Fucks her

The admission sent a jolt through him. His fingers tightened in her hair, forcing her gaze up to meet his.

John’s grip on her hair didn’t loosen as he stood, dragging Caitlin up with him. A whimper escaped her lips, but her pupils were blown wide, her breath ragged with anticipation. In one sharp motion, he hauled her onto the bed, her body bouncing against the tangled sheets still damp from his earlier conquest.

Her shirt tore easily in his hands, the fabric splitting with a sharp rip as he bared her lace-clad chest. Caitlin arched beneath him, not in protest but in offering, her nails digging into his forearms as he wrenched the remnants of her clothes away.

John’s hips slammed into her without warning, the brutal thrust forcing a choked cry from Caitlin’s throat as he buried himself to the hilt. Her back arched off the bed, fingers scrambling at the sheets as he set a punishing rhythm—each snap of his pelvis carving her open, raw and unrelenting. The wet slap of skin echoed through the room, mingling with her gasping whimpers, every drag of his cock sparking white-hot friction.

Caitlin’s body jerked with each brutal thrust, her breath hitching in ragged sobs—yet her fingers clawed at his hips, pulling him deeper. “Please,” she gasped, her voice breaking, “don’t stop—fuck—” The plea dissolved into a moan as he pistoned into her, the slap of skin growing louder, wetter. Tears streaked her cheeks, but her legs locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back.

John’s breath came in ragged bursts, his fingers digging bruises into Caitlin’s hips as he drove into her with merciless precision. Her body arched beneath him, every nerve alight with the brutal friction of his cock splitting her open. A choked sob tore from her throat, but her nails only raked down his back, urging him deeper, harder—like she was addicted to the pain he carved into her.

The air reeked of sweat and sex, the mattress groaning beneath their tangled limbs as he fucked her with the same detached cruelty he’d shown the others.

John’s laugh was a low, cruel sound as Caitlin’s nails bit into his shoulders, her body writhing beneath him—not to escape, but to take more. “You really are sick, aren’t you?” he taunted, dragging his teeth over her collarbone as his hips pistoned harder, each thrust punching a broken moan from her lips. Her thighs trembled, slick with sweat and arousal, her heels locking behind his back to pull him deeper.

John’s lips curled into a vicious smirk as he pinned Caitlin’s wrists above her head, his thrusts turning slow and deliberate—each one a cruel punctuation to his words. “That’s right, scream for me, stepsister,” he growled, relishing the way her body clenched around him in response. “You love this, don’t you?