Chapter 31: resolve
The silence in the house over the next two days was a thick, heavy thing. Garrett avoided Katy, moving from his room to the kitchen and back with a soldier’s precision, his gaze fixed on some point in the middle distance. He could still feel the ghost of her skin against his, the humid heat of her breath on his neck. Every casual brush of his own clothing felt like a mockery.
Katy, for her part, was a study in casual provocation. She wore a silk chemise so thin it did little more than tint her skin a pale peach as she made coffee. She’d bend over the fridge, the fabric pulling taut across her ass, and hum a low, tuneless song. She was a siren, and he was lashed to the mast, straining against the ropes.
On the third night, the tension became a physical presence, a third occupant in the house. Garrett lay in bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. He was hard again, a constant, aching state of being since she’d arrived. He fought it, clenching his fists, staring at the ceiling until his eyes burned. But the memory of her on her knees, the look in her eyes, was too much.
With a grunt of self-loathing, he reached for the nightstand. The lube was cool in his hand. He slicked up the silicone sleeve, his movements rough, angry. He just needed to take the edge off, to purge this need from his body so he could think straight. He pushed into the fake, tight channel, his jaw clenched. It was a pathetic imitation, and his body knew it. He pumped his fist, the wet, rhythmic sound loud in the quiet room. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the sensation, to just get it over with.
He didn’t hear the door open.
The first thing he felt was the dip of the mattress behind him. Then, the warmth of a body pressing against his back. A soft, smooth arm slid around his waist. He froze, his hand still wrapped around the toy, his entire body going rigid.
Her lips were at his ear, her breath a hot whisper. “I can feel how much you want this.”
Her other hand joined the first, her fingers closing over his, still on the toy. She didn’t pull it away. She moved with him, her grip firm, guiding his strokes, making him fuck the silicone while she pressed against him. Her naked breasts were soft and heavy against his back.
“I can feel it in the air,” she murmured, her voice a low, hypnotic thrum. “You’re about to snap, Garrett. Let me help you.”
She released his hand and the toy. In one fluid motion, she shifted. Her hand slid down his stomach, through the coarse hair, and her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, displacing the silicone with a wet, slick sound. Her grip was different. Softer, yet more certain. Her thumb swiped over the leaking tip, smearing the moisture, and a shudder wracked his entire frame.
“See?” she whispered. “So much better.”
He was lost. The last of his resistance crumbled into dust. A broken, guttural sound tore from his throat. He rolled over, onto his back, his eyes wild, desperate. He looked at her, really looked at her, kneeling beside him on the bed, completely naked, her blonde hair a messy halo in the dim light. Her expression was one of pure, victorious hunger.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word a surrender.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
He reached for her, his hands rough on her hips, pulling her on top of him. She came willingly, straddling his waist, her knees pressing into his sides. She leaned forward, her large, perfect breasts swaying, and captured his mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. It wasn’t gentle. It was a clash of teeth and tongue, a frantic meeting of pent-up need. He could taste her, a hint of wine and something uniquely Katy.
She broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “I want to feel you,” she panted, her eyes locked on his. “All of you. I’m so fucking empty, Garrett. Fill me up.”
She rose up on her knees, her hand guiding him. The swollen, slick head of his cock pressed against her entrance. She was hot, impossibly so, even through that first, tentative contact. He groaned, his hands gripping her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
She sank down.
It was a slow, inexorable slide, a tight, wet heat enveloping him inch by excruciating inch. Her head fell back, a sharp cry escaping her lips as she took him all, until he was buried to the hilt inside her. She felt incredible. A thousand times better than the memory, a million times better than the toy. She was alive, and clenching around him, and she was his cousin, and none of it mattered except the feeling of being inside her.
“Oh, god,” he groaned, his eyes rolling back for a second.
“Fuck,” she gasped, her body adjusting. “You’re so deep.”
She began to move, a slow, rolling grind of her hips that made him see stars. He thrust up to meet her, his own hips rising off the bed. The pace quickened, the quiet room filling with the wet, slapping sounds of their bodies joining, their ragged breaths, and the creak of the bedsprings.
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice tight. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me.”
He obeyed, flipping them over in one powerful motion, pinning her beneath him. He drove into her, again and again, each thrust a punctuation mark in their twisted story. Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in, pulling him deeper. Her nails scored his back, sharp, stinging lines of pleasure-pain.
“You like this, don’t you?” she taunted, her eyes glazed. “You like fucking your cousin.”
He didn’t answer with words. He answered with his body, pounding into her with a ferocity that stole her breath. The obscenity of her words, the raw truth of them, only fueled the fire. He was animal. She was heaven and hell.
He could feel the climax building, a tidal wave of sensation gathering in his balls, coiling up his spine. Her own cries became higher, more frantic. Her inner muscles fluttered around him, a frantic, rhythmic pulsing.
“I’m gonna come,” he grunted, the words ripped from him.
“Do it,” she gasped, her body arching violently. “Come inside me, Garrett. Fill my fucking pussy.”
It was the final permission, the last taboo shattered. With a roar that was half agony, half ecstasy, he plunged into her one last time and erupted. Hot, wet pulses shot deep inside her as his body convulsed. She clenched around him, milking him, her own climax a silent, screaming thing that made her back bow off the bed.
He collapsed on top of her, spent, his heart hammering against her chest. The smell of sex, sweat, and her perfume filled his lungs. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing slowly returning to normal.
He rolled off her, onto his back, staring at the ceiling once more. But everything was different now. The air had changed. The world had shifted on its axis.
Katy turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand. She looked down at him, her expression unreadable. She traced a finger through the sweat on his chest.
“See?” she said, her voice soft, hoarse. “Was that so bad?”
He didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes, the weight of what they’d done settling over him like a shroud. It wasn’t bad. It was the best he’d ever felt. And that was the problem.
And that was the problem. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with the smell of their sweat and sex. Garrett’s mind, finally clear of the blinding need, began to tally the cost. Each beat of his heart against his ribs felt like an accusation. He stared at the faint crack in the ceiling plaster, a flaw he’d known since childhood, now a witness to his corruption.
Katy’s finger, still tracing lazy patterns on his damp chest, felt like a brand. “You’re thinking too loud,” she murmured, her voice raspy from use.
He didn’t look at her. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
“But we did.” Her hand flattened over his heart, feeling its frantic rhythm. “And you came harder than you ever have in your life. I felt it.” She shifted, the movement making the bed dip, and swung a leg over his hips, straddling him again. He was still soft, spent, but the weight of her, the possessive claim of her posture, made him flinch.
“Get off, Katy.”
“No.” She leaned forward, her large breasts pressing against his chest, her face inches from his. Her eyes were no longer glazed with pleasure but sharp, calculating. “You don’t get to shut down now. You don’t get to feel guilty after you’ve already blown your load inside me.”
He tried to push her off, but his arms felt like lead. Shame had made him weak. “It’s wrong.”
“It felt wrong?” She laughed, a low, ugly sound. “It felt so wrong when you were fucking into me like a madman? When you were groaning my name?” Her hand slid down his stomach, her fingers closing around his softening cock. He tensed, a fresh wave of horror washing over him as he felt a treacherous flicker of response. “See? Your body knows it’s not wrong. Your body is smarter than you are.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not done with you.” Her grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to claim. She began to stroke him, slow and deliberate, her eyes locked on his. “I waited. I teased. I watched you run from this. I’m not letting you run now.” Her other hand pinched his nipple, hard, and the sharp pain mixed with the building pleasure made him gasp. “This is mine now. You understand? You don’t get to decide when this is over.”
He was hardening in her hand, a traitor to his own conscience. The sight of her above him, blonde hair tangled, lips swollen from his kisses, a predatory gleam in her eyes, was undoing him all over again. The memory of the pocket pussy, of his own pathetic, lonely release, made this feel inevitable. Damning.
“You’re a sick fuck,” he breathed, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.
“And you’re my sick fuck,” she whispered, aligning herself over him. She was still wet from their first round, slick and ready. She didn’t ask. She lowered herself onto him, taking him back inside her warmth in one slow, excruciatingly intimate slide. He was fully hard again, trapped by her body and her will.
She began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm designed to torture. “This is what you really wanted when you were hiding in here with that stupid toy. This is what you were thinking about when you watched me in the shower.” Her voice was a hypnotic chant. “You wanted to be inside your cousin’s cunt. Admit it.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, but it only intensified the sensation. Her internal muscles clenched around him, a practiced, milking pressure. “Katy…”
“Say it.” She leaned down, her breath hot in his ear. “Tell me you wanted to fuck your cousin’s tight little pussy.”
A strangled groan was his only answer. His hands came up to her hips, not to push her away, but to grip her, to anchor himself in this freefall.
“Say it, Garrett, or I’ll get off and you can finish with your hand like the coward you were.” She stopped moving, hovering over him, filled with him but giving him nothing.
The threat was more than he could bear. The emptiness, the return to that solitary existence, was a terrifying prospect. “I wanted it,” he gritted out, the words tearing something inside him. “I wanted to fuck you.”
“Whose pussy is this?” she demanded, rocking against him once, hard.
“Yours.”
“And who does it belong to right now?” Her voice dropped to a filthy whisper. “Who’s inside your cunt, Garrett?”
The obscenity was a lightning strike. “Me,” he groaned, his composure shattering. “I’m inside you.” His hips bucked upward, taking control, driving into her with a renewed, desperate fury. The confession had broken a dam, and now there was only the primal, pounding need. He rolled her over, pinning her beneath him, the animal she’d unleashed finally taking full command.
He drove into her, again and again, the headboard slamming against the wall. Her cries were sharp, encouraging, her legs locking around his back. “Yes! Just like that! Fuck me! Fuck your cousin’s dirty, wet pussy!”
He was lost in a haze of sweat and skin and the overwhelming rightness of the wrongness. His climax built faster this time, a brutal, mounting pressure. “I’m gonna come again,” he grunted, his voice raw.
“Do it,” she gasped, her eyes wild, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Fill me up again. I want to feel it.”
With a final, deep thrust that buried him to the hilt, he erupted, a hot, pulsing flood that seemed to have no end. She clenched around him, her own body convulsing in a silent, shaking peak, her internal flutters drawing every last drop from him.
He collapsed, his weight fully on her, but she didn’t push him away. Her hands moved to his hair, stroking it almost gently as they both struggled for air. The room was silent except for their ragged breaths. The war was over. She had won.
He lay heavy upon her, the sweat cooling between their bodies, his breath a ragged tide in her ear. The room smelled of sex and salt and the faint, floral scent of her shampoo from the shower that started it all. Her fingers, still tangled in his damp hair, traced slow circles on his scalp.
A long minute passed, filled only with the slowing drumbeat of their hearts. Then, her voice cut through the silence, a low, intimate murmur that vibrated against his cheek. "I can still feel you inside me," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. "I can feel your come leaking out of my pussy, Garrett."
He flinched as if struck, the crude words a stark contrast to the gentle touch of her hands. A fresh wave of heat, part shame and part renewed desire, washed over him. He tried to push himself up, to create some distance from the reality of what they’d done, but her legs tightened around his waist, holding him prisoner.
"Don't," she said, her voice losing its softness, becoming a command. "You don't get to hide from it now." Her hand slid from his hair down to the small of his back, pressing him down harder against her, making him acutely aware of his softening cock still nestled within her. "It's already there. It's inside me."
He turned his head, his blue eyes finally meeting hers. They were wide, clouded with a turmoil she seemed to relish. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"Because you wanted me to," she replied simply, her gaze unwavering. "You begged for it with every fucking look, every time you ran away from me. That toy in the drawer was just you pretending." Her hips shifted minutely beneath him, a subtle, taunting reminder. "This is real."
His jaw tightened. The memory of the silicone sleeve, of his own lonely, frantic motions, felt pathetic and distant. This was different. This was a conquest. Her thumb stroked the damp skin of his back, a strangely tender gesture that felt more possessive than comforting.
"Look at me," she whispered again, her voice dropping, pulling his focus back to her face, to the sharp intelligence in her eyes. "You’re mine now. You know that, right?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The way his body responded to her words, a faint, traitorous throb deep within her, was answer enough. She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. She had won more than just his body; she had carved a space in his resistance and planted her flag there.
"Good," she breathed, her whisper final and absolute.