Hybrid Marked by Her Stepbrother

Party Escape: Part 3

She turns to face me. Her back is to the wall, and her hands find my arms and slide up, slow, until her palms are resting on my shoulders. Her thumbs trace small, deliberate circles on my skin, and the touch is so specific, so focused, that for a second I forget why we’re here.

“You’re tense,” she murmurs. Her voice is lower now, meant for close quarters. “Let me help you unwind.”

I don’t need the invitation twice. My mouth finds hers in a kiss that’s nowhere near polite—hard, hungry, my tongue pushing past her lips before she’s fully ready for it. She makes a sound against my mouth, half surprise and half want, and then her fingers are in my hair, pulling, and the kiss deepens into something that feels like a fight for territory.

My hands drop to her hips. They’re narrow under my palms, the bone sharp through the thin pleated fabric, and I grip hard enough to feel her pulse. I pull her against me, flush, so there’s no space between us, and she can feel exactly what this is doing to me—my c**k hard and straining against my jeans, pressing into the softness of her belly. She gasps into my mouth, and the sound goes straight to my groin.

She breaks the kiss just enough that her lips brush mine when she speaks. “You want me, don’t you?”

Her breath is warm and sweet with whatever she’s been drinking. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and there’s nothing playful in them now. Just want. Raw and acknowledging.

“f**k yes.” The words come out as a growl, lower than my normal voice, and something in my chest tightens at the sound. My wolf, stirring again, interested in ways that have nothing to do with conversation.

I lift her. Not far—just enough to press her back against the wall, her feet leaving the carpet, and then my mouth is on her neck. I suck hard below her ear, feeling the jump of her pulse under my lips, and bite down just enough to leave a mark. She arches into it, a soft gasp escaping her that I catch with my mouth before it can get loud. My kisses trail down, over the column of her throat, across her collarbone, to the valley between her breasts where her skin is warm and smells like vanilla and salt.

My hands slip under the hem of her cropped top. Her stomach is smooth under my fingertips, muscles tight when she breathes, and I trace upward until I find the clasp of her bra. It gives way with a practiced twist, and the fabric falls loose. I push her top up and her bra aside, and her breasts spill free—full, firm, the n*****s already peaked hard in the cool air of the hallway.

I lower my head and take one n****e into my mouth. I suck hard, my tongue circling the peak, and at the same time my thumb finds the other breast and rolls the n****e between my fingers. She cries out—a real sound, unfiltered, that bounces off the hallway walls and probably carries farther than either of us should be comfortable with. Her back arches off the wall, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough that I’ll find crescents there tomorrow.

“God, you feel so good,” she pants, and her hips are moving now, grinding against my thigh with a rhythm that’s nowhere near subtle. I can feel the heat radiating from her, even through the fabric of my jeans, and when my hand slides down her stomach and under the waistband of her skirt, the dampness I find makes my c**k throb.

Her thighs are smooth under my palm. I trace upward, feeling the warmth of her skin, until my fingers find the edge of her panties. They’re soaked through, the cotton clinging to her, and I hook a finger under the elastic and tug them aside. Her p***y is exposed—swollen, slick, the folds glistening in the dim light. My thumb finds her c**t and rubs in firm, slow circles, and she gasps, her hips jerking against my hand like she’s been shocked.

“f**k, you’re wet,” I mutter. My voice is rough, barely recognisable.

I lower my head. My tongue drags up her slit in one long, flat stroke, and the taste of her floods my mouth—salt and sweetness and something darker, something that makes the wolf in me sit up and take notice. She moans, loud and unrestrained, the sound echoing off the hallway walls. I lick her again, broader this time, then focus on her c**t, flicking my tongue over the sensitive bud before sucking it gently between my lips.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, and her hand finds the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. “Please—”

I don’t. I suck harder, my tongue working her c**t in quick, firm circles while my hand moves between her legs. Two fingers slip inside her, and she’s so wet they slide in without resistance, hot and tight around my knuckles. I curl them forward, pressing against the rough patch of her front wall, and her reaction is immediate—a high, broken whine that cracks halfway through.

“Right there,” she gasps. “f**k, right there—”

I pump my fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue, and feel her start to clench around me. Her inner muscles are fluttering, contracting in waves, and her breathing has gone ragged, her chest heaving against my shoulder. Her thighs are trembling on either side of my head, and the hand in my hair is pulling now, demanding, her hips rocking against my mouth.

When she comes, it hits her like a train. Her body convulses, back arching so hard her shoulders leave the wall, and a scream tears from her throat that I’m pretty sure the whole house hears. Her p***y clamps down on my fingers with incredible force, pulsing, and her juices flood my hand—hot, slick, coating my palm and dripping between my fingers to the carpet below. I keep sucking, drinking her down, prolonging the wave until she’s shaking, her legs giving out, her voice reduced to broken pleas that have no words left in them.

Only then do I pull back.

I pull back and look at her. My lips are wet with her, and the taste of her is still thick on my tongue. Her eyes are half-lidded, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. There’s satisfaction there, plain as daylight, but underneath it something else—a spark, wild and awake, that matches the heat still burning in my gut.

“Your turn,” I whisper. My voice is rough, scraped raw from breathing hard and keeping quiet.

I push her skirt up further, bunching the fabric around her waist, exposing the curve of her ass to the cool air of the hallway. The sight of her—panties tugged aside, thighs still trembling, my handprint reddening on one hip—makes my c**k throb against the confines of my jeans.

She laughs, breathless and a little unsteady. “You’re impatient.”

I grin. It’s not a nice grin. “You have no idea.”

My belt buckle comes open with a clink that seems absurdly loud in the quiet hallway. I push my jeans and boxers down in one motion, and my c**k springs free—thick, hard, the head already slick with precum that gleams in the dim light. I hiss at the sudden cool air on heated skin.

She reaches out. Her hand wraps around my shaft, and the touch is electric—warm, deliberate, her fingers closing around me with a confidence that makes my hips jerk forward before I can stop them. She gives me one slow, firm stroke from base to tip, her thumb circling the head on the upswing, and the sensation is so sharp I have to bite back a groan.

“Mmm, you’re big,” she purrs, and the sound of it goes straight to my balls.

She leans forward and her tongue flicks out, tracing the underside of my c**k from root to tip in one long, wet stripe. The heat of her mouth is obscene after the cool air, and when she takes the head between her lips and sucks, hard, the pressure is enough to make my vision blur at the edges. Her tongue swirls around the sensitive ridge, tasting the salt of my precum, and then she’s taking me deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks.

I groan. The sound is low and involuntary, torn from somewhere deep in my chest. My hips thrust forward gently, pushing another inch into the wet heat of her mouth, and she takes it without breaking rhythm. Her hand works the base in tandem with her mouth, pumping steadily, and the dual sensation is almost too much—the suction, the softness of her lips, the slick friction of her tongue.

She bobs her head, taking me deeper with each downward movement, and I can feel the pressure building at the base of my spine, the need to bury myself inside her tightening like a coiled spring. My hand finds the back of her head, fingers tangling in her curls, and I have to fight the urge to push deeper, to take control.

“Enough,” I growl, and pull her off me. My c**k is dripping, her lipstick smudged at the corner of her mouth, and the sight of her looking up at me like that is almost enough to make me come on the spot.

I lift her. She’s light in my arms, all lean muscle and warm skin, and I turn her so she’s facing the wall. Her hands brace against the plaster, fingers splayed, and I press my chest against her back, feeling the heat of her through my t-shirt. My c**k rubs against the cleft of her ass, slick with her saliva and my own precum, teasing her entrance.

“Are you ready?” My voice is husky, barely above a whisper.

She nods, biting her lip. “f**k me. Hard.”

I position the head of my c**k at her entrance and push in slowly. The resistance is minimal—she’s so wet I slide in with barely a catch, but the tightness is immediate, her walls stretching around me in a way that makes us both gasp. I go inch by inch, savoring the drag, the way her body opens for me, and she lets out a low, broken moan that I feel vibrate through her back and into my chest.

When I’m fully buried, balls deep, I pause. Let her adjust. Feel her pulse throb around my shaft in rhythmic waves that match the distant bass from the main room. Her breath comes in short, sharp exhales against the wall.

Then I move.

The first thrust is deep and deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with enough force to push her forward an inch. The second is slower, grinding, my hips circling to drag my c**k along every sensitive inch of her inner walls. She gasps, a sharp intake of breath that tells me I hit something good, and I do it again. And again.

My hands grip her hips hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling her back onto me with each thrust. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the hallway—skin on skin, wet and rhythmic, punctuated by her increasingly vocal moans. The wall creaks behind her with each impact, a metallic bedspring sound that would be comical if it weren’t so f*****g hot.

She starts to meet me. Pushing back as I thrust forward, her ass clenching around my c**k, taking me deeper than I thought possible. Her moans have lost all their restraint, raw and open, and I can see the pleasure building in the way her spine arches and her head falls forward between her shoulders.

“Fuck... yes...” Her voice breaks on the word. “Harder. Please, harder—”

I oblige. My thrusts speed up, losing their deliberateness, becoming something urgent and hungry. The wall creaks louder. Her moans climb higher. I can feel her p***y fluttering around me, her inner muscles contracting in waves that tell me she’s close, so close, and the knowledge of it pushes me toward my own edge.

I lean forward, pressing my chest fully against her back, and my mouth finds her ear. “You’re mine tonight,” I whisper, and the possessiveness in it surprises even me. My hand slides around her hip, fingers finding her c**t, and I rub it in fast, firm circles that match the pace of my thrusts.

She cries out. A raw, primal sound that has nothing to do with performance and everything to do with the wave crashing over her. Her body shakes, her p***y clamping down on my c**k with incredible force, milking me as she comes, and I feel the hot flood of her juices coating my shaft, making every thrust slicker, messier, more obscene.

I can’t hold back. With a guttural groan that tears from somewhere deeper than my lungs, I slam into her one last time, burying myself to the hilt, and let go. My c**k pulses, releasing thick ropes of c*m deep inside her, filling her with each pulse, and I keep thrusting through it, riding out both our orgasms until my legs are shaking, and her walls are still rippling around me in aftershocks.

When I finally still, the world comes back in fragments. My breath is ragged, sweat slicking my forehead and soaking through my t-shirt. My heart hammers against my ribs hard enough that I can hear it in my ears. She slumps forward, resting her forehead against the wall, her breath coming in gasps that fog the plaster in front of her face.

I pull out slowly. My c**k slides free with a wet sound, and a trickle of our combined fluids runs down her inner thigh, glistening in the dim light. I watch it for a second, transfixed by the evidence of what we just did, before the reality of the hallway and the distant party reasserts itself.