisper, but it cracked the last thin wall of restraint. Adrian’s eyes flared, pupils blown wide in the dim glow from the streetlight slipping through the curtains. His grip on her wrists flexed—once, hard—then loosened just enough that she could feel the tremor in his fingers.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It was starving.

His mouth crashed into hers, teeth grazing her bottom lip before his tongue pushed inside, claiming the space she’d left open with that single, reckless dare. Brielle arched up into him, meeting the kiss with equal hunger. Her legs parted wider, instinctively hooking around his hips, pulling him down so that thick, rigid length pressed flush against her bare folds. The thin cotton of his shorts was the only barrier now, and it did nothing to hide how hot he was, how hard, how desperately he throbbed against her slick heat.

She moaned into his mouth—soft, broken—and he answered with a low growl, hips rolling in a slow, deliberate grind that dragged the ridge of his cock right over her swollen clit. The friction was electric. She jerked, thighs trembling, already so sensitive from her shower release that every slide felt like too much and not enough.

“Fuck,” he breathed against her lips, pulling back just enough to look at her. His eyes raked down her body—wet T-shirt plastered to her skin, nipples straining against the fabric, hem ridden up to expose the smooth, glistening skin between her legs. “You’re soaked, Bri. Look at you.”

She followed his gaze, cheeks burning, but she didn’t try to close her thighs. Instead, she rolled her hips up, grinding back against him shamelessly.

“Whose fault is that?” she whispered, voice shaky with want. “You’ve been walking around like this all night. That tent in your shorts… I saw it the second I walked out.”

His laugh was rough, almost pained. “Yeah? And you came out here with no fucking panties. Nipples hard enough to cut glass. You wanted me to see.”

“I did.” She lifted her chin, defiant even pinned beneath him. “I wanted you to lose it.”

He stared at her for a long second—something raw and conflicted flashing in his eyes—then he released her wrists and sat back on his heels. His hands went to the hem of his tank top and yanked it over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric hit the floor. His chest rose and fell fast, muscles flexing under smooth, tanned skin. A faint trail of dark hair led down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts.

Brielle’s mouth went dry. She’d seen him shirtless before—pool days, beach trips, lazy summers—but never like this. Never with his cock straining so obviously, never with his eyes dark and dangerous and fixed on her like she was the only thing in the world.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. Paused.

“Last chance to say no, little sis,” he said quietly. The words were a warning, but his voice cracked on “sis,” turning it filthy.

Brielle’s heart slammed against her ribs. The taboo of it—the wrongness—only made the ache between her legs sharper.

She reached up, fingers brushing the hard plane of his stomach, then sliding lower, tracing the outline of him through the fabric.

“Don’t call me that unless you’re gonna fuck me like you mean it,” she said.

His breath hissed out.

He shoved the shorts down.

His cock sprang free—thick, veined, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. It bobbed heavily as he kicked the shorts away, and Brielle couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped her. She’d felt him grinding against her, but seeing it—long, girthy, curved slightly upward—was different. Real. Overwhelming.

Adrian wrapped a hand around himself, stroking once, slow, eyes locked on hers.

“You want this?” he asked, voice gravel-rough.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes.”

He leaned over her again, bracing one hand beside her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. The blunt head nudged her folds, sliding through the slickness, coating him.

“Say it,” he murmured, teasing her clit with the tip, circling slow. “Tell me exactly what you want, Brielle.”

She arched, chasing the pressure. “I want you inside me. I want my stepbrother’s cock stretching me open. I want you to fuck me until I can’t think straight.”

The words barely left her mouth before he pushed forward.

The stretch burned—good burn, perfect burn. He sank in inch by inch, slow enough that she felt every ridge, every vein, until he bottomed out, hips flush against hers. Brielle’s head fell back against the pillow, mouth open on a silent cry. He was so deep she swore she could feel him in her stomach.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead dropping to hers. “You’re so tight. So fucking wet, Bri…”

He stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust, letting them both feel it—the wrongness of being joined like this, the heat, the fullness, the way her walls fluttered around him like they were trying to pull him deeper.

Then he moved.

A slow withdrawal, almost all the way out, then a hard thrust back in. The bed creaked. She gasped. He did it again—slower this time, deliberate, grinding at the end so the base of his cock pressed against her clit.

“Like that?” he whispered, lips brushing her ear.

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

He set a rhythm—deep, steady, controlled. Each thrust dragged against that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. Her hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging in, leaving crescent marks. His mouth found her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tongue soothing the sting.

The room filled with the sounds of them—wet slaps of skin, her breathy moans, his low grunts, the faint squeak of the mattress springs. Somewhere down the hall, the house was full of sleeping relatives. The risk of it—the chance someone could hear, could walk in—only made it hotter.

Adrian shifted, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder. The new angle let him go deeper, harder. Brielle cried out, then bit her lip to muffle it.

“Shh,” he murmured against her throat, but he didn’t slow down. “Gotta be quiet, baby. Can’t let Mom hear her good girl getting railed by her stepbrother.”

The words sent a fresh gush of wetness around him. She clenched hard, and he cursed under his breath.

“You like that? The dirty talk?” He thrust harder, punctuating each word. “You like knowing this is fucked up? That I’m balls-deep in my little sister’s tight cunt while everyone else sleeps?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “God, yes—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

He fucked her faster now, hips snapping, the bed rocking beneath them. Her breasts bounced under the wet T-shirt with every thrust. He shoved the fabric up, exposing her completely, and latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his thumb found her clit and rubbed tight circles.

The dual sensation—his mouth on her breast, his cock pounding inside her, fingers on her clit—snapped something in her.

She came hard.

Her back bowed, thighs locking around him, walls spasming, milking him. A choked sob tore from her throat, muffled against his shoulder as she bit down to keep from screaming. Pleasure crashed through her in relentless waves, leaving her shaking, tears pricking her eyes.

Adrian groaned, hips stuttering as her orgasm pulled at him.

“Fuck—Bri—I’m gonna—”

“Don’t pull out,” she gasped, legs tightening. “Please—inside—”

He froze for half a second—eyes wide—then slammed in one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His cock pulsed, thickening, and he came with a low, guttural sound, flooding her with heat. Spurt after spurt, until she felt it leaking out around him, slick and warm.

They stayed like that—locked together, panting, trembling—until the aftershocks faded.

Slowly, he eased out, both of them hissing at the sensitivity. He collapsed beside her, pulling her against his chest. Her leg draped over his hip, his softening cock nestled against her thigh, sticky with them.

For a long minute, neither spoke.

Then Adrian pressed a kiss to her temple, voice soft. “You okay?”

Brielle nodded against his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “More than okay.”

He exhaled, almost a laugh. “We’re so fucked.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, but she was smiling. “But it felt good.”

He tilted her chin up, kissing her slow this time—gentle, lingering.

“Round two?” he murmured against her lips.

She grinned, wicked again. “Only if you promise to make me come on your tongue first.”

His eyes darkened. “Deal.”