Step-Brother's Greedy Cock

At the end of the day I had successfully avoided Ryhs.

After Mom and David returned early from their visit to their friends place, the four of us had eaten a quick, awkward dinner. By midnight, everywhere was dead silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning. And I couldn't sleep.

I lay on my back in the dark, staring at nothing in particular, my body kept reminding me of earlier. Every time I shifted, I felt the phantom drag of Rhys’s thick cock against mine, the sticky warmth of our mixed releases. My hole clenched involuntarily at the memory, and my own cock stirred traitorously beneath the thin sheet.

Just go to sleep for fuck sake.

The soft click of my bedroom door opening sent my heart slamming into my throat. I turned my head immediately.

Rhys slipped inside, closing the door with a quiet snick before twisting the lock. Moonlight filtered through the half-open blinds, painting silver across his bare chest. He wore only a pair of loose gray sweatpants that hung obscenely low, the heavy outline of his half-hard cock clearly visible.

He crossed the room in silence and crawled onto my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he loomed over me.

“Rhys,” I whispered, voice already shaky. “the walls are thin. We can’t...”

“Shh.” His hand covered my mouth gently, eyes gleaming with that same dark hunger. “They’re both out cold. No one’s waking up.” He leaned down, lips brushing my ear, his voice came out as a low rumble that sent shivers straight down my spine. “I told you earlier I’d use lube next time. I keep my promises.”

He reached into his waistband and pulled out a small, sleek bottle. The faint scent of something clean and slightly sweet—strawberry?—hit me as he clicked it open.

My resistance crumbled instantly.

Rhys didn’t waste time. He stripped my shorts and boxers off in one smooth tug, tossing them aside. My cock sprang free, already leaking against my stomach. He shoved his own sweatpants down, and his thick cock slapped heavily against my thigh.

He rolled me onto my side, pressing up behind me in a tight spoon. One strong arm wrapped around my chest, holding me close while his other hand slicked his fingers with lube. The cool gel warmed quickly as he teased my hole, circling the rim before slowly pushing one finger inside.

I bit my lip hard, breathing shakily as he worked me open with patient, deep strokes. He added a second finger, then a third, scissoring and curling them lazily while kissing and biting along my neck and shoulder. Every wet sound felt deafening in the quiet room.

“Rhys… fuck…” I whispered.

“So tight for me,” he murmured against my skin. “Been thinking about this all day.”

After long, torturous minutes of his fingers stretching and teasing me, he pulled them out. More lube was applied to his cock. He lifted my top leg slightly and pressed the thick head against my entrance, rubbing it there until I was whimpering.

Then he pushed in—slow, steady, inch by inch—until he was buried to the hilt. The stretch was overwhelming. He stayed still for a long moment, just grinding in deep circles, letting me feel every thick inch inside me.

He fucked me like that for what felt like forever—slow, rolling thrusts from behind, one hand stroking my cock in the same lazy rhythm. The position kept us pressed together, skin slick with sweat, his breath hot on my neck.

Eventually he pulled out, leaving me empty and aching. He rolled onto his back and pulled me on top of him, guiding me to straddle his hips.

“Ride me, Eli,” he ordered softly, voice rough. “I want to watch you take every inch.”

I sank down onto his cock slowly, gasping as he filled me again. Rhys’s hands gripped my hips, guiding but not forcing the pace. I rocked and rolled my hips in deep, sensual movements, feeling him drag against every sensitive spot inside me. He watched me the entire time, with his dark and hungry eyes, occasionally thrusting up to meet me.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned quietly. “So pretty when you’re fucking yourself on my cock.”

I rode him harder, chasing the pleasure, but Rhys suddenly sat up, wrapping his arms around me. We were face to face, chest to chest. He kissed me deeply, swallowing my moans as he took control again—thrusting up into me with powerful, measured strokes while holding me tight in his lap.

The new angle was devastating. Every thrust hit my prostate directly. I clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, biting his neck to stay quiet.

Rhys flipped us again, this time putting me on my back with my legs pushed up and spread wide. He drove back in deep, fucking me with long, intense strokes that made the bed creak softly. His hand wrapped around my leaking cock, stroking me perfectly in time with his thrusts.

“Look at me when you cum,” he demanded, voice strained.

The pressure built unbearably. I bit down on my lips hard to stop me from screaming. I grabbed onto the sheets as I came hard, pulsing between us with a broken, muffled cry, my hole clenching tight around him. Rhys thrust a few more times and followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and flooding me with hot, thick ropes of cum. He kept grinding deep through his orgasm, pushing every drop inside me.

We stayed locked together, panting and trembling. His cock twitched inside me as the last pulses faded.

He kissed me slowly and lazily before carefully pulling out. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from my used hole. He pushed some of it back in with two fingers. He had this look of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Good boy,” he whispered. “Full of me just like you should be.”

After a few minutes,he cleaned us up gently with a towel, then held me against his chest for a while before slipping out right before dawn.

I lay there feeling sore, stretched, leaking, and completely wrecked—already craving and anticipating the next time.

Because even though I don't want to admit it out loud. There was definitely going to be a next time.