"Ahhh!" The woman's nails dug into his back, her hips bucking beneath him as she reached her peak. But he couldn't. Not with her, or with anyone else. Not anymore.

He rolled off her, the soft sheets tangling around his legs as he sat up on the edge of the bed. He ran a frustrated hand through his already messy hair. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, the word heavy with a mix of frustration and self-loathing.

She sat up behind him, her hand warm on his shoulder. "Let's keep going," she murmured. She sounded disappointed. "You haven’t… you haven’t finished yet."

He ignored her, standing up and pulling on his clothes. He could feel her annoyance radiating from her. "Leaving just like that?" she asked, her tone sharp.

He zipped up his leather jacket, grabbed his wallet from the nightstand, and tossed a few bills onto the bed. "Asshole!" she spat, the crumpled cash a stinging insult. He didn’t look back. He just walked out of the hotel room, leaving her alone with her anger.

He drove back home, and his mind fixated on one thing: he needed to go home. The hour-long drive felt endless, a slow burn of frustration. Why can't he connect? Why can't he release the tension that has been building inside him for so long? He needs it, craves it, and yet, no matter who he's with, it's always the same empty result.

Is it because of you?

Still you.

Even though it's been four years since you two broke up.

"Yeah, fuck that one night," Conrad growled to himself as he unlocked the front door. The scent of your shampoo, that faint familiar floral scent—he used to love, filled the air. You were there, curled up on the couch, watching your favorite movie as if he wasn't gone for half the night.

You're his stepsister. But that is just a title. Once, you had been his lover, his everything. Your parents got married two years ago. A union he has never approved of. He always expresses his hatred for you. But it's just a flimsy veil to hide the fire that still burned inside him.

Then came that one night—a blazing argument that ended with shared feverish intimacy. You've both agreed it was a mistake, a moment of weakness to be forgotten. A one-night stand that should have never happened.

He stood in front of you, his large frame blocking the glow of the TV. "Let's do it again," he said, the words a demand, a plea, and a challenge all at once.

He needs to release....

Inside you.