#King Of Sin AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wanderingpages · 11 months ago

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‧͙⁺˚･༓☾Gentle Sins AU☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

“Are you going to help me take my clothes off too?” I meant it to sound teasing – I wanted to show him I could play his game too – but I was breathless, I was buzzing with anticipation.

“You know it wouldn’t end there, Jude,” he gave me a wry look. “It's a shame,” he rose and ruffled my hair, “It's a shame you’re my sister,” he murmured, needlessly reminding me. “Because that was some damn fine pussy, baby.”

TFOTA // All Human // AU : Jude and Cardan do things step-siblings shouldn't do.

Trigger Warnings: Crude language, Allusions to Drugs/Alcohol, Debauching Catholicism/Religious Metaphors, Taboo Sex.

Only God and @headcannonxgalore knows how many times I rewrote this one.

Jude's POV

I stand on my tiptoes, both feet perched on the back of my armchair, strategically positioned against the wall closest to the doorway. Holding my breath, I delicately place the wire right above the door frame. "Uh huh," I mumble in response to Fand's voice emanating from the speakerphone, feeling beads of sweat forming at the back of my neck. A sigh of relief escapes when the fairy lights finally find their place on the nail I had carefully tacked there earlier. Stepping down, I survey the room, content with the new decor I've added today. Admittedly, it was done as a way to create an excuse to stay in my room and avoid the rest of my family, but as I take in the rest of the scene, I can't help but feel pretty accomplished.

Suddenly, there’s a tap on my window. My brows furrow when I turn and spot Cardan standing on the roof, waiting patiently for me. He breathes against the glass before writing “Hi” and drawing a little smiley face in the fog. I let out a snort, despite myself, forgetting about my cell still running a call on my dresser.

“Jude?” Fand questions.

“Um, Fand, I’ll call you back in a bit, okay?” I hardly hear her answer as I end the call, tossing the phone on the bed. I walk over to the window and pull it up. I rest my elbows on the sill, watching amused as Cardan squats down to be leveled with me.

He tugs the end of my braid, grinning, “Can I come in?”

I pretend to think, “What’s in it for me?”

“Anything you want, princess.” His eyes glimmer in the moonlight. He leans in closer and I can smell cinnamon gum on his breath. “Please,” he pleads, “It’s cold out here, Jude.” My mouth tingles at the barely there brush of his against mine. My tongue darts out, wetting my lips and I take a tentative step back for him to maneuver in. The chilled air also seems to follow him in, making goosebumps prick at my skin. I resist the urge to cover myself and take a few steps back until the back of my knees hit my bed. I take a seat, finding the koala I had thrown from my chair and bring it onto my lap, digging my fingers into its fur.

He sits on the ledge, obscuring most of the cool air from directly hitting me. He nods his head to my phone, curiously, “Who was that?”

I shrug, following his line of sight in time to see a message come through from Fand. I swipe it away, glancing at the time reading well after midnight. “A friend.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that song before,” Cardan teases. He brings his tongue to the back of his teeth, and to my annoyance, begins a series of ‘la-la-la’s’ in tune with the chorus of Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend.”

“She is,” I insist. Contrary to what my stepmother may think of me being this lonesome child, I did have a few friends in high school and Fand was by far the closest. We kept in touch throughout our first semester, and met up a handful of times since I’ve been back. But, despite that, despite the hour long conversation I just ended with her, I’ve been feeling like a stranger.

I give my stepbrother an inquiring look, wondering why he’s so far away and why we’re both acting so coy. I run the nail of my forefinger over my thumb, jolting when I snag a scabbed over bruise. Absently, I bring the scored finger to my mouth as I take him in. He looks flushed, undoing the scarf around his neck before running his fingers through his dark, windblown tresses. A silver pendant glints against his black shirt – a small double cross pendant on a roll chain. I rub my hand over my cheek and raise my brow in question. He grins when he catches my eyes and asks, “How was your run this morning?”

“My run?” I repeat, miffed. I’m partially dazed, entranced by how stark he looks against the backdrop of my very bright room; donned with a dark pair of jeans, laced up boots and what looks like a dark sherpa lined coat only enhanced by the crème colored walls and fairy lights strewn up – along with fake greenery and miscellaneous photos hooked in between – at the far corner of my room.

He turns, taking in the new decor and taps a photo closest to him, musing lightly, “When did you put this up?”

“A few hours ago,” I admit. “Have you always been partial to the color black?”

“I’m more of a gold guy,” he says, scrunching his nose in a way I can’t help but find almost cute. His nose ring shines when he tilts his head just right, and for the first time since I’ve known Cardan Greenbriar, I feel quite shabby in comparison. My pajama pants are fuzzy and juvenile with its cow printed pattern, and the large gray shirt I have on does nothing to help accentuate my body. “You didn’t even kiss me goodbye,” he brings back the conversation, almost pouting at me.

“Kiss you goodbye,” I repeat dryly. I grip the koala a little tighter. “Sorry?” I offer, a moment later and he shrugs absently. “Where’d you go? Today, I mean. You were gone when I came back,” I point out, aware of how suddenly I'm the one with the accusatory tone.

He looks at me carefully when he answers, “A friend asked for some help. She’s moving furniture around.”

“She?” It comes out before I can stop myself. Him asking about Fand felt so light compared to the dread I feel asking about his friend.

He rests his head back against the window and watches me, slightly amused. “Mmhmm,” he hums and assures me, “no one to be worried about though, little sister.” His lips tilt up and I throw the teddy at him. He catches it in one hand, then brings it close to him for a cuddle. I'm all too aware of how empty and exposed I feel without it as armor.

“That’s not what I was getting at,” I mumble. My stomach churns, feeling a rush of complicated emotions twisting deep within me. Jealousy, I can admit to myself, and a pitiful type of envy as I watch the beady eyes of my stuffed animal he holds so tenderly. I play with the tips of my hair, fiddling with the elastic that holds the tight braid together. It’s a little too tight, and maybe that’s why my skull is pounding right now. “Why did you come through the window, by the way? I’m sure our parents don’t care about a curfew for you.” If I sound bitter about that, he decidedly ignores it.

"Have you considered that maybe, I just like the thrill of things," he says playfully, his eyes holding something daring and challenging within them. A wicked grin curls onto his lips and I let out a huff of air, trying not to think back on all his thrilling ideas before. A tingle crawls up my spine, unpleasantly. This time I don’t ignore the shiver and I cross my arms over my chest.

I roll my eyes, “Okay, you adrenaline junkie, can you close the window now? Pneumonia isn’t very thrilling, so to speak.”

He instead places the koala on the bookshelf and moves to come closer to me, though he pauses when I give his boots a pointed look. He retracts, settling back against the window, instead of undoing his laces like I thought he would. “Come here, first,” he barters. I blink in hesitation, and while I try to remain seated, my feet lead me to him anyway. I roll my eyes, annoyed with myself, wondering if I’d bark, too, if he told me to get on all fours for him.

I toe at his boot when we’re close together, staring down at the chipped polish on my nails against his scuffed leather. I’m avoiding his gaze because it’s so damn bright in my room that I know if I meet his eyes, I’ll find that his dark irises are not black as midnight, but a deep brown with tiny, lighter flecks of amber around the edges. I’ll get lost in them like I shouldn’t, fall just a little deeper, maybe, forget that this is a game and fold. He tilts my chin up and my heart’s nearly steady rhythm skyrockets as soon as my gaze falls on his lips. “Hi,” I say, quietly.

“Jude,” Cardan says just as breathlessly, and it catches me off guard at first. My name sounds like sin…like desire, when he says it, and as I place my fingers over his chest, I wonder if the devil has ever called out a saint’s name so enticingly. ‘Eve,’ the snake whispered, ‘bite the apple’ must be tantamount to ‘Jude, ride my fingers.’ His lips twitch, a lone finger tracing pink in my cheek, and he asks, “What are you thinking?”

I don't answer. I reach for the cross dangling from his neck, testing the weight on the tip of my finger. It’s heavier than most pendants its size, and when I flip it over, I’m not surprised to see the letters ‘c’ and ‘h’ embossed on it. I want to twist the chain around my fingers until it purples my skin, until it embeds in his flesh, until he struggles for breath – maybe then he’ll feel an ounce of what I feel when I'm this close to him. I trace up the chain, following it to where his skin is flushed from the weather. I find a bruising mark along the juncture of his neck. I bite my tongue, embarrassed to know that I was the one who left it there. I finger it lightly and he shudders, to my surprise. His lashes flutter and his lips part.

Astounded, I trace the mark again and watch, enthralled as he sucks in a breath. His heated hand grasps my iced one, removing it from his skin. He squeezes it lightly, thawing my fingers before letting them go. My hands then move to his hips, creeping towards his back, sneaking into the warmth of his jacket. Cardan’s hand against my face splays, fingers reaching to my neck, his other hand goes to my hair, curling it like a rope around his wrist and bending my head back. He leans closer, cinnamon wafting over my cheeks. I want to kiss him, I realize. Not in the throws of passion or under the guise of secrecy, I just want to kiss him soft and sweet; press our lips together for just a second. Perhaps, I had done myself a disservice, not kissing him goodbye this morning. Lost a chance of daylight reaching our sins.

His eyes search mine, he’s annoyed, I think drably, but he holds me in place with no malice touching his features. His thumb traces the darkness under my eye, indication of my lack of sleep. “Is it me?” His question confuses me for a moment, and I grip his shirt just a bit tighter. “Something else? Daddy?” I frown at that when I follow his thought process. Dad, guilt, Asha… I try to turn my face but he doesn’t let me cower. His eyes search mine, then he offers, “Do you want to get out of here?”

I hesitate to answer, only because I’m not quite sure of how grand of a scope his question entails. Get out of my room, or get out of this life? “It’s past my curfew,” I finally murmur stupidly, my breath hitching when our lips meet briefly.

His lips stretch against mine. “Go find a jacket,” He turns me to face my closet and I stumble towards it, colder the further I move away from him.

“Should I change?” I ask, looking down at my sleepwear.

“What’s the point, if I'm going to get you out of them, anyways?” I scowl and turn my head to him. His smile is boyish as he surrenders, “Joking – I would dare not corrupt my darling little sister, of course.”

“You’re sick,” I tell him, now deciding on remaining in my frumpy attire out of spite. He laughs out a stupid childish phrase, implying I was the sick one, not him. I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him and head to my closet, finding the only coat not currently hanging downstairs in the foyer. I grab a pair of thick socks from a drawer and then proceed to slip on sneakers that have seen better days. They’re no pristine, white high tops like Vivienne's but they do the trick all the same. “How do I look?”

I give him a turn, not really expecting a response as I walk up to him – I’m sure I resemble a clown school drop out – but I let out a startled noise when he pulls the scarf from his neck and wraps it around my own. “It’s cold,” he explains. It’s a soft cashmere and smells just like him. He climbs out the window first, not giving me a chance to respond, then holds out a hand to help me out. I keep my mouth closed, nuzzling deeper into his scarf as he explains how to get down. I’m only half hearing his words as the thrill of sneaking out starts to surface by the tremble of my body. He navigates his way down first, making sure I'm closely following behind. I feel a little giddy, and perhaps it shows on my face when Cardan glances at me. His soft smile seems responsive to my mood. He throws an arm over my shoulder and quietly leads us past his car and towards the sidewalk, then a little ways down.

He finally pauses far enough away, under the shelter of trees at the dead end of the cul-de-sac where not even the neighboring houses’ security lights can touch us. We’re in front of a pick-up truck, old and rusted and not at all something I’d ever picture Cardan driving; seemingly out of place even in my neighborhood. My eyebrows shoot up when he opens the door and gestures me in. “This is humbling,” I finally manage, laughing at the absurdity of it all. He holds a hand out to me and I take it, letting him help me into the cab. It’s a little shabby, but I feel more comfortable than I did in his car. Maybe it’s because the truck holds no awkward memories I constantly have to face in it.

He jogs over to the other side, quickly turning dials to blast the heat. He keeps the windows down only a crack to diminish any fog on the glass, then pulls on to the road. My fingers wiggle in front of the vents, warming them up, humming to the low music his radio plays. His lips tilt in a small smile, “I told you, I was helping a friend.”

My eyebrows shoot up, “So you rented this?

“Baby, I own this,” he says almost proudly. “None of Daddy’s money and all.” He shrugs and turns the music up, “Have you ever seen Insmire during the holidays? We missed the Halloween decorations, but Christmas is something else.”

“No,” I shake my head and lean back, tucking my chin to snuggle into his scarf. I wonder idly when the warm musky scent of him has turned into something comforting for me. “I never really had a reason to go to Insmire.”

He glances at me then nods to the canvas bag by my feet, “You cold? There’s a blanket in there.” I reach down and pull out a thick beige knitted throw with gold sequins scattered here and there. Before I can mention anything Cardan says, “Nicasia didn’t want it, said you’d probably like it.”

I tuck it back into the bag, “Nicasia?” it takes me a minute to realize that she’s the friend he’d been helping. Something sours knots in my stomach and I try to ignore it. Had he driven that far to see her, or did she also live much closer than I knew? “From the party? She… knows about us?” It’s stupid to ask, I know before he answers. I think about Ghost and what he asked me that night, if I wanted them to watch – wanted my stepbrother to watch. He knew, so of course she knew, too.

“Jude,” Cardan laughs, “She got her rocks off watching me watch you; I’m sure she might have an inkling of how constantly I think about fucking my stepsister.”

“Oh,” I mumble, wryly, “Is that how her rocks got off?”

“I might have helped some,” He laughs, turning the radio up. “I think she likes you,” he offers and I squirm.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like you.”

“Little liar. I think you like me a lot. And it’s more than just the dirty shit I do to you; you like me as a person and all that.” In another world, I’d agree and we’d call this our third date.

I grind my molars, staring out the window, watching the lights pass us by. “I don't even think I know you as a person, really. Like, what do you even major in?”

“Psychology,” he says, not missing a beat.

“Really?” I ask, surprised. “Why that?”

“Wish I had a better therapist when I was 7,” he drops on me. “What better way to fix the system than from within?”

I look at him with high brows, “Really? I mean- I… I’m so sorry, Cardan -”

“I am pretty exceptional at coloring within the lines, though,” he smiles almost indifferently. “I think that's really all I did in her office - color worksheets she’d give me.” I part my lips, but he changes the subject, “You ever been ice skating?”

“No…” I say, slowly, accepting the new information and trying not to pry where he doesn't want me to. “I’m not really into sports - I never even learned how to ride a bike.”

“You run,” he points out, to which I shrug as this was something new to me too. “Wait, you don't know how to ride a bike?” I let out a startled laugh because yeah, that does seem incredulous.

“He may not seem like it, but Dad worries a lot. He’s never let me experience scraped knees. I don’t even have my ears pierced.” I give him a grin but he doesn't reciprocate. His eyes are trained in front of him, glancing up at street signs so my eyebrows furrow when Cardan reaches blindly, fingers touching my ear, thumbing where a first piercing would be. “Oh,” I say, “I guess it’s weird that I took your earrings then - do you want them back?”

He rolls his eyes, making a turn as his fingers glide down to my shoulder, then lower to my hand, encasing it in his. “Don’t be stupid, Jude.”

We talk casually, asking and answering more asinine questions – whatever we must have missed on our road-trip home. I give his fingers a squeeze when I get more comfortable, giggling a bit as Cardan sings off-key to the Christmas song playing on the radio. I turn my head to the window, watching as gradually, bare houses with some fairy lights slowly transcend into houses adorned with strings of multicolored lights blinking in harmony. Every single tree we pass by has an array of lights shining brightly. Inflatable Santas and reindeers sway in the winter breeze. It’s almost whimsical. I lean closer to the window, aware of Cardan slowing down for me to see. Sure, Insmoor had their fair share of décor, but Insmire felt like being inside a snow globe.

“This doesn't feel real,” I whisper in wonder. I roll down the window halfway, sticking my head out the car to get a better look. Cardan’s hand holds mine a bit tighter, as if he’s scared I'd fall out. The decorations become more intricate, with some houses featuring life-sized nutcrackers and snowmen. Strings of lights with snowflakes and baubles at the end hang from bare trees, looking like giant ornaments floating in the air. Even the towering Christmas trees are visible through the windows. One house even has a Grinch placed by their chimney. They all look like different scenes from different Christmas movies.“Cardan - look!” The air carries the familiar scent of winter pine, and for a moment, the festive atmosphere transports me back in time.

The memories flood, foggy, but still there, and suddenly, the smile on my face feels like it’s worth too much effort. I recall silver thistle wrapped around a small tree, baubles with our names on it. Jude, Eva, Madoc. “It’s so pretty, Mommy!” I said as dad lifted me on his shoulders, letting me place an angel on the top of the tree, followed by a distant response of,“Just like you my baby.” A scene so warm makes me feel so cold now. When did I stop believing in Santa? It had to have been after Mom left - but had Dad ever attempted to keep up pretenses after that year? I can't remember a happy holiday with just my father and I. Even with Asha's added presence, we never went for usual Christmas traditions, though it was probably the only time I ever received a wrapped gift or Christmas cookies - albeit store bought, it still embraced the holiday that in a way, my dad had halted.

“Jude?” Cardan's voice breaks through my reverie, calling my name with concern. I don't answer immediately; the emotions threaten to overwhelm me. I wipe my eyes, taking a moment to center myself. My hand feels cold in his.

“Even your house is decorated,” I point out, trying to mask the sudden croak in my voice. The truck rolls to a stop in front of someone’s lawn. His front lawn might be the most tame, though still painting a picture of a snow-family opening presents by a large Christmas tree.

I see Cardan run a hand through his hair from my window’s reflection. The cheery glow seems to turn into an uncomfortable spotlight. He looks torn on whether to answer me or offer me comfort. “Yeah, we…pay people to do that for us.” He’s concerned when he asks, “Jude, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I wipe at my nose and turn to give him a smile. It wavers and feels forced, not fooling either of us. “I just remembered… I just… I haven’t had homemade hot chocolate until your mom showed up.” I feel like I’m somehow betraying him by telling him this. “I didn’t even know what Elf on a Shelf was until she started living with us.”

His eyes flash; he looks almost… defeated. “Yeah?” he tugs my hand, and I let him pull me closer, let him turn me and guide me on to his lap. He shifts us down to the center, making sure the steering wheel wouldn’t dig into me. I place my palms on his chest as he undoes the scarf, letting it hang around my neck, then works on my zipper, smoothly sliding it down and unhooking it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I lower my head to his. Sorry I fell for Asha - wish I fell for you, first.

He seems to hesitate, his gaze lingering not exactly on me, but at me. "She’s not my favorite person, but if she’s yours, then..." he shrugs, and pulls me closer, his hands coming to my hips, sliding beneath my shirt to the small of my back. “It's a little funny,” he smirks with no mirth, “She never even knew how to make hot chocolate when I used to visit. She burned chocolate in the microwave once. Unrelated, but I never went back after that year.”

I frown, tracing the curve of his lips with my thumbs. “What did she do?” I ask, before I can stop myself. My eyes grow wide, “Don’t answer that, sorry -”

He cuts me off, giving me a dry smile, “It’s all water under the bridge, don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

“Cardan…”

As if it explains anything, he says, “My mother is a devout catholic now, repenting and all that,” his droll is sardonic. “Maybe she’d be proud of how biblically I want you.” his fingers creep higher, thumbs maneuvering over my breasts making me suck in breath when he caresses my peaked nipples. I bite down on my lip; I think I know him well enough to know he’s deflecting, but I don't mind. His hands are so, so, so warm. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I could handle it. Don't worry, little sister.” He trails off quietly, a far off look on his face. His thumbs are absently rubbing over me in small circles. My knees twitch and I feel the shake in my thighs as I grind down on his lap, reaching for some type of friction. He sucks in a breath, fingers digging into my skin. His lips twitch, eyes gleaming when he meets mine, “Anyways, you can tell Daddy that I think you ride just fine, baby sister.”

I grit my teeth, sliding my hands to cup the back of his neck. I grip at the hair at his nape, moving my hips a little harder. “Fuck you,” I manage, and he just smiles, so awfully, holding on to me as I continue to take what I can from him, like a damned hypocrite. My nails dig into his scalp and my head falls back. I feel warm and flushed and lightheaded. His nail scrapes against my nerves, and I bite down hard on my bottom lip. Heat pools between my legs the more he circles my nipples. They get so sensitive so fast that it starts to feel like torment. “Ah,” I whisper, my nails on the brink of breaking his skin.

There’s a rush in my ears and it takes me some time to realize Cardan is speaking to me, whispering to me, praising me, taking nonsense,“...good… you look so fucking good…so pretty…riding this dick…” I let out a moan when he shifts his hips and we align perfectly. “I wonder,” he breathes, “how often you hump your pillows… like this… ride your stuffed toys… wishing it was me….” I’m too gone to be embarrassed. I want to undo his pants but I don't want to let go of him, I don't want him to let go of me, either. He reaches down, biting me over my shirt and I let out a cry when he tugs at the peaked tips of my breasts, one after the other.

Cardan’s fingers are bruising into my skin and when I glance down, he’s already looking up at me. The lights flicker against his necklace, taunting me, and for a moment, I imagine it dangling off his bare neck, teasing my skin as he hovers over me. I lean down until my lips are by his ear and bite down on his earlobe. He pinches me under my shirt, in retaliation, before rubbing his fingers over the soreness. I suck in a breath, feeling hot and heady, rubbing harder on him until the ache in my clit is satiated.

“Which one was it,” he whispers. “The snake?”

“No,” I manage.

“Koala? Cat…?” His grunts are labored, I shake my head against him, and I lift my hips just a bit to bounce on him. “A pillow?”

I whimper and his hands slide down to my hips, kneading at my flesh guiding me roughly. My eyes screw tight, as heat erupts inside of me. I pull his chain from the back, letting the cross dagger into his skin, press into the hollow of his neck, while I ride the last of the euphoric wave. My lips move against his skin, “no… I have a different toy. One that vibrates. I’ll let you watch one day.”

His eyes are lidded, when I pull away to look at him. His breaths come out shallow as I slow to a stop. He brings a hand to my hair, winding my braid until my neck pulls back. He bites down right under my chin, pulling away with a harsh suck of skin. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He slowly unravels my hair and my fingers shake as I hold on to him, trying to catch my breath. “Do you…” I can't find my words, falling forward to place my head against his. My hands slowly lets go of him, falling from his neck and down to his chest. I go lower, reaching the button on his jeans, “You didn’t…”

He closes his eyes, taking in a breath, “Just stay still for a moment.” He gives me a dry laugh, “It’s not so easy to clean up come in my current position, as it is for you to hide how wet your panties are.” I roll my eyes, but heed his request. Finally, he opens his eyes and searches mine. “You look tired.”

I snort, “no kidding.”

He grins, “I should get you back home now. You’re due for a run in a few hours then I'm sure you’ll follow Asha to mass later, right?” I grimace at that but nod anyway, feeling a little more than anxious about Sunday service.

“I feel another sleepless night coming,” I admit. He slowly moves his other hand from under my shirt to hold my face, and I tell him, “It’s not you, by the way.” He gives me a questioning look and I smile as much as I can for him. “The longest I’ve slept since we’ve been back was last night, in your arms.” I lean in to give him the kiss we’d missed out on before. He grabs my chin, not letting me fully pull away, and presses his lips to mine again, turning the soft peck into something more, parting my lips with his own, coating my tongue with cinnamon.

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Masterlist

Gentle Sins Masterlist

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wanderingpages · 1 year ago

Text

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾Gentle Sins AU☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

“Are you going to help me take my clothes off too?” I meant it to sound teasing – I wanted to show him I could play his game too – but I was breathless, I was buzzing with anticipation.

TFOTA // All Human // AU : Jude and Cardan do things step-siblings shouldn't do.

Trigger Warnings: Crude language, Allusions to Drugs/Alcohol, Debauching Catholicism/Religious Metaphors, Taboo Sex.

Big up to @headcannonxgalore for keeping me sane for this one 🪦

Jude's POV

The rest of the ride home isn’t quiet, but it feels tense to me. It feels like that first ride we shared after the wedding, when Cardan told me he knew those were my flowers on the floor in front of the dressing room. When he tucked my hair back after clicking my seat belt in place, when it started as a tease, but he kept quiet after seeing the panic and distraught look on my face. Like I had wished back then, I wish now to open the car door and fling myself into oncoming traffic.

When he sees me press a hand to my heated cheek, he cracks the window for me, letting cool air settle my nerves. I clear my throat and instead of saying ‘thank you,’ I reach for the dials on the radio and disconnect it from his phone. Feeling like somehow Cardan’s personal playlist was catered to test me, I switch between stations, until I settle on something light and a little goofy. He taps his fingers along the steering wheel, quietly letting me do what I want in his car. I snoop through the console area, finding nothing of great importance, only packets of candy and gum, a couple of multicolored mini lighters, a pack of EZ Wider rolling paper and some ketchup packets from a fast-food chain. Underneath it all, I pick out a pair of mismatched gold earrings. One is shaped like a curved hardware nail, the other like a star with a pearl dangling from it. I twist them between my fingers, feeling a little nervous to be holding high-end tiny jewelry, lest the car swerves and they go flying out the window somehow.

“You like them?” He asks suddenly, pulling me from my gaze.

“Um, yeah,” when Cardan turns to me, he takes one hand off the steering wheel and plucks the Cartier one from my palm to hold it close to my earlobe.

“You should keep them,” a small smile tilts the side of his lips up and I look away, feeling a squeeze in my chest. Instead of saying no, like I should have, I take the earrings and tuck them into the pocket of my jacket, mumbling out a thanks to him. I turn away, taking in the scenery to distract myself. I’m not his girlfriend and I shouldn’t let him treat me like one either. At some point, I realize we’ve merged onto a more residential area, and the houses begin to look familiar. We were getting close to home now, on the wealthier side of town. Cardan’s hand reaches across, and he points to a three story house, equivalent to a mansion. “That’s me.”

I blink, looking at the house, bending my head to stare after it as we pass by, then I look at him with wide eyes. “You – you live there? You live in Insmire?” It may have put into perspective what it meant to have half a pair of high branded jewelry just lying in his car, but all I can piece together in my mind is just how close we’ve actually been living next to each other. I try to think back on all the times our paths could have crossed since the wedding and even prior; how much of our peers overlapped – could we have met at a party? Could we have met first, before our parents even knew each other’s names? Would it have made a difference? “Oh…” I whisper, the squeezing feeling in my chest dropping to the pit of my stomach. I rest my head back, tucking my hands into my pockets, fiddling with the earrings until night falls.

We make it home well after dinner, which is probably good in hindsight. I don’t think I’d be able to get through grace without shame. Even now, as Cardan opens the door for me and helps carry both of our overnight bags, even as Asha welcomes us warmly, greeting me with a hug, I can only think about Cardan, his fingers and the taste of cherries. When I shiver, Asha runs her hands frantically up and down my back as if to warm me.

“Oh, Jude,” she laughs, “I’ve missed you! I feel like an empty nester,” she pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. Dad reaches in for a half hug and kisses my forehead, then turns to his stepson and pats him on the shoulder. “Cardan,” Asha smiles lovingly at him, but stays close to my dad instead of also giving him a hug. It’s strange, watching her almost buzz with excitement but hold back as if Cardan were something so delicate, a touch would break him. I could almost laugh. Delicate. Cardan is anything but that. “Are you guys hungry? I can warm up some food – or at least have some dessert before bed… I know the drive must have been long.”

Cardan throws an arm around my shoulders, startling me as he kicks the door close behind him. “Fret not, Mother, we’ve had our fair share of dessert.” Without stuttering or picking at my skin, I managed to explain that we had stopped for lunch. I shrug him off, rolling my eyes when he shoulder-checks me. In the eyes of our parents, we’re getting along just as siblings should.

“I’ll show you to your room, then,” Dad says, leading Cardan up the steps. The room sharing a wall with mine has always been Cardan’s as far as I knew. When Asha moved in, she had spoken to us about it, wanting to do it up for him was he to ever stay over – and of course, Cardan is her son, so who was I to object if my dad had no qualms about it? Still, part of me knew Cardan would never be visiting his mother for the weekends – in fact, him saying yes for our winter break still has me miffed, especially now knowing where he lived. And yet, Asha decorated his room to her heart’s desire, until slowly, it began to feel like a shrine of sorts. She visited it daily as if mourning a ghost, dusted down invisible dirt and hung photos and seasonal decorations that by no means fit the characteristics of what little I know about Cardan. If I think about it too much now, I’ll see the erratic behavior for what it is and maybe stuff Cardan has told me before, about how unfit his mother was, would start to make sense. But it was her way of coping, which is no worse than my scarred fingers or my willfully ignorant father.

I watch them walk up the stairs, only coming back to myself when Asha takes hold of my hands, inspecting the bandages over my knuckles. She squeezes them lightly and smiles at me, “There’s cookies in the kitchen – go get changed and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

I shower quickly, avoidant of Cardan unpacking in his room. Unused to living with him, I hadn’t walked with my clothes in the bathroom, and when I realized this, I cracked the door open, barely missing him heading down the steps. The hot shower hardly settles my nerves and I stride straight to the window, opening it a crack, letting the air circulate the stuffy room. I turn and lean back against the sill, tightening my towel against me and taking in the rest of my bedroom, untouched since I left for the dorms. Even the air feels stale. I let out a huff, allowing my eyes to wander to the armchair where two stuffed animals – a black cat and a koala – squished together under the draping of a shirt I’d tossed when I couldn’t decide what to wear the morning I left.

My bag has been tossed on the bed, but that hardly disrupts the way I’d left it. There’s a corner of my bed where the covers are pulled slightly just as it had been when I’d grabbed my phone charger at the last minute. The pillow is skewed a bit, and my stuffed snake is laid adjacent. Even the pen on the vanity is left at the same angle; when I pick it up, there’s a thin layer of dust that’s noticeable. I wonder why my stepmother would diligently clean a vacant room religiously, while my room is just as I’d left it. Of course, I would never expect Asha to keep my room, but maybe I did feel a little resentment that Cardan’s room was tended to daily while mine was left to become a relic. I’m overreacting, mostly fueled by Cardan, I suppose, so I sigh and take the shirt from the chair and use it as a rag to wipe down the surface of my dresser, telling myself that she’s only giving me my privacy.

I drop the shirt in my laundry basket and straighten out the pile of books on the floor next to my bookshelf on my way towards my closet. I find some cotton pajamas and throw them on before finally sitting at the edge of the bed. I open the nightstand drawer, to swipe in the miscellaneous pens and hair ties left beside my lamp, only to let out a squeak at the new addition to the junk pile. She leaves all else still, but Asha still manages to place a bible in the bedside drawer like this is some kind of hotel. I pick it up and flip through the thin pages, letting the tiny black letters blur. I pretend it’s a flipbook and the words are creating some type of eight-bit fire. I once again try to think back on when this all started – had it been after the wedding or were there hints before? I snort and shove the book towards the back of the drawer, wondering how far she will take this before I finally snap.

I hear the bathroom door shut right when I walk out, guessing I’ve missed Cardan again. When I make it to the kitchen, I’m surprised Asha isn’t there for me to ask about the present she left in my room. There are two cups of tea on the counter beside a plate of cookies – for her son and I, I guess. Asha can’t bake for shit, so I know the chocolate chips are from the bakery near the supermarket, only gooey because she’s warmed them up in the microwave. I debate on waiting for Cardan, taking in the added décor to our kitchen walls – some prayer on a plaque and a wooden cross right under the clock. After a moment, I grab a cookie and I shiver, wondering if she had stolen the cross from the church, as it was incredibly similar to the one in the dressing room – the one absolutely embedded into my brain.

“Creepy.” Cardan says, causing me to bite my tongue. I yelp, turning to him, hand covering my mouth, unable to take the mix of blood and chocolate. He looks surprised at my reaction too, leading me to the trash can so I can spit it out. “Shit, sorry.” He rubs my back and I wave his hand away, heading to the sink for some cold water.

“What the hell?” I mutter, wiping my mouth. I hadn’t even heard him come down.

He looks bashful, for once. “It looks like an omen,” he nods his chin to the cross and I eye him warily, still tasting copper in my mouth. His thumb reaches towards me, and he swipes down the corner of my lips, rubbing away the smear of red and brown, making my knees feel weak because suddenly, I'm in that booth at the diner again and I want him to paint me as red as those cherries. He parts his lips, looking as if he wants to say more, but all he does is grab my half-eaten cookie and give me a parting pat on the head, ruffling my hair slightly. “Anyways, sleep tight, little sister.” He’s up the steps and I feel a little aghast that he’d come down, inflict pain, remind me that we’re siblings then walk up the stairs like the past week – let alone that night at the reception – hadn’t happened. I stick my middle finger up at his back, annoyed that he can switch his emotions around so easily, annoyed that he plays this game better than I do, annoyed that I had even given him the green light so many months ago, thinking I could best him somehow.

I stay a while longer, struggling to make myself move, but soon the hurt ebbs away enough for me to snag another cookie or two or three, snacking on them almost angrily. As I finally make my way to my room, I check the time on my phone and it lets me know it's ungodly to be up so late. While I do feel incredibly tired, I just can’t find it in myself to sleep; I feel strung up and it may have little to do with Cardan Greenbriar sleeping just a few feet away from me. I decide on straightening out the rest of my room, dust off shelves and fix anything I’d left awry, but only less than an hour passes. I run through my phone contacts, wondering who might be up and on a whim, I send a message to my roommate, asking how she’s doing. To my surprise, Vivienne responds within seconds. The three dots dance at the bottom of the screen for a moment until it stops completely, and I get a phone call from her instead.

“Why are you still up?” She asks instead of an actual greeting. I roll my eyes; I could ask her the same thing. I walk to my laundry basket when I suddenly remember the earrings I’d left in my pocket. I take them out and before placing them on the dresser, I glance at myself in the mirror, holding the Cartier one to my earlobe, trying to see what Cardan had seen earlier.

“Jet lag,” I quip at Vivienne, switching to the Dior pearl, twisting my head this way and that. I place them on a small jewelry tray and head to my bed. I sit on the edge and fall back to stare at the ceiling. There’s even a cobweb at the far corner. I roll my eyes at how bratty and entitled I’m feeling over dust in my room. At the end of the day, Asha isn’t my mom, but she’s done more for me in three years than my real mom has done in five.

I can hear Vivienne’s scoff, “That’s not at all how that works – you’re in the same time zone.” I hear shuffling on her end, and she says a quick apology before I assume she’s settled. “Okay,” she clears her throat, “how was it?”

“How was what?” I play dumb, grabbing the stuffed snake and holding it to my chest. I stroke the fuzzy skin, distractedly. It’s black with thin, iridescent scales threaded through, seemingly accurate to the size of a fully grown pet snake. The black beady eyes stare back at me cutely.

“Don’t ‘what’ me – the car ride, you dick,” Vivienne huffs and it’s funny, so I can’t help but giggle. “With Mr. Oh-no-step-bro-I’m-stuck-under-a-table,” She elaborates. “Dude… I can’t help but live vicariously through you right now – like are you guys fucking? In the same house your parents are fucking? That’s so gross,” She snorts, and I make a face.

“Ew Viv, no! No one is fucking anyone.”

“Oh my god,” She clocks me in a matter of seconds. “You guys absolutely got freaky on the road, didn’t you?” I don’t need to have her in front of me to know her thin, blonde brows are wiggling comically.

I press my hands to my cheeks and groan. “No,” I tell her, which technically is not a lie because nothing happened on the road. In fact, being on the road was probably the most normal thing to happen between us – between actual siblings. It’s when he held my hand and took me to the diner that he seemed to press play on our perverted little game.

“Liar, liar” she sings. “Just be safe, ‘cus it’s going to be super weird when Jude Jr. pops out and you have to explain that her daddy is also her uncle.”

I nearly gag at the thought. “God, no, stop it!” I push the snake aside and turn to my stomach. “No one is having kids, okay?” I shiver, “That’s disgusting.”

“You’re right, we’re in Maine, not Alabama.” She thinks she’s so funny, she’s laughing at herself and I threaten to hang up. When she calms down, I finally change topics and ask about Heather and Liliver. We chat until she starts to yawn and I let her get some rest.

I still feel so edgy, though my eyes start to tire. I find my Kindle app and, on a whim, I ignore all the unread books in my library and download a Camus book. It’s not the one from Cardan’s car but it's a translated English version of one that does not aid in my sleep at all. I read until it’s about 5 in the morning, more engrossed in it than I was when it was an assigned reading in high school. I glance out the still dark window and think about track for a moment. I used to leave the dorms so early to make it for morning runs. I got so good at using it as an escape, I was suggested to try out for the track team next semester. Sunrise is in a couple hours, and there’s a trail leading down the creek just behind the house. It’s a bike trail, mostly, but I can run beside it until the sun comes up, just to keep myself occupied for a while.

The next few days involve me slowly cleaning my room, inch by inch, even going down to my small jewelry collection, and scrubbing them clean. I’ll admit, next to Cardan’s expensive jewelry, mine looked very shabby in comparison. I avoid Cardan and maybe Asha in the process, by staying out of the house as much as possible, running in the mornings until my legs give out, catching up with old friends – like Fand and her boyfriend – maneuvering around the city like a tourist, going to small museums and bookstores – places I would never even think of going on any regular day. Of course, I’m home before 9 every night, and in my room until I force myself to get through a few hours of shut eye just to run again in the morning and start it all over. It’s beginning to get harder, trying to ignore my problems, tedious even.

I'm rubbing lotion on the scabbed over bits on my fingers, annoyed and embarrassed by how horrifying they look, starting to yellow in color and peel at the edges. They itch in their healing process, making it hard for me not to pick at them again. My fingers look mismatched, and I know scar cream can only fix so much. I could cry at how horrible it makes me feel to not even be aware that I’m doing it, that I’m hurting myself until I start to bleed. Therapy might help, but Dad is against it. I guess he doesn’t want to know what the root cause of it is – doesn’t want it said out loud, at least.

I push my window all the way up tonight, sticking my head out to stare at the stars. There’s a big ledge that should technically be the roof of the garage, but I’ve often brought blankets out to sit comfortably and read when it was nice out. I twist my fingers, trying not to focus too much on the compulsive need I feel to itch at my skin, instead lamenting about last summer, and definitely not at all about anything related to my stepbrother. I’m so in my own head that I almost miss when Cardan sticks his head out his own window.

My brows are raised as I watch him climb over the sill and walk on the eaves to sit on the slope right beside me, the scent of burning earth creeps into my nostrils “Jude,” he murmurs in greeting and my name had always sounded so pretty from his lips, but something about tonight makes my chest squeeze tighter than usual. The near week I spent without him felt almost intolerable in perspective with him sitting beside me right now. Why had I put myself through torture to steer clear of him when I feel so at peace now next to him?

“It’s cold,” I point out, glancing at his attire of a short sleeve white shirt and thin looking gray joggers. He doesn’t even have socks on. I may have on shorts and a T-shirt, but I'm not outside in the cold, in fact my room has become so unbearably warm these days I have to constantly leave my window open.

He ignores me, taking a short drag of whatever he’s rolled. When the scent hits me again, it tickles my nose a little and I try not to sneeze. “Why is it that we live together now, and I see less of you? Are you avoiding me?”

“I could say the same about you,” I point out, resting my elbow on the ledge, bracing the side of my face to my palm. The few times I’ve been home before dinner, Cardan has been noticeably absent. He smiles but it looks grim. He leans back, resting his head on the gable. The air is unusually still tonight, so the smoke surrounds him for a long while; I watch the wisps disappear between us. The fume begins to sting my eyes, but I don’t want to look away. I admit, “I can’t sleep.” My sleep schedule has been fucked for days, no matter how often I’ve managed to tire myself out.

He holds out the joint to me and I take it mostly out of confusion. “Your lights are on all night long then you disappear at five in the morning.”

“Have you been keeping tabs?” I roll the joint between my fingers, then make a decision and take a hit. My lips touch where his lips had and though we’ve done a lot more than share spit before, this feels far more intimate in the quiet night. It burns a little, like I know it would, and it itches my throat when I exhale slowly through my nose. I look down at the thin stick, brows furrowing at the rolling paper. I’ve never seen any with words on it. “I am. Avoiding you. My heart beats faster around you. My palms get clammy and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. It hurts to breathe sometimes,” I explain my anxiety, twisting the joint to read the words, wondering if it says something profound. “Can’t mean anything good,” I mumble. “It’s like walking across a narrow bridge with nothing beneath to catch my fall.”

After a beat, he asks, almost too quietly, “Are you scared of me, dear sister?” I don’t answer, then he shrugs, eyes gazing over what he can see of me, “I think you’re prettiest when you're honest.” Cardan reaches his hand to ruffle my hair. I try to bat it away, but his fingers dig in a little tighter, weaving through and under the bun I’ve haphazardly attempted earlier. He doesn’t really need to tilt my head to face him, I do it for him. If the stars are bright tonight, his eyes are even brighter. “I’m not avoiding you,” he tells me after a long while. “And you’re not, by the way,” he is so close to me now, that our breaths mingle and turn to fog between us, “Out of my system, I mean.” My eyes widened at the answer to my question that seemed like eons ago. He releases my hair and tweaks my nose almost affectionately. He takes the roll from my fingers, but I catch a few words where our fingers touch, morbidly reminding me of Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam.

“Holy shit,” I whisper suddenly, looking at him horrified as he smokes it. “That’s the – you… The paper!” he raises a brow and looks at the roll like he’s only now noticing what I had. “Oh my God,” I say.

His languid grin is so wicked, I could almost say he’s the devil himself. “Yeah,” he drawls, “I guess so.”

“Cardan!” I whisper harshly, “You can’t smoke bible pages!”

He shrugs, “Was out of rolling paper.” He rolls his eyes, “It’s not like Big G wrote it himself anyways.”

My mouth parts in disbelief. “Big G?” I struggle to say. He bends down and kisses my nose. “You’re kind of cute, Jude.” I blink up at him and he pecks my lips this time. I pull back and touch my lips tentatively, aware that I too, have smoked the same bible joint. My mouth parts and he slips said joint between my lips as they close. I inhale sharply, eyes on him. When he pulls it away, I start to cough. His warm hand smooths over my cheek as if trying to calm me. He takes another drag, almost absently, eyes starting to strain red as he watches me settle. His thumb plays with the freckle under my eye, swiping over it as if to see if it’ll disappear.

“Wh- What,” I cough again and try to clear my throat, eyes watering while he catches the stray droplets. “What page was it?”

His smirk comes by sluggishly. His words are as hazy as I feel, trailing off by the end, “Something in Proverbs. Keep your mouth free of perversity; keep corrupt talk… far… from your… lips.”

“God, you’re sick,” I tell him. “Jesus, Cardan,” I manage; I feel unnerved and his lack of reaction makes me feel like I’m going crazy.

“Invite me in,” he says quietly, like he’s a fucking vampire or faerie; changing the subject I’m still reeling over. “We can watch a scary movie. I’d love to hear you scream.” He pinches my cheek. “I’ve missed you, Jude.”

I don’t know what convinces me to do it – him, his confession or my mild inebriation – but, I take hold of his wrist, stopping him from pulling away from me. “You’re a fucking menace,” I mutter. I take a step back and tug him, “and I don’t scream,” I let him know, holding his hand as he slips in through my window.

Cardan smiles, pinching the joint out and placing it on my desk. He looks around my room, and I awkwardly shuffle around my desk for my laptop. I sit on my bed, watching him warily, with my heart beating against my eardrums over him touching all my things. This is different from how it was in my dorms. I’m less comfortable and acutely aware of our parents and all the reasons I tried to avoid him this week.

He shuffles around as nosy as I had been in his car. He picks up a bottle of perfume and sniffs the nozzle, then spritzes some onto himself, probably to mask the weed scent he’d acquired. He plays with makeup I’ve left out on the vanity, opening a palette and rubbing a finger over a gold pigment he then rubs off against his shirt. I wince while I’m trying to remember my password to the streaming sites I’m sharing with three other friends. I hear him opening drawers and I glance to see him pick at my undergarments. He finally opens the bottom drawer and pulls out a pair of thick socks he manages to stretch over his feet. I hold in a laugh and scoot down on my bed while he hits the light.

He picks up the stuffed snake, tosses it on the armchair with the other two stuffed animals, and climbs on to the bed. He smells like me, atop that earthy aroma. I shuffle in closer, and he wraps his arm around me like it was just natural for him to do. It feels like a date, so I tell myself it’s the weed and sacrilege that makes me give in - we can't get any worse than smoking Proverbs – so I allow myself to rest my head on his shoulder. I become aware that there’s something else beneath those two mingled scents on him; that amber musk I always smell when he’s near. Without knowing when, I’ve missed smelling it, so I twist my head, trying to get more of it.

Cardan chooses one of The Exorcist movies and my eyes blur later when I try to see beyond the dark frames of blue-toned lighting. I don’t scream but my face is pressed into his chest, eyes screwed shut and my legs wrapped around him so tight my bones ache. My heart is racing something different than what I'm used to around him, my chest is tight, but it feels like the bad sort of wrong. I’d never seen any of the movies, but I hadn’t expected to feel petrified enough to wrap myself around him.

I feel the vibration of his chuckle and when he strokes my hair back, I look up to him. The bluish tint from the screen casts something ethereal across his skin. He feels so warm and cozy and I think for once, I wouldn’t mind if sleep could evade me, if it meant resting in his arms. How had I spent a whole week avoiding him when I could have been doing this instead? “Okay?” he asks. His eyes are droopy; red and lethargic. I nod imperceptibly, and he tugs at a lock of hair unkempt from the band, trailing it over my face and letting it spring back to its mess. His finger dances across my nose to the freckle under my eye, then slowly down my jaw and across my lips. “Should we turn it off? I can have you screaming in other ways.” His finger’s skim over my lips and I want to do the same to him, unexpectedly so aware of them and the way they move. I get his oral fixation with me.

I touch his bottom lip with the tip of my fingers, “Fuck off,” I mumble beneath my breath. I slip my finger between his teeth and his tongue slowly wraps around, beckoning it further in. I feel it in the tightening of my breasts and the warmth pooling in my core when he sucks on my finger.

I lift up a bit and he chuckles, helping me find balance as I rest my weight on my elbow. I pull my finger out, trailing wet lines over his chin, and down to his neck. I trace the tendons there, entranced by the way his muscles flex at my touch. When the movie is forgotten, he reaches for the laptop and twists to set it on the bedside table, letting the movie play out beside us while my hand trails down his chest, slowly to the hem of his shirt tentatively playing with the cotton. I gnaw at my bottom lip, hesitating for a moment. “What if…” There’s blood and gore and screams and a haunting soundtrack, but it's Cardan who has my heart stuttering and my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts now. His hand rests on the small of my back, the other skims to my neck, resting where my pulse vibrates. His eyes flutter, struggling to stay open and on me when my fingers slip under the waistband of his sweats. When I touch the skin of his pelvis, feel the trim of hair there, I realize that it’s the first time I’m touching him there at all.

“Jude,” he murmurs, subdued now.

“What if,” I continue, softly, “I want to make you scream?” his eyes glimmer and his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth when I take hold of him blindly. His stomach twitches and I’m torn between wanting to watch his reaction and wanting to look at what my hand is doing. My grip tightens and he sucks in a breath.

“Jesus, Jude…I…” he struggles to breathe and it does something to twist at the heat in my belly, “I don’t scream either, Jude,” he finally whispers, pressing on my back until I fall forward. He kisses me deeply, slowly, further muddling my brain. His hand slips under my shirt, warm on my spine. He grabs hold of my hand and pulls it from his pants. I pull away from him startled, and a little embarrassed until he licks the palm of my hand and guides it back to his dick. “But I’m not above begging,” he tells me in a breath. “So don’t stop, Jude…” I clamber on top of him, finding his free hand and using it as leverage to hover over him. He lets me bring it above his head, lets me rest my forehead on top of his, eyes gazing at each other until I look down between us, holding his shaft tighter, pulling him from his sweats. “Fuck,” he breathes.

I thumb at the head, sticky precum coats my finger and when I squeeze the swollen tip, he lets out a soft moan. I’m a bit out of my element but I hope I hide it well. I want him to feel just an ounce of the way he makes me feel. I kiss his cheek, trail my lips to his ear and stroke his member. “Look at you,” I say in a hushed tone as our fingers interlace. His free hand slides over my ass and down to my thigh, squeezing my skin like it’s a tether. He bites his lip, a grunt escaping. The movie plays on, music growing louder, fueling the atmosphere. “Look at my big brother,” I bite down on his earlobe, tugging the metal loop he’d left in tonight. “So needy…and …all… for… me.”

Cardan lets out something between a laugh and a groan, hips bucking against my hand just the slightest. “Fuck me…” he groans. “You’re a bit of a brat, you kn- ahh!” I stroke faster, a little harder. There’s silence from the laptop. “You… you missed me too,” he mumbles, eyes shutting, sweat sheening his forehead, “didn’t you,” he slurs. I nod, taking my lips down his neck and kissing him under his jaw. He calls my name when I pull skin between my teeth. “Fuck!” He lets out the moment the screaming on screen starts up. His dick twitches but before I can do more, his hand on my thigh begs me closer to him, “Please, Jude… please… let me feel how hot and wet your pussy is right now,” he begs almost drunkenly. He tugs at my shorts and pulls them along with my panties to the side, then helps me settle on his straining cock, hissing when our skins touch. I pull in my bottom lip, grabbing his hand and pressing it above his head with the other.

I feel my cunt spasm before I even start to move. “Fuck…” he whispers again, eyes in a daze when my hips begin to grind.

“Is this…” I trail off, not wanting to sound unsure of myself. “Do you like that, Cardan?”

“Y…yes…” His grip tightens around my fingers, and his hips begin to rut against me. He’s slick with my wetness in the matter of seconds, sliding between my slit, rubbing against my clit hard. “Don’t stop, baby,” he slurs, “keep… riding me,” he pleads, “you feel… so fucking good,” he tells me so quiet, I almost don’t hear it beyond the noise of the movie I wish would just end already. I watch his face twist, and his eyes struggle to stay open and on me. His lips are parted and forming quiet obscenities between muffled grunts, “So wet for me…” I feel lightheaded and warm all over, my knees start to shake and try to keep up with his thrusts. I move faster, whimpering and moaning, enthralled by how he looks - like he's the one who's being corrupted by me.

I don’t have time to comprehend when he easily overpowers me and flips us. He takes hold of my two hands in one of his, the other hand reaches for my shirt and pulls it all the way up, holding the scrunched fabric to my neck. He moves sloppily against me, rough and hard. My breath catches when his head falls to my chest, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth. I pull in my lip hard between my teeth, scared of the noise that’d escape. His tongue flicks tenderly in comparison to the abrasion between our legs. It confuses and overwhelms me and when he bites down and pulls hard, my eyes cross and my vision doubles, “Car-ah!” my nails dig into his flesh, and my body starts to twitch uncontrollably.

It’s like my climax had been what he was waiting for because he pulls away from me and takes hold of his cock, stroking it over my stomach fast and almost animalistically. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants, “Jude… fuck…” until his come shoots hot and white over my skin, between my breasts and down my navel.

He breathes rough and shaky, burying his face into the crook of my neck. My hands tremble as they wrap around his head, running over his hair more to calm myself than his. His heart beats against my chest almost alarmingly, and when the air seems to finally clear, the credits roll on the screen and Cardan falls to his side. I almost laugh at his near immediate lull to sleep.

My hands still shake as I detach from him, closing the laptop and sneaking off to the bathroom for a wet rag. I wipe down myself before I work on the mess against his skin. He’s still asleep when I wake up in the morning, but when I’m back from my run, he’s not even home.

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Masterlist

Gentle Sins Masterlist

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