Maybe that was what lust was to her—a deep, dark ocean just waiting to swallow her up. Maybe I was the shark circling her little raft, and she’d been chumming the waters with her creamy thighs, her raven hair, but most of all, those smoking-hot lips of hers.

Whenever she wrapped ‘em around a straw and puckered, I damn near saw God. They were so full, so succulent, like ripe peach flesh just dying for me to take a bite. She’d sweep her tongue across them every so often, a little pink dart of motion that always drew my attention, always beckoned me to steal a glance at her big, innocent brown eyes and sultry pout.

She was sex on two very long legs, and she didn’t even know it. She was also my stepsister.

And that was exactly why I had to get inside her.

It took months. Months of teasing. Months of half-joking innuendos and smoldering glares as I passed her in the halls of the house we both shared. Ever since my father had married her whore mother, Iris and I had been trapped together like two animals in the same cage. Proximity could be dangerous, and I was going to make damn sure Iris felt every ounce of the danger she was in the longer she shared my cage.

I was leaving soon. I was headed to Harvard at twenty-one, young, dumb, and full of cum, but also a goddamn genius. That was what everyone had always called me, anyway. Especially my mom, the saint of a woman my father had promptly forgotten all about the moment he caught sight of Ms. Evelyn Walker.

Call me Evie, she’d said the first time we’d met, when my father brought her to the same house Mom died in and wanted me to shake this strange woman—this homewrecker’s hand. Call me Evie. Yeah, right. Like I was ever gonna call her anything other than Evelyn, the Harpy, Evelyn, the Interloper, Evelyn, the Bitch Who Stuck Her Nose Where It Didn’t Belong.

How Iris had come out of that was beyond me. Kellan, too, her little brother—thirteen and all smiles and smart as a whip—he was a good kid. He was always looking at me, watching what I did. I liked basketball, so now he’d started to play. I was good at Call of Duty, so he’d begged his mom to get him the game so he could be just as good as me. I tried to set a good example for him, praising his good grades and making a big deal out of how great it was to go to medical school. “Don’t let any assholes ever tell you A’s are for nerds,” I’d say, and he’d nod, eyes bright as I helped him with his homework. That kid was going places, and I wanted to make sure he had someone he could look to for how to get there.

Which was why I kind of felt bad about leading my stepsister on.

Because what I told her was that it was love. That I couldn’t get her off my mind in a romantic sort of way. That ever since I’d lain eyes on my eighteen-year-old stepsister with the body of a twenty-five-year-old supermodel, I’d been smitten.

And poor Iris, with her stuffed teddies and her never-been-touched, blushing cheeks—she’d believed me. She’d bought the fantasy I was selling. Hook, line, and sinker.

But it was for the greater good. I just couldn’t tell her that.

Not then, when she’d looked at me with wide eyes and her heart in her throat, telling me she was a virgin and to take it slow, and we’d fumbled with each other’s clothes and knocked teeth when we kissed.

And not now, either, with her up on the kitchen counter, her legs spread, toned thighs quivering, her bikini bottom on the floor and her tits pulled out of her top.

“Slade, wait… I’m a virgin,” she’d said two months ago.

Today, all she said was, “Hurry up and cum for me, Slade, before Mom and Dad get home.”

I pushed up inside her in one long, pulsating stroke, perfectly content to take my time. Iris was more than just a hot body now. She’d learned a lot in the past couple months, and I’d learned that I was a damn good teacher. I’d seen her plump lips wrapped around my tip more times than I could count, and now when I plunged to fruition inside of her, she knew how to roll those hips and make me groan.

She was doing that now, urging me to finish, to leave all evidence of our forbidden lust inside her. Sweet, innocent Iris was on birth control now—I’d convinced her it was easier for both of us that way. No condoms to hide. Just my stepsister strutting around with a warm, creamy center.

That thought alone almost made me pop. Christ, I had to chill. I had to make it last. Because if everything went according to plan, then this would be the last time I got to fuck her.

Goddamn, some part of me was gonna miss this.

“I’m almost there,” I assured her through gritted teeth, leaning back a little to watch my dick speed in and out of her. I was covered in her desire. Iris had a hair-trigger, and she’d already gotten off multiple times, soaking the counter and me in the process. When my tip left the clinging wetness of her core, it made this popping sound I just couldn’t resist. Normally I’d have lost it right then and there, but the way my stepsister was digging her nails into my chest was killing me.

“Watch the tattoos,” I whispered. They were new and they were sore, and when Iris grasped them, they burned like hellfire. Which, given what we were doing, was awfully fitting.

“Sorry,” she moaned, leaning her head back so the damp curtain of her hair tumbled down her shoulders. I kissed the swan-like curve of her throat and she panted for me, her tits bouncing with the effort. Keep it cool, Slade. You can’t finish yet. Still got a few minutes…

“You’re close, Slade. I can feel it.” I drew back and her gaze met mine, hazy from her most recent orgasm. Her lips were swollen too, puffy and red, first from sucking my cock, then from my mouth on hers, stifling her moans and screams. “Cum inside me, baby. Please. Someone’s gonna catch us…”

Of course they are. That’s the point, Iris. But if she’d known that—if she knew this was all just a way to piss off my dad and put my brand new stepmom in her place—she never would’ve let me inside her. And that would’ve been a shame, because then I wouldn’t have known that turning a virgin into a succubus was a very worthwhile pursuit.

I couldn’t tell her the plan. Instead, I reached down between us and jiggled my thumb against that little bud I knew would send her over the edge again in no time.

Iris’ eyes widened. Her breath caught. “Oh, Slade. I can’t take it…” She raked her nails over me again and I just barely twitched out of range before she drew blood from my tattoo again. “I’m gonna…”

“Scream,” I told her, pumping in harder, faster, pushing her limits as well as my own. God, she was tight, and the way she writhed all over me was making my toes curl. “It’s our last time together, Iris. At least, for a while. I wanna hear you, baby. C’mon.” I turned the movement of my thumb into something more urgent, a tapping that made her wail. “That’s it. Louder, Iris. Scream for big brother.”

Yeah, that was nasty. But isn’t all sex, at twenty-one? And anyway, it worked. Shamefully, it turned us both on.

Iris began to shriek, spreading her legs wider to take the pounding I inflicted. She’d forgotten all about our parents, about what we were doing, about where we were doing it. She forgot how bold we were and how we were damn near out in the open. I could see it in her eyes when she looked up at me, her teeth embedded so deep into her lip that she’d broken the skin: all Iris Walker was thinking about, right at that moment, was cumming on my cock.

Shit, I was thinking about it, too.

Right up until the moment the pool house door opened.

The sounds that followed are ones I’ll never forget. The high-pitched cry of Iris helplessly surrendering to her orgasm, almost drowning out the sharp click of the doorknob turning. Then the little whine of the hinges as the door swung in, flooding the room with daylight and a single shadow, one that looked an awful lot like my dad’s.