All Chapters of WET and Ruined( collection of short sweet stories) : Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

Sienna’s POVI was the one who asked for it.We were in his bedroom with the door locked and the afternoon sun cutting across the floor when I looked up at my stepbrother and whispered the words that changed the rest of the week.“Mark me. Not her. Leave everything on me.”I was nineteen. Ryan was twenty-three. Mom had married his father two years ago, and for the last six months Ryan and I had been sneaking around behind everyone’s backs. He was always careful with my skin—careful not to leave anything that could be explained. That afternoon I was tired of careful.Ryan stared down at me for a long second, eyes darkening. “You sure? Once I start, I’m not going to be gentle about it.”“I want to feel you on me all day,” I said. “Every time I move. Every time my clothes brush against the marks. Just… not where she can see.”He exhaled slowly, like he had been waiting for permission. Then he pulled my shirt over my head and unclasped my bra with one hand.“Lie back.”I did. Ryan stretch

** *Eden’s POV* I woke up sore in the best and worst way. Every shift of my legs reminded me what my stepbrother had done to me the night before. Deep, relentless, until I was shaking and dripping and begging him to stop only so I could catch my breath—before begging him to keep going. He had taken me twice more after that first round, once with my knees pushed to my chest and once from behind while I bit the pillow. By the time he finally let me sleep, I was wrecked. I was eighteen. Grant was twenty-four. And this morning I had to sit across from my mother and pretend none of it had happened. I pulled on an oversized T-shirt and a pair of soft shorts with nothing underneath. The fabric brushed against my tender pussy with every step, making me wince as I walked down the hallway. My gait was off—shorter strides, a slight carefulness I couldn’t fully hide. Grant was already in the kitchen when I entered, leaning against the counter with a coffee mug like he had slept eight peacefu

He had told me more than once never to call him that.Grant was particular about it. The word “stepdaddy” or even the shorter “Daddy” in any tone that wasn’t strictly familial made his expression close off. He said it was inappropriate. He said it crossed a line he wasn’t willing to blur further than we already had. For weeks I respected the boundary, at least out loud. Inside my head the word lived rent-free every time he put his hands on me.Mom was away for a long weekend conference. The house felt larger without her. On the second night I found myself in his bedroom again, the door locked, the only light coming from the lamp on the nightstand. Grant had me on my back, one of my knees hooked over his elbow, the other pressed wide by his hand. He was already inside me—deep, steady strokes that made the bed whisper against the wall.I kept my voice low. The usual soft sounds. His name once or twice. He liked when I said his actual name. But the pressure kept building, and the way he

*Quinn’s POV*It started with a single sentence spoken against my ear while Mom poured coffee ten feet away.“Hand them over.”I was nineteen. My stepbrother, Seth, was twenty-four. We had been fucking for two months in secret, but this was different. This was daily. This was ownership that followed me around the house even when we weren’t touching.That first morning I hesitated only a second before reaching under my skirt, hooking my fingers into the waistband of my plain black panties, and sliding them down. I stepped out of them and placed the warm, slightly damp fabric in his open palm. Seth closed his fist around them, brought them briefly to his face, and then shoved them deep into the front pocket of his jeans.“Good girl. All day they’re mine. Tonight you get them back.”Then he walked into the kitchen and greeted Mom like nothing had happened.I spent the entire day bare under my skirt.Every breeze, every time I sat down, every time I crossed my legs reminded me that my ste

***Wren’s POV*The first rule was simple: stay quiet.We had broken it so many times that the rule itself felt like a joke. Still, every night we tried. Mom and my stepfather slept only two doors down. The hallway carried sound like a tunnel. One sharp cry could end everything.I was nineteen. My stepbrother, Cade, was twenty-four. We had been doing this for months—secret, reckless, addictive. Tonight the need was worse than usual. He had been giving me those looks all evening, the ones that said he was already thinking about how he would take me once the house went dark.The moment the master bedroom door clicked shut and the low murmur of their television started, Cade appeared in my doorway. He didn’t speak. He just stepped inside, locked the door, and crossed the room.I was already on the bed. He pulled my sleep shirt over my head, dragged my panties down, and pushed two fingers between my legs. I was soaked. He exhaled hard through his nose, freed his cock, and rubbed the thick