Twenty Shades Of Sin Taboo Desires

My thighs were already sticky when the knock came at 2:17 a.m.

I was sprawled on my bed, legs wide open, the thick veined dildo still buried deep inside me. My p*ssy clenched around it in lazy aftershocks, milking every last drop of the orgasm I'd just ridden hard while imagining a man who didn't give a f*ck about rules. My breath was ragged.

my c*m was coated all over my fingers and leaked down between my *ss cheeks onto the sheets. The room smelled like s*x and the vanilla candle I'd lit to cover it up.

I wasn't supposed to be this filthy. Not Ellie Voss. The good girl. The one who sent her mother heart emojis every night and kept her grades perfect. But the moment I was alone, the real me came out, dripping, greedy, aching to be ruined by someone who would take without asking.

The knock sounded again.

Who the f*ck is that! I hissed to myself.

And it didn't sound like the polite tap of a delivery guy.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I yanked the dildo out with a wet pop, shoved it under the pillow, and quickly wiped my soaked fingers on my silk robe. My cl*t was still pulsing, sensitive and swollen, every step sending little jolts through me as I crept downstairs.

The porch light was on. Through the frosted glass I saw a tall, broad silhouette. Shoulders that looked like they could carry my entire weight without effort. Tattoos crawling up the side of his neck.

I knew who it was before I opened the door.

Damien.

My step-brother.

He stepped inside the moment the lock clicked, bringing the smell of night air, cigarette smoke, and something darker , prison, danger, pure male. Four years had turned him into something else entirely, he was looking harder and bigger. The boy who used to tease me was gone. This man looked like he ate good girls like me for breakfast.

"Ellie." His voice was low, rough, like gravel dragged over concrete. His eyes were dark, and hungrily dragged down my body. The thin robe did nothing to hide how hard my n*ppl*s were, or the way my thighs pressed together, still slick from what I'd been doing minutes earlier.

"You're back," I whispered. My voice came out breathy.

What a very traitorous thing.

He closed the door behind him and locked it. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet house. Mom was in Dubai for three weeks. We were completely alone.

"I'm staying here." He dropped a black duffel bag on the marble floor. "And you're going to help me with something."

I swallowed. My p*ssy gave another involuntary flutter, remembering every secret fantasy I'd had about him since I turned eighteen. The ones where he pinned me down and told me I belonged to him. The ones where he filled me until I couldn't walk.

"What… what do you need?" I asked, trying to sound normal. But my cheeks were burning and I could feel fresh wetness sliding down my inner thigh.

Damien stepped closer, f*ck to close. He towered over me now. One hand came up, not touching me, just hovering near my throat like he was thinking about it. His gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, to where my robe had slipped open enough to show the top of my breasts.

"I owe some very bad people a lot of money," he said flatly. "Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. They know about this house and they sure do know about you and the only way I keep them from coming after you as collateral… is if you belong to me. Completely."

My stomach flipped. My cl*t throbbed so hard I almost moaned.

"Belong to you?" I breathed. My mind was screaming danger, but my body was screaming yes. I could still feel the ghost of the dildo stretching me, but it wasn't enough. Not anymore.

He leaned in. His breath brushed my ear. "Thirty days, little sister, you would submit and you do what I say. You let me use you however I need to keep you safe. After that… we're even."

I should have slapped him. I should have called the police. Instead, my p*ssy clenched so tight another trickle of slick ran down my leg. He noticed. Of course he noticed. A dark smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You're already wet, aren't you, Ellie?"

I didn't answer, there was no way I could. My thighs trembled.

He reached past me and switched off the hallway light, plunging us into near darkness. Only the moonlight through the big windows lit his face sharp jaw, new scar on his cheekbone, eyes that looked like they'd seen hell and come back hungrier.

"You've grown up," he murmured, voice dropping even lower. "Try not to make this harder than it has to be."

He stepped back, picked up his bag, and headed for the stairs like he already owned the place. Like he already owned me.

I stood there in the dark, heart hammering, p*ssy dripping, n*ppl*s aching, knowing two things for certain:

One: I was in serious trouble.

Two: I was going to say yes.

And the moment I did… there would be no going back

Oh my brother's d*ck!

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Damien's presence in the house like a live wire under my skin. My p*ssy refused to calm down. Even after I crept back to my room, changed my soaked panties, and tried to finish what I started earlier with the dildo, it wasn't enough. The toy felt pathetic now, it felt too smooth, too fake.

I kept imagining his rough hands instead, his voice in my ear calling me "little sister" while he stretched me open.

By morning my thighs were sticky again. My n*ppl*s stayed hard against my thin tank top. I felt filthy and already owned by him. And he hadn't even touched me yet.

I found him in the kitchen.

Shirtless.

F*ck.

Prison had carved him into something dangerous, because tell me why a man would have such a massive broad shoulders, thick chest covered in dark ink drawn of snakes, skulls, and a large "V" over his heart. Scars crossed his abs. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, showing the deep V-l