Not a soreness. More of a longing. I wanted more. Xavier, my stepbrother, had just fucked me in the backseat of a limo, and already I couldn’t get enough. Did I like it? Yes. Did I want it to happen again? Yes. Was this part of the plan? Not at all. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be fake. Like in the movies. He wasn’t supposed to give two shits about me, and I wasn’t supposed to be daydreaming about his cock at all hours of the night. I woke up the next morning to find Xavier passed out in bed next to me, fragments of the night before starting to play in my mind as I realized we’d fucked not once, not twice, but a total of three times the night before. It was as if we’d unleashed years of pent up sexual frustration into one, champagne-fueled night of guilty and forbidden pleasure. I pulled my phone off the charger.
