Risking Everything

Jace’s cock was still buried to the hilt inside his stepsister when Vanessa’s voice floated up from the foyer like a goddamn foghorn of doom. “Kids? I’m home early! Traffic was a miracle!” Lila’s eyes went saucer-wide, her pussy fluttering around him in pure panic-arousal. They were naked as the day they were born—well, born separately, thank Christ—perched on a dusty mattress in the attic, surrounded by boxes of forgotten Christmas ornaments and one extremely incriminating charcoal sketch of teenage Lila’s tits that had started this whole mess.

Jace clapped a hand over her mouth before she could squeak. His other hand stayed locked on her hip, holding her impaled. Twenty-eight years of brooding tattoo-artist self-control were currently losing a cage match to the fact that his twenty-two-year-old stepsister’s cunt was still clenched around him like it had a personal grudge against blue balls. Downstairs, keys clattered into the bowl. Footsteps. Vanessa humming some awful pop song.

“Don’t you fucking move,” he breathed against Lila’s ear, but the little literature nerd had never obeyed a single order in her life. She rolled her hips in a tiny, filthy circle, grinding her clit against the base of his cock. Her whisper was pure wickedness. “I don’t want to stop. We’re already screwed if she finds us. Might as well get screwed properly.”

Jace’s laugh came out strangled. “You’re insane.” But he was already pulling back an inch and sliding home again—short, wet, dangerous strokes that made the old mattress sigh. Every thrust was a risk. Every wet sound felt loud enough to summon the ghost of every disappointed parent ever. He kept his palm sealed over her mouth while she moaned into it, eyes sparkling with the same bold heat that had gotten her through three years of grad seminars on forbidden desire in Victorian novels. Turns out the real curriculum was right here, balls-deep in the attic while Mommy Dearest unpacked groceries two floors down.

“God, I’ve wanted this since you were eighteen and I was pretending not to notice you sunbathing in that microscopic bikini,” he whispered, hips snapping quietly. “Jerked off thinking about bending my stepsister over every piece of furniture in this house. You?”

Lila licked his palm and mumbled against it, then tugged his hand just enough to speak. “Since the summer you got that first sleeve. Watched you ink yourself in the bathroom mirror and came so hard I saw stars, imagining you pinning me down and calling me your dirty little secret. Vanessa would lose her actual mind.” She pushed back to meet his next thrust, taking him deeper. “Keep going. Please. The risk is making me dripping.”

He did. Short, punishing strokes, the head of his cock dragging over that swollen spot inside her that made her thighs shake. They whispered filth like confessions in a church built for sin. How many times she’d fingered herself after family dinners, pretending the napkin in her lap was his tongue. How many client tattoos he’d ruined because he kept flashing back to the time she’d “accidentally” walked in on him showering and stared a beat too long. The taboo of it—stepsiblings, same roof, Vanessa’s footsteps now creaking on the stairs—cranked everything hotter. Jace felt his orgasm coiling low and mean. Lila’s pussy was fluttering, greedy.

“Turn around,” he growled, barely audible. They scrambled, nearly knocking over a box of old yearbooks. He bent her over a stack of storage tubs, yanked her hips back, and sank in from behind in one smooth shove. Lila bit down on a faded throw pillow, muffling the broken moan that tried to escape. Jace fucked her hard and shallow, the wet slap of skin the only soundtrack under Vanessa’s cheerful “Hello? Anyone home? I brought Thai!” from the second-floor landing. His hand cracked lightly across Lila’s ass—quiet enough, he hoped—and she pushed back greedier, taking every thick inch.

“That’s it, ride it back on your big stepbrother’s cock,” he hissed. “Gonna fill this forbidden cunt while Mom’s right downstairs. You want that? Want me to cream you so deep it leaks through dinner?”

She nodded frantically into the pillow, reaching back to spread herself open for him. The view alone nearly ended him: pink, stretched, shiny with her own slick, his inked hands gripping her waist like she might vanish. But he pulled out just long enough to flip onto his back on the mattress and haul her on top, reverse cowgirl, the way she’d finished him in every fever dream since the divorce dragged them both home. Lila sank down with a silent gasp, tits bouncing as she started to ride—fast, desperate, thighs burning. Jace reached around and found her clit, rubbing tight circles while she ground down.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice rough. “My baby stepsister bouncing on my dick like it’s her job. So fucking wrong. Vanessa thinks we’re sorting old photo albums. Instead I’m about to pump a load into you that’d make a priest quit.”

“Do it,” Lila panted, head thrown back, hair sticking to her sweat-damp neck. “Cum in me. I’ve fantasized about walking around with your cum dripping out while she asks how our day was. Oh god—Jace—I’m—”

Her orgasm hit like a silent scream. Pussy clamping down in rhythmic pulses, milking him, body shuddering as she bit her own wrist to stay quiet. The sight of her falling apart—bold little lit student reduced to a trembling, cum-hungry mess on her stepbrother’s cock—ripped Jace’s control to shreds. He thrust up hard, buried deep, and unloaded with a gritted groan, thick ropes pulsing into her while her walls fluttered and squeezed every drop. They stayed locked like that, breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside her flooded heat, both of them listening to Vanessa’s footsteps grow louder on the attic stairs.

“Shit shit shit.” Lila lifted off him with a filthy wet sound; his cum immediately started sliding down her inner thigh in a glossy streak. They dove for clothes like the house was on fire. Jace yanked on jeans commando, stuffing his still-slick cock away. Lila wriggled into her sundress, no time for panties, and kicked the charcoal nude under the edge of a threadbare rug just as the doorknob turned.

Vanessa poked her head in, smiling that sunny, clueless mom smile, arms full of takeout bags. “There you two are! Sorting junk? You look flushed. Attic’s sweltering, huh?”

Jace forced the most casual grin of his life, one arm slung “protectively” around Lila’s shoulders like a good older stepbrother. “Yeah, just digging through old stuff. Found some real treasures.” Under his palm, Lila’s back was damp. He could feel her still trembling. A fresh bead of his cum chose that exact second to trickle further down her leg; she pressed her thighs together and beamed at Vanessa with angelic innocence.

“Perfect timing, Mom. We’re starving.” Lila’s voice came out only a little wrecked. “Thai smells amazing.”

Vanessa launched into a story about the client meeting that ended early, completely missing the way Jace’s eyes kept dropping to the shiny streak disappearing under Lila’s hem, or the way Lila’s nipples were still hard points against the thin cotton. The three of them headed downstairs in a parade of pure domestic farce. Jace’s mind raced. They’d gotten away with it—barely—but the attic still reeked of sex, the drawing was only half-hidden, and Lila kept shooting him looks that promised round two the second Vanessa’s back was turned. The secret sat between them hotter than the food, sticky and unfinished, already plotting how much further they could push before the whole fragile family thing went up in smoke.

They made it to the kitchen without anyone bursting into flames, which Jace counted as a minor miracle. Vanessa chattered about her abbreviated meeting while she unloaded cartons of pad thai and green curry onto the counter, completely oblivious to the fact that her stepdaughter was currently hosting a load of stepbrother cum and walking like she’d just finished a marathon on a mechanical bull. Lila perched on a barstool, thighs pressed tight, sundress riding up just enough that Jace—leaning against the fridge like a man who definitely hadn’t just flooded his stepsister in the attic—could see the glossy evidence still painting the inside of one smooth thigh.

He wanted to drop to his knees right there and lick it clean. Instead he grabbed three plates and started dishing rice with the focused intensity of a bomb technician.

“So what treasures did you find up there?” Vanessa asked, spearing a shrimp. “Anything worth keeping?”

Lila’s eyes flicked to Jace, wicked and bright. “Oh, definitely. Some old art of Jace’s. Very… detailed. Emotional range. Lots of shading.”

Jace nearly dropped the serving spoon. Under the table—well, the counter overhang—Lila’s bare foot slid up the inside of his calf, toes curling deliberately. His cock, still half-hard and sticky inside his jeans, gave an optimistic twitch.

“Art school leftovers,” he muttered. “Nothing special.”

Vanessa launched into a story about a gallery client who’d ghosted her, and Lila used the cover to lean closer, voice low enough only he could hear. “It’s still leaking. Every time I shift I feel it. You’re a menace.”

“You’re the one who told me not to pull out,” he whispered back, forking noodles with exaggerated casualness. “Sit still before you leave a puddle on the stool.”

She didn’t sit still. Her foot climbed higher, nudging the growing ridge behind his zipper. Jace’s knuckles went white around his fork. Across the counter Vanessa was still mid-monologue, waving her chopsticks for emphasis. “—and then he said the contract was ‘more of a vibe,’ can you believe that? Kids these days. Anyway, I’m beat. Early flight tomorrow for the Seattle pitch. You two okay holding down the fort another couple nights?”

Lila’s toes pressed harder. “We’ll manage. Won’t we, Jace?”

“Yeah,” he managed. “Totally under control.”

Vanessa kissed both their cheeks—Lila first, then Jace, lingering just long enough that he was terrified she might smell sex and takeout on him—and headed upstairs with a carton of leftovers and a promise to crash hard. The second her bedroom door clicked shut on the second floor, Lila was off the stool and dragging him by the belt loop toward the laundry room off the kitchen.

“Are you insane?” he hissed, but he was already letting himself be hauled, blood roaring south. “She’s right upstairs.”

“And we’re downstairs. Soundproofing of an old house, baby. Plus she takes those melatonin gummies that knock her out like a tranquilizer dart.” Lila shoved him back against the washer, hiked her sundress to her waist, and hopped up onto the cool metal lid in one smooth motion. No panties. Just slick, swollen pink and the shiny streak of his earlier cum still tracing down. “I need you again. Right now. While she’s still unpacking her suitcase and humming.”

Jace’s brain short-circuited in the best way. He shoved his jeans down just far enough, stepped between her spread thighs, and sank back into her in one long, filthy glide. She was soaked—his cum mixed with fresh arousal making the slide almost too easy. Lila bit his shoulder to muffle the moan, legs locking around his waist.

“Jesus, Lila—”

“Harder. Make it quick and dirty. I want to feel it when we’re pretending to watch Netflix later.”

He fucked her like that, standing, the washer rocking faintly under them with every thrust. The risk cranked everything neon-bright: Vanessa’s muffled footsteps above, the distant sound of a suitcase zipper, the fact that the kitchen lights were still on and anyone glancing through the side window would get an eyeful of stepsiblings going at it like the world was ending. Jace gripped her ass, tilting her so he could drive deeper, watching his thick cock disappear into that greedy cunt over and over.

“You like this?” he growled against her ear, humorous edge under the heat. “Getting railed next to the detergent while Mom’s brushing her teeth? Real literature-major fantasy fulfillment.”

Lila laughed breathlessly, then gasped when he hit that spot. “Shut up and breed me again. I’ve got a whole thesis forming on forbidden domestic spaces.”

He reached between them, thumb circling her clit in tight, mean strokes. She came first—silent, shaking, nails digging crescents into his inked shoulders—pussy clamping down so hard he saw stars. Jace followed with a bitten-off curse, grinding deep and pulsing another thick load into her already messy heat. They stayed locked, panting, forehead to forehead, listening.

Upstairs, a toilet flushed. Then quiet.

Lila slid off the washer on unsteady legs, dress falling back into place. Cum immediately started its slow escape down both thighs this time. She grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Round three after she passes out. Attic again? Or we could risk your old bedroom. The bedframe squeaks. Adds spice.”

Jace tucked himself away, mind already racing through logistics and escape routes like a criminal mastermind with a praise kink. “You’re going to get us disowned.”

“Worth it.” She snagged a paper towel, made a half-assed cleanup attempt that mostly just smeared things, then popped up on her toes to kiss him slow and filthy. “Besides, we’ve got all summer. And she’s gone half the time. Imagine the places we haven’t christened yet. Garage. Backseat of her car. The porch swing at 2 a.m.”

He groaned, half laugh, half pure wanting. They slipped back into the kitchen, rearranged faces into something resembling innocent siblings who’d simply overheated while sorting junk, and settled on the couch with leftover Thai and a random true-crime show neither of them watched. Lila curled against his side under the throw blanket—Vanessa’s favorite “family cuddle” pose—and within minutes her hand was under it, fingers tracing the outline of his cock through denim, teasing him back to full hardness while the narrator droned about unsolved murders.

Jace stared at the TV, jaw tight, every nerve ending lit. Upstairs Vanessa’s light finally clicked off. The house settled into its old creaks and sighs. Lila’s whisper was pure sin against his neck.

“She’s out. I checked the Melatonin bottle—double dose. We’ve got hours.” Her hand squeezed. “Attic. Now. I want you to bend me over those storage tubs again and talk the filthiest shit while I take every inch. And this time don’t stop even if she sleepwalks.”

He shouldn’t. Every rational cell knew it. Discovery would nuke the fragile post-divorce peace, the house, Vanessa’s trust, everything. But Lila was already standing, sundress clinging to the damp spot between her legs, eyes dark with the same years-long hunger that had started with a charcoal sketch and a bikini he’d pretended not to notice.

Jace stood, blood singing. “Lead the way, stepsister. But if we hear footsteps, you better be ready to pretend we were looking for childhood trauma in the Christmas boxes.”

She tossed him a grin over her shoulder as she started up the stairs on quiet bare feet, hips swaying. “Deal. Race you. Loser has to stay quiet while the winner decides the next position.”

He followed, heart hammering, cock aching, the secret between them already expanding into something bigger and hungrier than one afternoon in the attic. The summer stretched ahead—long, hot, full of closed doors and near-misses and the constant electric threat of everything blowing open. Jace watched Lila’s ass disappear around the landing and thought, not for the first time, that some risks were worth the total incineration.

They reached the attic door. She pushed it open. The mattress still waited, the air still faintly thick with what they’d done. Somewhere below, Vanessa snored softly. Lila stripped the sundress off in one motion and dropped to her knees on the dusty floorboards, looking up at him with pure challenge.

“Your move, big brother. Make it count.”

Jace shut the attic door with a soft click that still sounded like a gunshot in his ears. Lila knelt naked on the dusty floorboards, freckled shoulders back, chin tipped up, that same wicked literature-student smile she used when she was about to dismantle a professor’s argument. His cock was already straining against the zipper of his hastily yanked jeans, sticky from earlier rounds and somehow still hungry.

“My move,” he muttered, shucking the jeans and kicking them toward a box of tangled Christmas lights. “You really want to suck your stepbrother’s cum-covered dick while Mom snores one floor down?”

“I’ve wanted worse.” She leaned in and licked a long, filthy stripe up the underside of his shaft, gathering the mixed slick of both their earlier orgasms. “Mmm. We taste like bad decisions and takeout. Very on-brand.”

He carded his fingers into her hair—gentle at first, then firmer when she opened wide and took him to the root in one practiced glide. The wet heat of her throat made his knees threaten mutiny. Dust motes danced in the single bare bulb overhead like tiny witnesses to the felony. Lila hollowed her cheeks, bobbed, let spit run down her chin in shiny threads. Every time she pulled off she whispered something worse.

“Remember that summer you taught me to drive? I kept stalling on purpose so you’d put your hand on my thigh. Came in my jeans in the passenger seat later just from the smell of your cologne.”

Jace’s laugh came out strangled. “Jesus Christ, Lila.” He thrust shallowly into her mouth, watching her eyes water and sparkle. “I used to jack off in the shower after every family barbecue, replaying the way you licked barbecue sauce off your fingers. Thought I was going to hell. Turns out hell has better acoustics and an attic mattress.”

She pulled off with a pop, stroked him with both hands, and grinned up like the devil’s favorite TA. “Bend me over the tubs again. I want the full risk package—your hand on my mouth, your cock rearranging my insides, and the very real chance Vanessa sleepwalks up here looking for her favorite throw pillow. Which, for the record, still has my teeth marks in it.”

He hauled her up, spun her, and folded her over the stack of plastic storage tubs with zero ceremony. The lid creaked. Lila shoved a faded quilt against her face just in time; Jace slammed home in one smooth, possessive stroke that punched a muffled moan out of her. She was still flooded from before—his cum and her fresh slick making every thrust a loud, obscene squelch that felt loud enough to wake the neighborhood HOA.

“Quiet,” he hissed against her ear, even as his hips snapped harder. “Or Mom’s going to come up here and find her good little grad student getting railed like a bargain-bin porn star by the family disappointment.”

Lila pushed back greedily, ass rippling. “Then fuck me quieter, big brother. Or don’t. I’m writing my thesis on this exact moment—transgression as erotic catalyst, chapter three: Attic Edition.”

He reached around, found her clit, and rubbed tight mean circles while he pounded her in short, vicious strokes designed for maximum depth and minimum mattress squeak. Sweat slicked the small of her back. Dust stuck to it. Somewhere below, a floorboard creaked—Vanessa rolling over, or the house settling, or the universe deciding to cockblock them via structural integrity. Both of them froze mid-thrust, hearts hammering, cock buried to the hilt inside fluttering cunt.

Silence. Then a distant snore.

Lila’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “False alarm. Keep going. I was so close I almost blacked out and started quoting Foucault.”

Jace bit the side of her neck hard enough to leave a mark she’d have to explain with “weird pillow” tomorrow, and resumed fucking her like the attic had a ticking clock. The taboo sat between them hotter than the summer air: stepsiblings, same childhood roof, mother unconscious on melatonin two floors down, their joined bodies the living middle finger to every blended-family pamphlet ever printed. He felt her start to tip—thighs shaking, pussy clamping in rhythmic pulses—and clamped his palm over her mouth just as she came with a full-body shudder that nearly took him with her.

He didn’t stop. He flipped her, lifted her onto the dusty mattress, hooked her knees over his inked shoulders, and drove back in face-to-face. Lila’s eyes were glazed and delighted.

“You’re still hard,” she whispered, amazed and smug. “Three loads and counting. Is this a tattoo-artist thing or a forbidden-stepsister thing?”

“Both. Mostly the second.” He fucked her deep and slow now, grinding against her clit on every downstroke, watching her tits bounce and her mouth fall open. “I’ve got years of blue balls to work off. Every time you walked around in those tiny shorts. Every time you called me ‘Jace’ in that sweet little sister voice while I was dying to hear you call me something filthier.”

“Like what?” She wrapped her legs higher, heels digging into his back. “Stepbrother? Big brother? The reason I’m going to need new panties every single day this summer?”

“All of the above.” He felt the orgasm building mean and low, balls tight. “You want another creampie to walk around with? Want to sit through breakfast tomorrow with my cum still inside you while Vanessa asks if we want pancakes?”

“God, yes—do it. Breed your dirty secret. I want to feel it drip while I’m pretending to grade undergrad papers.”

He buried his face in her neck and unloaded with a gritted groan, pulsing thick ropes deep while her walls fluttered and milked him for every drop. They stayed locked, panting, listening. The house stayed quiet except for the occasional snore. Lila’s fingers traced the dragon tattoo curling over his shoulder.

“We’re actually getting away with this,” she whispered, half wonder, half giddy terror. “All summer. She’s gone half the time. We could do the garage next. Or the backseat of her car while it’s still in the driveway. Or the porch swing at two a.m. like I said. Imagine the neighbors.”

Jace slipped free; a glossy trickle immediately followed, sliding down over her ass. He watched it, brain already cataloguing logistics and alibis and the thousand ways this could detonate. “You’re going to get us written out of the will and possibly featured on a very awkward true-crime podcast.”

“Worth it.” She sat up, kissed him slow and filthy, tasting of shared secrets and Thai leftovers. “Besides, the charcoal sketch is still under the rug. Evidence. Keeps us honest. Or dishonest. Whatever.”

They cleaned up with an ancient beach towel that had seen better decades, redressed just enough to look plausible if someone sleep-stumbled upstairs, and cracked the attic door to listen. Nothing but Vanessa’s soft snoring and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Lila’s hand found his again, sticky fingers interlocking.

“Round four in your old bedroom?” she suggested, eyes bright. “The bedframe squeaks like a guilty conscience. Adds narrative tension. Or we could risk the shower—steam covers a multitude of sins.”

Jace’s cock twitched with traitor optimism even as his common sense filed a formal protest. He pulled her close, forehead to forehead, the humor and the hunger braided tight. “Shower. But if the pipes knock, we freeze mid-thrust and pretend we’re fighting over hot water like normal dysfunctional stepsiblings. Deal?”

“Deal.” She bit his lower lip. “Lead the way, big brother. And this time I want you to talk even dirtier. I’ve got footnotes to collect.”

They crept down the attic stairs on bare silent feet, past the closed door of Vanessa’s room, past framed photos of a happier blended-family era that now felt like elaborate stage dressing. Every creak of old wood was a potential plot twist. Jace’s mind raced ahead—summer nights, closed doors, the constant electric threat of discovery, Lila’s laugh muffled against his palm, the way her body already knew his like a secret language. The fragile peace of the house sat balanced on a knife edge of lust and melatonin and one half-hidden nude sketch.

In the hallway she paused, pressed him against the wall, and whispered against his mouth, “Just so we’re clear—I’m not done with you. Not tonight. Not this summer. Risk everything with me.”

He kissed her back, hard, already hard again, already doomed and delighted. “After you, stepsister. Try not to moan too loud when I bend you over the sink. Mom’s a light sleeper when the melatonin wears off.”

They slipped into the bathroom, door locking with a soft snick that felt louder than it had any right to. Steam soon rose. Water drummed. And downstairs the house kept its old secrets a little longer, while upstairs two consenting adults prepared to make brand-new ones.

They slipped into the bathroom on silent feet, the lock snicking shut like a shared conspiracy. Steam billowed almost immediately as Jace cranked the shower hot enough to fog the mirror in seconds. Lila was already peeling off her sundress again, the fabric sticking briefly to the drying streaks of cum on her thighs before it hit the tile. She stepped under the spray first, water sluicing over freckled shoulders and tight pink nipples, then crooked a finger at him with that same literature-nerd smirk that had dismantled professors and now dismantled his last shred of caution.

“Get in here, big brother. Mom’s melatonin is a temporary miracle and I refuse to waste it on actual hygiene.”

Jace shoved his jeans down, cock already thick and gleaming from earlier rounds, and crowded in behind her. The stall was barely big enough for one brooding tattoo artist and one bold grad student, which meant every inch of skin pressed slick and urgent. He spun her to face the wall, palms flat on the wet tile, and sank into her from behind in one long, filthy glide that punched a laugh-moan out of both of them. She was still dripping his previous loads; the slide was obscenely easy, hot water mixing with cum and fresh slick until it ran down their legs in sticky rivulets.

“Christ, you’re a mess,” he growled against her ear, hips snapping in short, quiet thrusts designed not to slap too loud against the wet skin. “Three creampies and counting and you’re still greedy for it. Vanessa’s ten feet away dreaming about client contracts and you’re in here taking stepbrother dick like it’s your summer thesis defense.”

Lila pushed back hard, ass bouncing against his inked hips, water cascading over the place where they joined. “Shut up and fuck me deeper. I’ve got footnotes forming on the erotic utility of steam. Chapter four: How to Drown Out a Moan with a Showerhead.” She reached back, grabbed his wrist, and dragged his hand around to her clit. “Rub. Hard. I want to come before the hot water runs out and we’re stuck explaining why the pipes are banging like a cheap motel.”

He obeyed, thumb circling tight and mean while he pounded her in shallow, vicious strokes that kept the noise down to wet squelches and their ragged breathing. The risk sat electric between them—Vanessa’s door just down the hall, the old house’s thin walls, the very real chance a random nighttime pee trip would turn into a family catastrophe. Jace felt his balls draw up already, years of buried lust still boiling over. He bit the side of Lila’s neck, hard enough to leave a mark she’d blame on a weird pillow again tomorrow, and whispered the filth she craved.

“Look at you. My baby stepsister bent over in the family shower, stuffed full of cock and cum, pretending we’re just fighting over hot water if she knocks. You wanted the full risk package? Here it is. I’m gonna breed you again right here so you drip through breakfast while she flips pancakes and asks if we found any cute baby pictures in the attic.”

Lila’s laugh turned into a choked gasp as he hit that swollen spot inside her. “Do it—fuck—Jace, I’m—” Her orgasm hit silent and brutal, pussy clamping in rhythmic pulses that milked him mercilessly, thighs shaking so hard he had to band an arm around her waist to keep her upright. Water plastered her hair to her face; she bit her own forearm to stay quiet, eyes screwed shut in pure filthy bliss.

The sight shredded him. Jace thrust deep one last time, buried to the hilt, and unloaded with a gritted groan against her shoulder, thick ropes pulsing into her already flooded cunt while the shower washed fresh evidence down the drain in swirling white streaks. They stayed locked, panting, forehead pressed to the tile, listening. Nothing but the drum of water and a distant, innocent snore from Vanessa’s room.

Lila twisted in his arms, kissed him slow and filthy under the spray, tasting of shared secrets and residual Thai spice. “We’re getting disgustingly good at this. Four rounds and the house is still standing. That’s either skill or dumb luck. Possibly both.”

He slipped free; more cum followed in a glossy rush she didn’t bother to rinse away completely. “Dumb luck with a side of melatonin. You’re going to get us disowned, written out of the will, and possibly the subject of a very awkward holiday newsletter.”

“Worth every awkward Christmas forever.” She shut off the water, grabbed two towels, and dried him with deliberate strokes that had his cock twitching optimistically again. “Besides, the charcoal sketch is still under that rug like a little blackmail insurance policy. Keeps the stakes honest.”

They redressed in damp silence—her back into the sundress with nothing underneath, him into jeans that immediately felt too tight—and cracked the bathroom door. Hallway clear. Vanessa’s light still off. They padded downstairs like guilty teenagers, collapsed onto the couch under the throw blanket, and let the true-crime narrator drone on about unsolved cases neither of them registered. Lila’s hand found his under the fabric within minutes, fingers tracing lazy circles over the outline of his half-hard cock.

“So,” she whispered, voice pure wickedness against his neck, “we’ve christened the attic, the laundry room, and the shower. Garage is next on the list—tools hanging everywhere for convenient grip points. Or the backseat of her car while it’s still in the driveway. Imagine the neighbors walking their dogs at dawn and catching a silhouette.”

Jace stared at the TV, jaw tight, every nerve lit. The summer stretched ahead like an open invitation and a ticking bomb all at once: closed doors, near-misses, Lila’s laugh muffled against his palm, the constant electric threat of everything blowing open. He pulled her closer, protective and doomed in equal measure.

“You’re insane. Completely, literature-degree insane.” But he was already smiling against her hair, mind racing through logistics. “Fine. Garage tomorrow night after she leaves for Seattle. I’ll tell her we’re organizing the camping gear. You wear that tiny sundress again with nothing under it. I want to bend you over the workbench and talk even filthier shit while the neighbor’s porch light is still on. And if she calls to check in, you answer on speaker with my cock still inside you. Deal?”

Lila’s grin was pure triumph. She squeezed him through the denim, already scheming the angle of the workbench, the exact filthy lines she’d feed him, the way she’d walk back into the house afterward with his cum still dripping and Vanessa none the wiser on the other end of a phone. “Deal, big brother. Race you to total incineration. Loser has to stay quiet while the winner picks the position. And just so we’re crystal clear—I’m already planning the porch swing for Friday at 2 a.m. Bring a blanket. The night air is going to feel incredible on bare skin while we risk everything all over again.”