Hardcore with my stepbrother 6

Sia came home at sunset, her bag heavy with textbooks, her body still humming with the memory of Derek’s hands.

She’d spent the day in a daze, replaying the car, his voice, the way he’d claimed her in the backseat like she was property.

The house was quiet. Too quiet as she climbed the stairs and stopped at her bedroom door. It was already open. Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded, waiting.

“Mom?”

“Sit down, Sia,” her mother’s voice was strange and tight. “We need to talk.”

Sia’s heart began pounding violently. She knew. Somehow, she knew. The guilt must be written all over her face, her skin still smelling like Derek’s sweat, her thighs still sticky with his cum.

“Where were you last night?” her mother asked.

“At Maya’s. I told you—“

“You told me you needed space. You didn’t tell me you were avoiding this house,” her mother’s eyes narrowed, studying her. “You look strange, Sia. Different. Did something happen?”

Sia forced her face blank, her hands steady in her lap. “Nothing happened. I just needed a night away. New house, new family — it’s a lot.”

Her mother stared at her for a long moment, searching for cracks in the lie. Sia held her breath, forcing her body not to flush, her eyes not to dart to the door where Derek might appear at any second.

“Your stepfather and I are worried about you,” her mother finally said. “Derek mentioned you’ve been distant.”

Derek. Speaking her name, weaving himself into conversations with their parents. The audacity made Sia’s stomach twist.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Really. Just adjusting.”

Her mother stood, smoothing her skirt. “If you need to talk, I’m here. We’re family now, Sia. All of us.”

The word family burned like acid, because she was fucking her stepbrother.

—

That night, Sia lay in bed naked, waiting. She told herself she wasn’t waiting for him.

She was just hot, restless, unable to sleep. But her eyes kept drifting to the door, her ears straining for the click of the lock.

Midnight came. Then one, two. Derek didn’t come. Sia touched herself, rough and angry, trying to recreate the sensation of his fingers, his mouth. She came twice, gasping into her pillow, and still felt empty.

The next day, she saw him at breakfast. He sat across from her, eating eggs, discussing stock portfolios with his father like he hadn’t been inside her two nights ago, like he hadn’t marked her, claimed her.

“Morning, Sia,” he said, his eyes meeting hers over his coffee. Cool and detached. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she managed.

“Good.”

He left for work without looking back. That night, she waited again. Naked, trembling, hating herself for wanting him, hating him more for making her want it. She stared at the ceiling until dawn cracked the sky.

He was starving her. She knew it, could feel the manipulation in her bones. He wanted her to come to him, to beg, to crawl and admit she was addicted to his cock.

Sia refused. She went to class, went to the library, went anywhere but home until she had to. She walked past his room with her chin high, ignoring the ache between her legs, the way her body screamed for his touch.

Let him wait. But she wouldn’t beg.