Emily's POV
Night four.
Parents asleep down the hall.
Door locked, but the walls are thin.
I’d barely slept since the frat house.
My jaw still ached faintly from three c***s stretching it wide, my face still carried the faint sticky memory of c*m even after I’d scrubbed it raw in the shower. Every time I closed my eyes I tasted them—different salts, different thicknesses, different groans—and then Ethan’s voice cutting through: Look at my little stepsister choking on real d**k.
My cunt hadn’t stopped throbbing since.
I’d changed my sheets twice in two days because I kept waking up soaked, thighs slick, c**t begging for friction I wasn’t allowed to give.
The bet was killing me.
And I loved it.
I was lying on my side, facing the door, when the knob turned—slow, silent
