Archive of Our Own

You hated coming home for reasons enough to fill their own book, but you hated coming home for the holidays almost more than usual. 

Primarily, you lived in the middle of nowhere, or rather, your father and step-mother had chosen to move out to the middle of nowhere in their retirement. It was a small port-side town of the gray and cold variety, with a pebbly beach and too much wind to be enjoyable even when it was sunny out. It didn’t snow so much as sleet and hail in the winter, which you now heavily cursed as you drove at what felt like negative miles per hour down the small hill from your family home. 

You hated having to make the trip, and you hated more that it all felt like some strange charade of playing house. Your father, feeling guilty regardless of you telling him he didn’t have to be, and your step-mother trying too hard. In truth, the attempt for a harmonious holiday home felt more insulting than not, and ended up making you miss your actual mother more. 

Then, there was the matter of your step-brother, Nickolas. Nick couldn’t have been more opposite you if he had been actively trying. He was outgoing and a flirt, he was into weightlifting and astrophysics, and he had never seen your father as good enough for his mother any more than he saw you as good enough for him. To some luck you hadn’t ever needed to live with him. Nick was almost eight years your senior and had already been living miles away when your father had gotten married. And in the spirit of making up for lost time (or perhaps aforementioned guilt) your interactions had been limited to the month of December. 

Nick took full pleasure in bothering you, had since meeting you almost three years ago. He made nice for his mother’s sake, of course, but to be left alone with him meant bickering, irritation, and a rage-fueled tension thick enough to cut. In fact, the only solace you found in Nickolas’ presence at all seemed to be that he hated coming home almost more than you did. 

Though there was barely any relief in this now, as he sat beside you in the passenger seat, brows furrowed and eyes pinned to the snowy road ahead. Had you not just engaged in a ten minute argument with him about being on the road at all, you may have taken some joy in his being crammed into your small sedan. Under normal circumstances, he stood nearly a head and a half taller than you and almost twice as wide, built with the muscle of someone who religiously worked out and had been since doing wrestling in high school. You hated this almost more than his personality, he didn’t even have to try to make you feel so…small. 

He had a beanie over his shaved head, a light shadow of stubble making him look entirely ill-prepared for a family dinner, though he wore a fine-woven jumper and tattoos which normally snaked from his sleeves and neckline, hidden behind a thick scarf and a heavy winter coat. 

After your argument, you had turned the radio to the local news, dry and boring but at very least neutral and unlikely to result in debates over music taste.

“…a cold front. Authorities warn families home for the holidays not to make too many errands, however,” supplies a cheerful-sounding, eight million year old man. “Winds and snow are expected to reach record highs this evening, with road closures and longer emergency response times to be expected…”

You opened your mouth.

“Don’t fucking say it,” Nick all but snarls, and while you keep your eyes on the road you hardly feel like he had been looking your way to know you were about to speak. “Not a peep.”

“Don’t say what, Nickolas?” Your grip tightens on the wheel. “Don’t say ‘It’s a stupid idea to be out this late with a weather warning’? Or don’t say ‘I fucking told you so’? Or—“

“I want to be out here less than you do, believe me. And I could fucking do without the attitude.”

He attempts to lean backward somewhat in the seat. 

“Didn’t sound like it, when mommy dearest asked you to run errands.”

“Asked us to run errands—“

“She’s not my mother, she doesn’t get to ask me to do anything like—“

“And I said we should take my car—“

“Piece of shit—“

“Piece of shit with four wheel drive. We’d be back home by now.”

Your silence was perhaps enough answer, but you’d be damned if you had to drive his monster of an automobile just to get gravy. You had some sense of decorum and at very least a minor sense of self appreciation. And who forgets gravy on Christmas Eve? 

“Not in this fucking blizzard,” you say, though it doesn’t come out as snide as you would have liked. The snow is coming down heavier now, your windshield wipers flashing across the glass in what felt almost like labored breathing on your car’s part. 

“Yeah,” says Nick, almost scoffing the word. “We’ll fucking see.”

Please hold on, just long enough to prove this jackass wrong. It was too bad your car wasn’t omnipotent, though your focus is drawn from making a snippy comment and on to careful maneuvering around a snow bank. You wondered now if the damn grocery store was even going to be open. 

Slowly, the beginnings of town were coming into view, just a hazy shadow on the horizon, helped by holiday lighting, even with the great stalks of dark pine beginning to swallow the road around you and the beginnings of night turning the world into a deep gray. 

And then, like some kind of divine wrath, your car begins to sputter. 

“No fucking way,” says Nick, sounding equal parts shocked and smug. 

No fucking way. With your car now loosing power, you manage to swerve into the side of the road without hitting anything, the lights on your dash flickering out and the engine suddenly quiet. 

“Oh my god,” you say out loud. Then looking at Nick. “This is all your fault.” 

“How the fuck is your piece of shit car dying my fault?”

You try to get the engine to start, turning the key with unnecessary aggression. Nothing. 

“You fucking jinxed it? Asshole?” 

“You’re not being serious.”

You flip him off—somewhat difficult in gloves—before throwing the keys into the cup holder, pressing the button to pop the hood, and grabbing the flashlight you keep in your driver’s side door.

“What the hell are you doing?” says Nick, brows raised in exasperation. 

“What the hell do you think?” You eye the snow storm outside, pull your hood up, and as quickly as possible as not to let the hot air out or snow in, slip out into the road. 

You can barely hear, wind roars in your ears and snow comes down in thick curtains. You push the hood of the car up, using your body to shield it from the cold and shining the flashlight down into it. You’re not entirely sure what you’re looking for, though nothing looks especially amiss, which is enough to further sour your mood. 

Slamming the hood back down, you slip back into your seat. 

“And what secrets did the rust-mobile share with you, oh Car Whisperer?” says Nick, smiling in the least friendly way he possibly could be. 

“Are you going to help?” you ask, instead of answering. “Or just sit pretty.”

“I can’t do both?” His smile dissipates. “I tried to call but the internet is down.”

“Perfect.” You turn the flashlight off and toss it without ceremony to the floor. “Just perfect.”

A silence passes between the two of you as you debate your options. The town was too far to walk, your house was too far to walk, and without someone who knew what they were doing (or the ability to call them) you were in every way stuck. 

“At least we’re missing dinner,” says Nick after a while. 

This startles a laugh out of you, which you cut short almost as soon as you realize what it is. 

“You’re not wrong,” you say, watching the snow pile up around you, praying the storm would pass soon. It was looking like you were going to have to spend the next few hours—if not the night—in your very small car with your very annoying step-brother. You sigh, reaching into the cup holder for the keys and trying them again. 

The engine shudders to life. You gasp, wide-eyed, looking to Nick before back again. Though your hope falters as you watch the lights of your dash flicker, before going out entirely. The heat, to some luck, stays on. It would have to do.

Pressing your lips in annoyance, you reach behind your seat to rotate the window lever just a smidge, cracking the window ever-slightly. A sliver of cold air slips through the crack, raising the hair at your neck 

“What are you doing?” says Nick. “We need to conserve heat—“

“As pleasant as carbon monoxide poisoning sounds compared to…sitting here with you for the next god knows how many hours, I don’t think that’s a fate either of us want.” You pull your hand back, squaring him off either a look. Nick’s brows raised. 

“No,” he agrees. “We’ll just freeze to death. On Christmas Eve. Which you have now ruined for our family forever, by the by. They’ll come together to eat soggy turkey without gravy and only think of our corpse-cicles—“

“We’re not going to freeze to death, dipshit—“

“I’d be shocked if the engine lasts even the hour. And I get to spend my last moments with you of all fucking people—“

“Oh yeah, because being trapped in this fucking car with you is exactly how I imagined my Christmas Eve to go—oh wait! No, I remember saying we should have stayed home.”

“Blame the weather on me, then,” he says. “You always seem to blame me for everything else—“

“And ‘ruining this holiday for our family forever’? Stones in glass fucking houses, like I’m the one disturbing the fucking peace—“ 

“Name one thing, I actually dare you, one thing I’ve done to upset any kind of domestic balance.”

“I saw you sleeping with our fucking housekeeper,” you hiss. 

A pause.

“When?”

“When? I’ve been here a fucking week how often are you having sex with her?”

“When is she scheduled? Tuesdays and Fridays?”

“You have got to be joking—“ You begin, Nick continuing to speak right over you. 

“And ‘housekeeper’, really? She’s not some forty-year-old divorcee, she’s nineteen.”

“That makes it worse, Nick you know that, right?”

“She’s an adult.”

“You’re thirty.”

“I’m not thirty.”

“Close enough!” You tried not to think about how that was around your age—why would you care?—and this becomes easier done than you originally realized, suddenly entirely taken with a wave of chill as a particularly strong breeze runs from behind you where the open window was and down your neck, and sensing the impending doom of awkward silence, “Jesus fuck it’s cold.”

“You’re the one who gave a particularly storied notion of carbon monoxide poisoning—“

“Gee thanks—“

“I’d offer cuddling in the back seat, but I doubt I’d fit.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You could sit on my lap.”

Your head snaps to his, and you realize he’s already looking at you. 

“What is actually wrong with you, Nickolas?”

“You’re cold, I’m warm. I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is that you’re my step-brother, I’m not going to sit in your lap as a grown-ass adult—“

“Cut the shit, I’m barely your acquaintance, we’ve known each other three years. Besides—“ His brows raise. “No one has to know.”

“No.”

“Fine, see how hot you look when you’ve lost your nose to frostbite.”

You part your lips in the beginnings of a response before being wracked by another wave of shivering. You close your eyes momentarily. Realistically, you wouldn’t freeze to death…as far as you were concerned. You were both layered up, dry, and maybe in an hour or two you’d turn the car off and close the window. But—you were wracked with yet another shiver—could you stand total and complete discomfort before then?

“You don’t tell anyone about this,” you finally say. 

“Who would I even tell?” he says. You level him with a look. “Right. Fine, yeah.”

He pulls back on the lever at the chair’s base, letting it slide back as far as possible. 

“Shoes off,” he adds, before you can move.

“Like hell?”

“I don’t want wet snow all over my pants.” He raises his brows. “And you don’t want it all over your car.”

You roll your eyes. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter, slipping out of your winter boots. Your socks—two pairs for this weather—are dry, luckily. 

You give him a once-over, considering the order of operations to make this as clinical as possible. 

“Am I…?” You’re suddenly at a loss for words and entirely loathe of this fact. “Am I straddling you or…lying across?”

“Whatever,” he says, gesturing unceremoniously and vaguely to his person. 

You sigh, looking to the roof of the car and whatever god beyond that who might come to your rescue. You then shift slightly, settling on laying across his lap rather than straddle, but realizing that in order to get over the console you’re going to have to spread your legs or lift your body up and backwards, the latter you don’t exactly trust yourself to do in a parka. 

“No please, take all—“

You slip. One leg over the gear shift and half-facing away from Nickolas, your coat gets caught, the rest of your body careening forward as your knee knocks into the passenger side door and the other is stopped as it jams into Nick’s rather muscly thigh. You gasp as your body continues its journey into forward motion, the same breath stuttering as Nick’s hands grip you tightly about your waist; the only thing preventing you from smacking your head against the glass. 

“Thanks, sorry, I had meant—“ You sputter as you attempt immediately to readjust your position on his lap, pulling yourself up, but with very little vertical space end up also pulling yourself firmly against.  “Sorry—“

“Stop, would you—“ Nick inhales sharply. “Stop fucking moving.”

You freeze.

“Sorry,” you say again, too aware of your hands on the car seat behind him. Nick’s eyes are closed, brows furrowed in concentration, lips pressed firmly together. 

“It’s—fine.” He clears his throat. “Are you…settled.”

You blink, looking down at the space between your bodies. 

“Yes, yep,” you say, resting your full weight, legs perpendicular to his and tucked between his left side and the console. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Nick clears his throat again and opens his eyes, removing slowly his hands from your hips. “You don’t have to hold on so tight, it’s going to be a while.”

You let the rest of the breath you had taken fall from your lips. 

Nick began to unzip his parka, then his jumper, before his hands moved your chest. 

You jump, Nick grunting. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Body heat, too many layers will stop it from transferring.”

Your head jerks in disbelief. “I can unbutton my own coat.”

Nick holds his hands up in mock surrender. You unbutton your coat, and unzip the sweatshirt beneath, frowning slightly before pressing up against Nick ever slightly, chest against chest. He was right, he is warm, strangely so, and the feeling of his abdomen rising and falling against yours is almost comforting. His muscles now too are relaxed, entirely soft beneath you. Nick’s hands are, of course, no where near your body and your head you have positioned just below his at an attempt to not look him in the eye; translating to a somewhat awkward jigsaw puzzle of limbs. But at least a warm one. 

You don’t instantaneously stop shivering, however. The immediate heat is a relief, but just as much a subtle shock your body begins to shudder against, in sudden, shivery waves. 

“Quit fucking shaking.”

“Thanks! I’m f-fucking trying.”

“Try harder,” he grits. 

“You’re not exactly a four poster bed,” you mutter, trying to draw perfectly still. 

Then, silence. The storm outside still wracks the car, inches of snow beginning to gather outside and around you. You too are then shaken again by the cold. 

“Dammit, what did I fucking say?” Nick spits. 

You look up at him this time, “I’m trying to fucking sit still—“

Then you feel it. At first you’re sure his belt buckle is digging into you somewhat. In your position, your stomach presses against his, and so it only makes sense that you would be low enough to feel it, but then you realize whatever this hard thing is, it’s pressing up against your side, and then you feel it twitch.

“Oh you are disgusting, Nickolas!”

Nick rolls his eyes, slightly interrupted as you shiver slightly with the cold, causing him again to shift against you. 

“Like I can be blamed; you fucking looking like that and—“

“No, that is it,” you say, already beginning to shift against him to move back to the driver’s seat. But his hands tighten, pressing you back down against him, earning you both sudden gasps. “Let me go. I’m serious.”

“Let me fucking finish.” His gaze, you realize now, has darkened, pupil’s dilated, jaw clenched. He looks like he’s putting in effort.“You looking like that and acting fucking jealous and shaking on—“

“Jealous? About what?”

“‘I saw you fucking the housekeeper’? Seriously?” 

“I said sleeping with,” you say, annoyed with yourself suddenly for deciding this was the counterargument you should lead with. “That has nothing to do with jealousy, either, that’s you disrupting the delicate fucking balance of our household.”

“Oh, yeah?” You try to move again and his grip tightens, dick hardening against your hip. You feel in your movement, with slight horror, a dampness between your thighs. And then a heat low in your belly at his show of strength. “How many times did you see me fucking her?”

Your mind goes perfectly and impossibly blank. 

“What.”

“Just the once? She get’s pretty damn loud, baby, you would know where we are.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you hiss. “And it was just the once, so fuck off and let me go.”

“If you only saw us the once how do you know I’ve been fucking her?” 

Shit. You realize then how close you are to him, aware of every point of your bodies touching, a molten line down your side and front, and hips (he still hasn’t let them go), and his warm breath on your cheekbones.

“Because—!” You don’t have a good answer, you realize, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling as his erection grows into you. There was no saving this. “Well, obviously I had to confirm it wasn’t just a one time…thing…”

You hate it, you hate that you feel yourself faltering, stuttering in this moment of complete vulnerability. It comes to a complete shock and horror that you don’t hate him, or rather, the feeling of him, against you. You certainly should, by law you…it twitches against you and your train of thought is lost. 

“Come on, baby,” he says, voice dipping lower, hitting somewhere inside you. He holds you closer to him, bringing the shell of your ear to his mouth. “Admit it. Admit you liked watching me fuck.”

His breath is warm, just shy of ticklish, and he smells of a dark sort of smoke-and-pine combination. You swallow dryly. 

“No.” Your eyes grow as his grip tightens. “That’s not…”

“Oh, baby, you don’t have to pretend. And coming clean…” You feel his smile against your neck. “…Will feel so good.”

You’re glad suddenly, that he can’t see your face. Though a sudden and growing concern of yours is that he might smell you. 

“There’s nothing to come clean about,” you hiss, voice cracking at ‘about.’ Your jaw clenches so hard you think you might break a tooth. 

“Admit it,” he says, sounding a bit breathless himself. “Admit you liked watching me tear that girl apart. You just couldn’t stop yourself from coming back. You just had to see it. You’ve barely been able to think about anything else. Admit it and I’ll admit something to you. That’s only fair, isn’t it baby?”

“Let me go,” you manage, after a small inhale. It doesn’t help, all you can smell is him. 

“Baby wants me to let go?” He inhales deeply, nose grazing against the side of your face, the column of your throat. “Fuck…”

Your eyelids flutter. 

“Y-yes.”

This should be easy. Saying no should be easy, but it’s getting harder and harder to do it when you’re feeling your stomach cramp with need, when your heartbeat is in your throat.

His tongue trails a slow, hot stripe up the side of your neck, and you can’t help yourself this time. Your moan falls from your lips, very nearly a whine. 

“Mmm”, he says, whispered now. “Fucking liar.”

And I’ll admit something to you. God isn’t that tempting? A trade was fair, it was…his hand slides around your side, between your shirt and your coat, warm calloused fingers grazing suddenly exposed skin…admit it.

Your mind was telling you to resist, while at the same time playing back the memory of seeing him with the housekeeper. Clare, her name was? Or Cate? Around your age and pretty, and in your mind’s eye completely naked on a table in the study, legs wrapped around Nick’s waist. 

You can’t get the image of him specifically out of your head, his button down pulled out of his trousers, black slacks low on taut thighs as he plunged his dick into Cassy…Conny? Her moans filled the room. Why wouldn’t they? No one was supposed to be home. 

Again and again he thrust into her, his arm muscles flexed in effort. He had been faced away from you, you hadn’t seen his face, but god the way you had imagined it to look had been enough to get you off not hours after the fact. And you had been jealous. That had been the worst part, something you hadn’t realized until so much later. You had wanted to be that girl with her legs spread and his cock between them. And it was so messed up. 

“I…” you start, inhaling sharply as his other hand grips one of the legs tucked against his side. Slowly, he brings it around, your body like jelly in his arms. Your voice wobbles as he moves you. “I admit…”

He begins kneading circles to your inner thigh, legs now spread for him, around him, soaking pussy no doubt leaving a wet patch on your stockings, braced, suddenly, against his throbbing cock. Your breath hitches. 

“Go on, baby,” he says. Suddenly he grips your jaw, brings your eyes to him, your gaze having been planted directly into his shoulder now looked right into his eyes. “Admit what?”

You swallow, there’s barely any color left in them, a hungry look about his dilated pupils. You can’t keep doing this. Even though it was wrong, even though it was fucked, even though it was so, so hot—

“I liked watching you fuck.”

It comes out rushed, forced almost as a single breath. And still, Nick’s smile sets you on fire. 

He was right, it’s like a weight lifted, like you can breathe again, but the tension in the car is thick enough to cut. He presses a wet, though chaste, kiss to the corner of your mouth. He moves slowly to your jaw and does it again. Then your temple. 

You’re beginning to grow impatient, his lips are at complete contrast to his body language. He’s wound tight, braced for something, muscles taunt beneath you and dick hard against you and grip a vice around you and still, his mouth is completely gentle, completely slow. 

“Say it again,” he says. Lids low as he looks at you. You bite your lip. You shift on his lap just slightly. If you were going to be in, you would be all in. And suddenly, purposefully, you grind against him. 

He grunts, you moan, relishing that it was now him who was shuddering. Your smile is broken as his grip on your jaw tightens. 

“Oh, baby, I didn’t say move,” his voice dips to a growl. “I said say it. Again.”

“Not until—“ your voice catches you off guard, like it’s not been used in hours. “Not until you admit—“

“Difficult to the fucking last,” he says, it’s almost fond. “I never said when I’d come clean. You have to make up for being such a fucking brat. Say it again.”

Your brows furrow, “You’re such a fucking—“

From your jaw, his fingers move, shoving themselves between your teeth hard enough to make you gag, grip on your bare waste hard enough to leave a bruise. 

“Try again,” he says. “Be a good little fucking slut for me.”

You feel the wetness between your legs so overwhelmingly you think it must be your imagination, but your patience is beginning to wear thin. Your pride, you are now realizing, not able to outlast. 

You moan, just lightly against his fingers, enough for him to slowly dislodge them. Your breathing gets heavier, you look him square in the eyes, and swallow. 

“I liked watching you fuck,” you say again, almost level, just about a whisper. 

He rewards you by grinding up into you, suddenly thrown into a full moan. You throw your head back in pleasure, back arching. 

“That’s all I asked for, baby,” he says, continuing rutting into your clothed pussy, if more lightly now. He plants kisses along your exposed neck. “I just needed you to be good, hmm?”

You make a sound somewhere between an agreement and pleasure. 

“Now lay back,” he says. 

“What about—?”

He pushes you suddenly against the dash, back arched backward, legs still splayed. He holds you by your thighs, and with a single and violent motion, rips your tights right at the seam, exposing your dripping center and the panties stuck to it. Your hands fall from his shoulders, sweaty fingers keeping you upright against leather-textured plastic. 

His inhale is sharp and sudden, his face radiating approval. “We’re going to learn how to fucking listen, today. Stay still.”

Nick peels his coat from his shoulders, throwing it into the back seat with his beanie. Your shoulders move up and down in anticipation, frozen as he makes eye contact with you the entire time. You can’t speak, you can barely move, pussy pulsing with anticipation. He undoes his belt, throwing it to the back with the rest of his things. Your heart lurches in your throat. Pushed away from him, you can now see exactly just how fucking hard he was beneath you, just how big, how strained the bulge is. Your hand, on its own accord, begins to drift forward. 

Nick gives you a look, you pausing instantly. 

“That’s a good slut,” he says, after a moment. “We can learn, can’t we? Let me give you a show.”

It’s beyond condescending, it’s something that would under normal circumstances throw you into a fit of rage. The anger dies in the puddle between your legs, however, distracted entirely as Nick unbuttons his jeans, then the zipper, as he pulls from his underwear his length, glistening with precum. 

You can’t help it, you gasp. It’s huge, almost pornographically, and your first thought is that it will never fit inside you. It was hardly the length which concerned you, certainly it was above average, but the girth…three of your fingers wide at least. It twitches against his chest. 

“Now be a good little toy for me, hm?” he says.

“But it’s not going to—“ you begin, his hands already around your waist. “It won’t—“

He shuts you up with a wet, needy kiss, one that you melt into almost instantly. Your knees to either side of him now, and his cock pressed squarely against your stomach, his tongue pressing against yours as the kisses send electric shocks right down to the base of your spine. You bite his lip as he begins to pull back, eliciting both a moan as well as the sudden jerk of his hips up into you. 

“Just relax,” he murmurs, almost purrs. “We’re going to make it fit.”

Your kissing continues, desperate and sharp and just as punishing as it is entirely indulgent. Decadent. Nick’s hands make their way down from your hips, gliding up your thighs, he pauses, if slightly, the barest hint of a question as to whether or not he could continue. The only reaction you give is to slide your hands up his shaved scalp, grinding down into him. God you wanted this, desperately and horrifyingly there was very little else in this moment that you could dream to want. 

“That’s right, baby,” he says, between kisses. “Give in and let me take you apart.” 

His grip on your legs tightens as he pulls you impossibly closer, not enough by any means to put himself inside you, be enough to drag your still-covered pussy against his length, a shivery moan from both of you. With his thumb, he pushes your panties aside, tracing the finger along your slit, from clit to hole. You release a shuddery sigh, what feels like a current of pure electricity following the movement. He repeats the action in reverse, dragging his now-coated digit around your sensitive, swollen bud. 

“Fuck, baby. Fuck, you are so fucking wet.”

You choke on a broken moan as he does it again. 

“All for-all—“ you interrupt yourself with a hiccup, another moan as you grasp haplessly at his neck for some sort of purchase. “All for you.” 

His laugh turns into something pleasured, “Damn fucking right it’s all for me.”

It’s delicious in exactly how fucking filthy the whole thing is. His thumb pressed between your body and your panties, both soaked to hell, the two of you mostly clothed aside from his cock and the barest hint of skin at your waist. His thumb continues its tight pattern around your clit as he places several kisses along your neck, which you can’t help now but to moan as a result of, the euphoric burning of on-coming orgasm drawing further pleasure. 

Your body begins to tense, suddenly a string pulled taunt, an elastic band about to snap. He brings you so very close, close enough that you allow yourself to to gasp the words, “I’m going to—“ 

Nick’s thumb moves almost immediately, the crest your body built up falling away from itself. Your face must convey your total and complete betrayal. Nick’s laugh is breathless. 

“Did baby really think it would be that easy?”

You mewl in frustration. “Nick—“

His finger is at your clit again, shutting you up almost instantly. 

“Did you think of me, after?” he whispers, your hips trying their very best to ride whatever they could. A particularly well-placed press of his finger shoots another spark of burning desire into your stomach. 

“I-oh, God.” Your voice begins its crescendo into a whine. “Y-yes—Yes.”

You come to the mortifying realization that he’s barely touched you and you’re already a shivery, inarticulate mess on top of him. 

The movement of his thumb almost slows at your admission, a low sound coming from his throat. 

“What did you imagine me doing?”

“I—“ It takes you a minute to realize what he’s asking, what with you once again at the precipice of an orgasm. “What?”

“It’s an easy question, baby,” he murmurs at your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “What did you imagine your big step-brother doing to you after you saw him fucking that girl’s poor cunt to pieces? Hmm?”

His tone is total and complete superciliousness, whiney in its false sympathy. Somehow this feels more vulnerable, more wrong than his hand up your panties. More personal. 

You’re distracted again, your orgasm so very close between the feeling of his thumb on your clit and his hard cock just out of reach, pressed against the soaked fabric of your underwear, its thickness oh so apparent as it sits so firmly against you. Just like before though, he doesn’t let you, hand retracting at the very last minute. 

Again you groan, “You absolute dick—“

“Be a good slut and you’ll get exactly what you want, baby.” He starts again at your clit, the burning now moving almost to the side of unpleasant in your total need to come. “What did you imagine me doing?”

“I…” You press your lips, looking away. 

“Don’t get shy on me now.” His free hand comes to grip your hair, pulling your face back to face his. “You what?”

You feel your orgasm tease you, the very edges of it making itself known. 

“I imagined you, oh, eating me out,” you say, and for the first time in several minutes his finger speeds up, a pleased noise leaving Nick’s mouth. “I imagined what your tongue would feel like inside of me. You’re so much…fuck…bigger than me. I thought about how small I would look next to you and—“

“—Fuck, baby, keep talking—“

“—And how big your fingers would be inside of me.”

Closer and closer and suddenly, without any warning at all, you come. 

It’s disastrous, the surprise of it like a blow to the chest as it rips through you, cunt seizing around absolutely nothing, a rush of slick coming forth so aggressively you feel it drip down your thighs. Your moan turns into a shrill whine, louder than it should be in such an enclosed space. 

“That’s right, baby, that’s right,” Nick says, his own voice dropping into somewhat of a needy moan. “Come, come just for me.”

He doesn’t let you come down, not entirely, forefinger pressing itself up into your sopping entrance. 

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, head burying itself into his neck as you grip his shoulders. He pumps in and out of you, your cunt spasming around his fingers, torn between coming down and going up. You were right, his one finger is as big as almost two of yours, and it curls in practiced motions. 

“Fuck, baby,” he says, as you rut into his hand. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“It’s been—it’s been a while,” you stutter. 

“God, I know, fuck,” he says, then, without much warning, a second finger makes its way into you. You make a choked noise of surprise, which turns very quickly into a whine. He pumps faster into you, eliciting repeated high-pitched sounds from you. “Come on baby, come for me again. You can—fuck—you can do it.”

The wave of a second orgasm builds, cresting up higher than the last with the speed of Nick’s fingers and your combined arching into him, driven now by total lust. He presses his other hand’s two fingers into your mouth. 

“Suck,” he says, whispers almost. And what can you do but obey? Filled up with him in two holes, turned into a toy just for him, just for him, just for him— “That’s right baby, just for me.”

You had been moaning it around his hands, you realize, though not before you’re hit with another wave of ecstasy, coming a second, harder time around his fingers, more wet than you think you’ve ever been before. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, kissing you with complete desperation. 

“What a good little fucking slut,” he says, separating you both, pulling, with another sound of your displeasure, from your cunt. Nick’s eyes locked into yours he puts his hand, dripping with your cum, into his own mouth. Like an addict taking his first hit in a good, long while, he moans. “Taste so fucking good.”

Your facial expression must tell him of your total desperation, but you lean in to kiss him regardless, tasting yourself on his mouth. You draw back far enough only to speak.

“Nick,” you murmur. “Please…”

He laughs, breathless and a little strained. 

“Say it, baby.”

“P-please fuck me, Nick,” you keep your voice low, pitching it just high enough. “Make me yours.”

“If you keep looking at me like that you won’t even have to ask.”

A shiver makes it way up your spine, entirely apart from any cold that might be coming from the cracked window. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifts you up along his length, pulling your panties to the side and exposing your throbbing pussy, and just as languidly he begins to push you down on him. It’s a mouth-watering pressure, even two orgasms in, barely the tip of him inside of you and you feel your cunt squirming around him. 

“Fuck, baby, fuck you—“ Nick pauses, takes a breath, keeping your body elevated above him as though it weighs nothing at all. It makes your cunt throb a second time. “You need to relax.”

“I’m—“ you have to stop yourself, your voice so very needy. “I’m trying you’re just so fucking big, Nick, and I—“

“Okay,” he says, pressing a series of kisses to your neck. “Okay. We’ll go slow.”

You sink further down onto him, helped partially by gravity and partially by Nick’s hands. You’re so fucked out already you doubt you could have managed it on your own with any sort of control. 

His cock stretches you further, and further, than you thought possible, forcing itself so very deep inside your cunt. You can’t help it, you squeeze around him. Nick freezes, you jump, and immediately you’re locking eyes with him. 

“Fuck, sorry you’re just s-so-so big—“ You’re coming, you’re coming hard and fast and you’re clutched around him like a vice and you’re moaning at the feeling of him not even half-way and Nick, you realize, is talking, but you can’t hear him over the white roar of pleasure in your ears—

“—it’s all baby needed,” he’s saying, breathing hard. “You just needed your step-brother’s big, fat cock to fuck the brat out of you. Isn’t that right, baby? Oh, fuck—”

And in one sudden, terrifying burst, he’s plunging his cock fully inside of you. 

You can’t help it, you scream. 

It’s part pleasure and part pain, and you’re not entirely sure which is making the other better, but it stops both of you in your tracks. Your head is now buried in Nick’s neck, his hands wrapped around your back. You’re trying so very hard not to clench around him again (this proves to be impossible as you come down from your orgasm) and Nick is trying so very hard not to thrust up into you (this proves impossible as you clench around him.) 

A chorus of heavy breathing and an unmistakable squelching sounds and god you’ve never been so full in your life. You’re certain he’s touching your cervix, and you’re almost convinced you can feel every one of the veins on his cock inside of you. 

“There you are,” he murmurs, carving more slow circles into your waist. “Perfect fucking fit, baby.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, only allowing a weak whimper as your cunt strains around him. 

“If I had known,” Nick says, beginning to move his hips in experimentation. “That shutting you up was this easy, I would have fucked you ages ago.”

You groan at the feel of him.

“Fuck,” you say into his shoulder, then moving away from him to look into his eyes. “Fuck, this is so fucking wrong you know that?”

Nick chuckles darkly, beginning to speed up. He runs his thumb over a now-pebbled nipple, still clothed. It allows you a chance to look down between the two of you, and there’s something delicious in both still be so covered up, as if his cock in your pussy, hidden beneath the hem of your skirt, was nothing but a dirty little secret. The feel of him, pulsing inside of you, wetness dripping from you, underwear totally ruined and stretched to one side, was just for the two of you. It sends another shudder through you, his hands grasping your ass now, the feel of his scalp beneath your fingers, the car smelling now of sex and him and cold air.

“Oh, this was wrong a week ago when you watched me fucking, you little whore,” Nick says. “This was wrong the second you wore this little fucking skirt to family dinner, the moment you climbed into my lap—“

You feel yourself clench despite rising irritation. Nick begins to ever-so-slowly roll his hips into you, punching the air from your lungs before you can rebuttal.

“Y-you’re the one-one who—“ You stop as his dick finds a particularly lovely spot inside of you. “You’re the one who a-asked me in the—fuuuck—first place!”

You try your very best to sound irritated, but you feel yourself building to yet another orgasm, excitement and desire mingling over the realization that you were going to be able to come while so full. 

“Mmm…there my fucking brat is.” Nick begins to speed up. “You think this is all me? Baby grinds their ass into my cock and expects me not to react?” 

“I did-n’t grind—“

He thrusts into you, shocking in its force and speed. 

“What the fuck did I say about listening?” 

He keeps up the new and brutal pace, suddenly jerking into you, dick punching so hard and fast, stroking everything at every angle just perfectly. It’s impossible, it’s driving you insane, and you feel yourself on the precipice of yet another orgasm, one you were already so very close to—

“Oh, baby, baby, fuck,” Nick is saying. “Fuck—just, oh Jesus fuck—“

Your cunt clenches as you cum, squeezing him as you moan into the car, your voice straining as he doesn’t slow, not even a fraction, thrusting into you with absolute abandon. You can’t take it, it’s too much, pleasure on top of pleasure as your come down is rejected and made into yet another height to climb. You’re beyond words, you’re orgasming again and Nick isn’t slowing down and he’s gripping you so tightly it almost hurts. The noises you make where your bodies connect is obscene, you feel your wetness soaking everything, you hear your own uh, uh, uh’s if not distantly. And you can’t take it. 

“Stop,” you gasp, feeling the orgasm coming, feeling entirely too sensitive as he fucks so hard into you, it’s painful, it’s the most pleasure you’ve ever felt, it’s rough, it’s exactly what you need. “Stop, stop it’s too much, Nick—“

“You’re going to fucking take,” he gasps out. “Exactly what I fucking give you.” 

He brings you down on him again and again and then again. You’ve been made into a toy for his pleasure, and he’s no longer helping your body chase its own highs, and it somehow turns you on even more. 

“Stop,” you whine, pushing against him as your pussy clenches. “Stop, stop—“

He doesn’t stop, thrusting hard and fast into you, slamming your hips against one another, fucking you into total oblivion.

“Oh, God,” you say, pushed again into an abyss of white hot pleasure. 

You’re certain it’s only Nick keeping you upright at this point, nothing but jelly in his arms. 

“Perfect little fucking slut,” he says, unwavering. “Perfect little step-sibling. Made just for me. This tight little cunt is all mine and only mine you fucking understand? Say you fucking understand.”

“I-I fuck-in-ing…ing,” you hiccup, you moan directly thereafter, you whine, “Nick, please, pleasepleaseplease—“

“That’s fucking right, baby,” he says. “Only for me. Oh, f-fuck.”

The movement of his hips lose all rhythm, pure desire taking over as he finally, finally follows you off the cliff of orgasm. 

“Paint you from the fucking inside,” he garbles. “Mark you as you fucking milk me, baby, fuck—“ 

He cums. Warm lines of it pulsing into you, you moaning at the feeling of it. There’s almost too much, mixing with your own slick, making a mess between your legs, slipping from your cunt and onto his dick. 

Then, total silence, nothing but the sound of your joint breathing, both of you boneless. Nick absentmindedly circles his thumb around the base of your spine.

After a long while, you finally say, “Oh my God.”

You move your head up, unexpectedly heavy, to look Nick in the eyes.

Unexpectedly, they’re wide, pupils still blown, but with the expression of someone just as surprised as you feel.

“Are you.” He swallows. “Okay?”

You blink several times. Are you okay? 

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, I’m just…recalibrating.”

Nick nods. Swallows again. You feel him softening in you and wonder if he’s meant to ask you to get off of him or if you’re meant to move…he calls your name. Softly. You look up. 

He brings you forward for a gentle kiss, a meeting of lips he allows you to deepen, tongue feeling teeth. 

When you pull back, though not too far, you remember. 

“You never…admitted what you said you would,” you say. 

Nick laughs. 

“I was going to say,” he says, letting his finger trace the side of your neck. “That every time I fucked the housekeeper, I would imagine you. And the only reason I started, was because I knew you wouldn’t want me.”

You bite your lip. Then his. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong.”