Chapter 10: The Breaking Point di

The fourth week felt like living inside a pressure cooker with the lid rattling. The mansion’s walls seemed closer every day—every creak of floorboards, every click of a door latch, every casual question from their parents carried the threat of exposure. Sophia started sleeping with the hoodie zipped to her chin even when alone, as if fabric could hide the faint bruises blooming on her inner thighs, the red marks on her neck she blamed on “allergies” or “scratching in her sleep.” Julian grew quieter at breakfast—eyes shadowed, jaw tight—answering their father’s questions about work with clipped monosyllables while his foot still found hers under the table, pressing slow and deliberate until she had to grip her mug to keep from trembling.

Monday night they pushed too far.

The parents were at a charity auction downtown—home after 11. Sophia waited in the sunroom—glass walls overlooking the dark backyard, moonlight silvering the wicker furniture. She wore nothing under the hoodie—unzipped halfway, breasts exposed to the cool air, shorts discarded on the floor. Julian found her at 11:42, door from the kitchen clicking shut behind him.

He crossed the room in three strides, pushed her back onto the wicker loveseat, hoodie shoved up around her neck like a collar. No words—just his mouth on hers, hard and claiming, teeth clashing, tongue deep. He yanked her legs wide, hooked them over the armrests, entered her in one brutal thrust.

The wicker creaked—loud in the quiet house. Sophia bit his shoulder to muffle her gasp; he fucked her relentlessly—deep, punishing strokes that rocked the loveseat against the wall. Glass rattled faintly in the panes.

“You’re dripping again,” he growled against her throat. “All day you sat at breakfast with my cum still inside you from last night. Mom asked why you’re ‘glowing.’ You’re glowing because you’re full of your brother’s load. You like being a walking secret, don’t you?”