Chapter 2
Stiles
The shift happened the second her hand slid down the front of his jeans.
Stiles had been trying—really trying—to keep things at the level of deep, hungry kissing and the slow drag of his palm under her tank top. He'd told himself they could ease into it, that the first time crossing this line deserved patience. Then her fingers curled around the hard outline of his cock through the denim and squeezed, deliberate and greedy, and every careful plan he'd been holding onto went up in smoke.
He broke the kiss with a sharp inhale. "Jesus—"
She looked up at him from the couch cushions, lips swollen, eyes dark and glittering with something that was pure mischief and want. The same girl who'd spent years arguing with him over the remote and stealing his hoodies was staring at him like she wanted to ruin him.
"What?" she asked, voice low and breathy. "You started it. Don't get shy now."
Stiles let out a rough laugh that turned into a groan when she squeezed again. "Shy is not the word. You're—" He cut himself off as she popped the button of his jeans and dragged the zipper down. "Fuck. You're being a really naughty girl right now."
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Her eyes flashed with heat.
"Yeah?" She shoved his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free his cock. It sprang up thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and stroked once, slow, watching his face the whole time. "Then maybe you should do something about it."
Stiles's hand shot down to cover hers, not to stop her—just to feel the way she held him. "You sure? Because if you keep looking at me like that and touching me like that, I'm not going to be able to go slow."
She leaned up and licked a stripe up the side of his throat, right over his racing pulse. "I don't want slow. I want everything. I've thought about this for months. About sucking you. About you holding me down and using me. About how it would feel when you finally put it in me." Her voice dropped even softer. "I'm a virgin, Stiles. But I'm not fragile. I want it to hurt a little first. I want to feel it."
The confession hit him like a punch. His cock jerked hard in her hand.
"Christ." He cupped the back of her head and kissed her filthy—tongue deep, teeth catching her lower lip. When he pulled back he was breathing hard. "Get on your knees for me then. Show me how naughty you really are."
She scrambled off the couch without hesitation, dropping between his spread thighs on the living-room rug. The sight of her there—tank top still half-rucked up, hair messy, looking up at him with pure hunger—almost made him come on the spot. She didn't tease. She leaned in and dragged the flat of her tongue from the base of his cock all the way to the tip, collecting the precum, and then sank her mouth down around him in one wet, eager slide.
Stiles's head fell back against the couch. "Fuck—yes. Just like that."
She took him deeper on the next bob, cheeks hollowing, one hand stroking what she couldn't fit. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the quiet house. Every time she pulled up she swirled her tongue around the head like she'd been practicing in her head for weeks. When she gagged softly around him and still pushed farther, eyes watering but determined, Stiles had to grab a fistful of her hair to keep from thrusting.
"Look at you," he rasped. "Taking your brother's cock so well. Such a filthy little thing."
She moaned around him at the words, the vibration shooting straight up his spine. Spit started to slip down her chin. She didn't wipe it away. She just kept sucking, messy and greedy, like she wanted to drown in it.
Stiles let her work him for long minutes, hips twitching, until the pressure at the base of his spine got too sharp. He tugged her off with a wet pop. She was panting, lips shiny, pupils blown wide.
"My turn," he said, voice rough. "Lie back. Legs open. I want to taste you before I ruin you."
Her
She scrambled onto the couch so fast she almost tripped, yanking her sleep shorts and panties down in one motion and kicking them aside. The cool air hit her soaked cunt and made her shiver. She was dripping—had been since the first real kiss—and the knowledge that Stiles could see it only made her wetter.
He shoved her thighs wide and stared for a long second, eyes dark.
"God, look at you. So fucking wet already." He dragged two fingers through her folds, collecting the slick, then brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean. The filthy sound he made went straight to her clit. "Taste even better than I dreamed."
Then he lowered his head and put his mouth on her.
The first broad lick from her entrance up to her clit made her cry out. Stiles didn't ease her into it. He licked her like he was starving—long, firm strokes, tongue pushing inside her, then focusing on her clit with tight circles that had her hips jerking. When he sealed his lips around the swollen bud and sucked, her back arched hard off the cushions.
"Stiles—oh my god—"
He growled against her and slid one finger into her virgin hole. The stretch burned for a second, tight and new, but the wet heat of his mouth on her clit turned the burn into something deeper. He worked the finger in and out while he sucked, then added a second. The dual sensation—full and aching inside, electric on her clit—had her thighs trembling around his head.
She came harder than she ever had with her own fingers, thighs clamping around his ears, a broken moan tearing out of her throat. Stiles licked her through it, slowing only when she started to twitch from oversensitivity.
He crawled up her body, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and kissed her so she could taste herself on his tongue. His cock dragged heavy and hot against her soaked folds.
"Ready?" he asked against her lips. "It's going to hurt at first. Tell me if it's too much."
She hooked her legs around his waist and rolled her hips, smearing her wetness along his length. "I want it. Put it in me. Make it hurt."
Stiles lined up and pushed.
The head stretched her open with a sharp, burning pressure that stole her breath. She dug her nails into his shoulders and forced herself to stay open for him. He sank in another inch, then another, until he was buried halfway and she was panting through the sting.
"Fuck, you're tight," he gritted out. "So goddamn tight. Breathe for me."
She breathed. He pushed the rest of the way in with one steady thrust, bottoming out. The fullness was overwhelming—too much and perfect at the same time. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes from the stretch, but underneath the pain was a deep, throbbing heat that made her clench around him.
Stiles held still, forehead pressed to hers, giving her time. When the worst of the burn faded into a heavy ache, she rolled her hips experimentally.
"Move," she whispered. "Please. Fuck me."
He did.
He started slow—long, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her—but she kept urging him faster, harder, digging her heels into his ass. The pain melted into thick, building pleasure. Every time he bottomed out she moaned louder. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. She was so slick now that the glide was filthy, easy, perfect.
"Harder," she gasped. "I can take it. Use me."
Stiles's control snapped. He hooked her knees over his elbows, folding her open, and started pounding into her with deep, brutal thrusts. The new angle hit something that made stars burst behind her eyes. She came again with a broken cry, cunt spasming around his cock, and he fucked her straight through it without slowing down.
When he finally pulled out she was boneless and shaking, a thin trickle of her own slick and a faint smear of blood on her thighs. Stiles looked down at the mess and groaned.
"Not done with you yet." He flipped her onto her stomach like she weighed nothing, yanked her hips up, and spread her cheeks. "You said you wanted everything. I'm taking your ass too."
She pushed back into his hands without hesitation, face pressed to the cushion, heart hammering. "Yes. Do it. Stretch me open."
He spat on her tight hole, rubbed the wetness around with his thumb, then pressed the slick head of his cock against it. The pressure was intense—sharper than her cunt had been. She forced herself to relax as he pushed. The head popped inside with a burn that made her cry out, but she didn't pull away. She shoved back, taking more.
Stiles groaned long and low as he sank into her ass inch by inch. "Fucking hell. Your ass is even tighter. Taking me so well, baby. Such a good, filthy girl for me."
When he was fully seated he gave her a moment, then started to move. Short, careful strokes at first, then longer, deeper ones as her body adjusted. The fullness was overwhelming in a completely different way—deeper, dirtier. Every thrust punched soft, punched-out sounds from her throat. She reached back and spread herself wider for him, wordless encouragement.
Stiles took the invitation. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and started truly pounding her ass, the wet, filthy sounds of it echoing through the living room. She came again from the sheer intensity of it, clenching hard around his cock, and the rhythmic squeeze dragged him over the edge with her. He buried himself to the hilt and came with a guttural moan, flooding her ass with hot pulses of cum.
They stayed locked together for long seconds, both shaking. Eventually Stiles eased out carefully. She felt the slow drip of his release down her thigh and shivered with pure, exhausted satisfaction.
He collapsed beside her on the couch and pulled her half on top of him, still breathing hard. His hand stroked down her back, gentler now.
"You okay?" he asked against her hair.
She turned her face into his neck and bit him lightly, then soothed it with her tongue. "Better than okay. We're doing that again. A lot. I want you to use every hole whenever you want."
Stiles's laugh was wrecked and fond. "My filthy, perfect girl." He kissed the top of her head. "We're just getting started."
Outside, the afternoon had slipped into early evening. Inside, the only sounds left were their slowing breaths and the quiet, satisfied shift of two bodies that had finally stopped pretending.