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My jaw aches from how tense my body is at the power force I’m using, “you like that?”
She can’t speak as tears trail down her face but nods. Her hands come up to wrap around my wrists, and it falters my rhythm before I continue, and I squeeze harder, knowing she is going to bruise from my grip. The thought of her wearing my marks had me fighting back my release. Why was she making me feel like a teenage boy fucking for the first time?
My wife had never liked to be fucked rough, no matter how much we warmed her up for it. She treated sex as a transaction, dangling it before me when she wanted something. I looked down to see where I was disappearing into my niece and groaned at the sight. Her pussy was so puffy and red from how rough it’s been treated.
“Come inside me,” Emma begs, and I snap up to look at her. Considering the desperation seeping into her face, she didn’t realize what I was genuinely thinking about.
“Yeah? You want my cum?” Her hand drops between us, rubbing at her clit. I slow my thrusts, pushing deeper with quick strokes.
She nods frantically, “I want to leak you all day. I want the reminder that you fucked me and the hope that maybe in a few weeks, I could be growing your baby.”
“Emma, fuck,” I grunt. The image of her petite body swelled with my child, her engorged breasts begging to be milked, causes me to come instantly. I push my cock as far as it goes, wanting my seed to take root in her womb.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she pants as she comes with me. I let go of her and drop my body over hers, tilting her face to mine.
I kiss her, letting myself enjoy this moment. She was everything I wanted in a woman, and this was the best sex of my life. She moans, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair. My hands slide along the curve of her ass, holding her to me for a few more heartbeats. I pull out with a sigh, laying down next to her, and throw my arm over my eyes. The silence is tense as neither of us moves an inch. I wasn’t sure where to go from here. I had fucked my niece three times in a few short hours, my body felt drained, and my heart was heavy. The last time would do me in since I consciously chose to continue.
“I won’t tell anyone,” her soft voice says.
“And if I knocked you up?” I turn my head toward her, and she was already facing me. Her dark hair fanned out on her pillows, her lips swollen and red, her bright blue eyes watching warily. She was absolute perfection; I swallowed to coat my drying throat.
She shrugs with a small smile, “It’s not like my family is involved in my life. I could easily lie about who the father is.”
My stomach twists, and my fists clench, “It is my child. I am the father.”
Emma bites her lip, and my eyes are drawn to the motion, blood rushing to harden my cock again. I was sick; I shouldn’t be reacting to her like this. It was like my body couldn’t get enough.
“I’m not sure what you’re saying then, Jamie. You don’t have to be–” She sits up, tying her hair up in a messy knot on her head as she crosses her legs and faces me fully. I follow her up, my back leaning against the headboard, as I drag her sheet and cover us both up. The longer I had an unobstructed view of her leaking pussy, the higher the chance we wouldn’t get out of bed.
“Okay, I should tell you. If I am pregnant, I’m keeping it,” She says, “You don’t have to be involved. We can take this to the grave.” Emma chuckles, but I don't see the humor in the situation.
I run a hand through my hair and give her a pointed look, “Emma, I would never leave you to raise our child. I had the choice to pull out.”
“But you didn’t.” No, I didn’t because I was a sick bastard who wanted nothing more than to breed the gorgeous creature before me.
I shook my head, and I could hear my phone ringing in the living room. Getting out of bed, I paused to the side of it. “We need to discuss this more, okay? Go shower because I’m sure your parents are finally waking up and will check on me.”
She nods but calls out to me as I reach the doorway, “Do you regret it?”
I squeeze the frame and hang my head, “I don’t know,” I say honestly. What I felt and knew I should be feeling were two different things.
Closing the door, I leave her to get ready and grab my bag on the floor next to the couch. I quickly pull on sweatpants and a shirt. A glance at my phone showed the missed call was from who I expected. I shoot off a text in reply and go to her kitchen. We probably had about 20 minutes before her family reached the guest cottage, so I start pulling breakfast items out. I also open the closest window, paranoid that the stench of sex was in the air.
This morning left no doubt that my already failing marriage was ending. Serena hasn’t been home in months, and I don’t even remember the last time I spoke to her. It was one of the reasons I had the damn sleeping medication. My anxiety about wherever or whatever my wife was up to plagued my thoughts constantly. Not because I cared for Serena, that ship had sailed years ago, but because she had a nasty mouth on her. She was one comment away from never coming home if she said it to the wrong person. At the suggestion of my therapist, I started to take the pills, which were life-changing. The only downside was sometimes I went into episodes, and I didn’t remember anything; the last time, I ordered an entire entertainment system for my house. I never thought I could have sex with someone while I was technically asleep.
I hear a knocking as I finish the eggs and put the bacon into the pan before moving to the door.
“Got it,” Emma’s soft voice says behind me, and I watch as she starts toward it instead, confused about how long she’s been there. I was lost in my thoughts for longer than I realized as I went through the motions of cooking.
Her parents mutter to themselves as they follow her back into the kitchen, and Emma slides onto a stool at the counter. Her mother watches her displeasingly and stands closer to her husband.
“Jamie! It’s been a while,” Rupert grins at me, coming to shake my hand and pat my back. I smile back and nod at Anne, who stands awkwardly.
“Serena doesn’t enjoy traveling much,” I tell them both, sneaking a peek at Emma. She’s fidgeting with her phone, her bare legs crossed from what I can see under the dress she had put on.
“Where is my sister?” Anne asks, looking around.
I turn back to the food, “Should be arriving soon. I was just making Emma and me breakfast as thanks for letting me crash here. I woke her up pretty late last night. Should I make some more?”
