The room was wrapped in shadows, thick and heavy like velvet curtains closing over a forgotten stage. Moonlight spilled through the half-open blinds, casting silver slashes across the sheets and bare skin. Dust hung in the air like suspended breath, caught in the light. The room was silent, save for the sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing and the wet, obscene slap of skin meeting skin.
If you squinted, you could make out a woman, her legs parted in a deep V, her body trembling beneath the force of each thrust. Her hands clawed at the mattress, knuckles white, mouth open in a silent moan. Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, catching glints of moonlight, cascading like silk down her shoulders.
Between her thighs, I stood—hips driving forward in sharp, brutal motions. Sweat dripped from my brow, sliding down the curve of my cheek, down my throat, into the hollow of my chest. My body moved with a primal rhythm I couldn't stop, a rhythm that felt carved into my bones.
Her name was Isabel.
My stepmother's cousin.
She was thirty-nine, curvaceous, beautiful, and utterly off-limits. But tonight, she was mine.
Her body responded to mine with a desperation that mirrored my own. Her moans were broken, gasped into the air like confessions. Every time I buried myself deep inside her, her hips rose to meet mine, as if her body was chasing the impact.
"Oh god—John," she gasped, her voice cracking. "Don't stop… please…"
I didn't. I couldn't. The sigil on my chest pulsed with heat, like a second heartbeat—demanding, hungry. Each thrust wasn't just lust—it was survival. I wasn't making love. I was buying time.
I leaned forward, pinning her wrists above her head. The shift in angle made her cry out, her walls gripping me tighter. I could feel every pulse, every slick clench of her body. I lowered my mouth to her neck, kissing, biting, tasting the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her skin.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into the backs of my thighs. Her breathing turned into soft sobs of pleasure as I drove into her with relentless precision.
Then, I slowed.
Pulled out until just the head remained, feeling her body flutter, twitch, need.
She whimpered, eyes fluttering open. "Why'd you stop?"
I smiled—half-wicked, half-lost—and kissed her lips softly. "We're not done. Not even close."
I shifted us, pulling her up and turning her onto her stomach. She gasped as I guided her knees beneath her, arching her back, raising her ass into the air. I dragged my fingers slowly down her spine, watching her shiver beneath my touch.
"You're trembling," I said.
"I… I've never… like this…"
I guided myself back inside her slowly, groaning as her walls welcomed me again. The angle was new—deeper, tighter. She cried out, her hands gripping the pillow beneath her as I began to thrust again.
My hands gripped her hips as I pounded into her from behind, watching the ripple of impact with every collision. Her body quivered beneath me, each motion sending shockwaves through her.
The air was thick with heat, sweat dripping onto her back, our breath loud and ragged. Her voice was hoarse now, a broken whisper repeating my name like a chant.
Then I slowed again.
I leaned down, pressing my chest to her back, wrapping an arm around her waist. My other hand found her breast, squeezing gently, teasing her nipple between my fingers.
"You're perfect," I whispered into her ear.
She turned her head, our lips brushing. "John... I shouldn't want this. But I do. I do so badly."
I kissed her again, slow and deep.
Then I flipped her once more—this time onto her side.
Spooning her, I slid into her again, this time slowly, deeply, with a tenderness that made her eyes shine with something more than lust. Our fingers interlocked. Her breath hitched as I moved inside her at a deliberate, teasing pace.
She clutched my hand, whispered my name, and arched her hips back against me.
We moved like that for long minutes—soft, rhythmic, emotional. Her body molded against mine, our sweat-slick skin sliding with every motion. Her moans were quieter now, almost reverent.
"I've never felt this full," she whispered. "Never this alive."
The words hit me like a fist in the chest.
I was supposed to be the one clinging to life.
And yet here she was, unraveling in my arms, like I was giving her a reason to breathe.
I shifted once more, pulling her on top of me.
She straddled my hips, her body bathed in moonlight, every curve glowing. Her breasts bounced with each motion as she rode me, her hands on my chest, her hair falling like a curtain around her flushed face.
I stared up at her in awe.
She looked divine—wicked and beautiful and broken in all the right ways.
Our eyes met. She bit her lip, slowing down to grind her hips in circles, drawing moans from both of us.
I grabbed her hips, guiding her, matching her pace, feeling her tighten with every rotation.
"I'm close," she whispered.
"Let go," I said, sitting up, capturing a nipple in my mouth, sucking gently.
She cried out, her walls clenching violently.
Her climax hit her like a storm—her body tensed, back arched, hands clawing into my shoulders as she screamed my name into the dark.
That was all I needed.
I came with her, my vision going white, the pulse of the sigil flaring against my chest as I emptied myself inside her.
We collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and soft, trembling breath.
She curled into me, resting her cheek against my chest.
Outside, the moon began to sink.
Inside, everything had changed.
And deep within me, the system purred its satisfaction.
The countdown had reset.
...72 hours ago....