Chapter 11: Exposure Close Call

The fifth week felt like living on borrowed time. The mansion’s air had thickened—every sound amplified, every shadow suspect. Sophia started wearing longer sleeves and high-necked shirts even in the house, hiding the constellation of faint bruises and bite marks that bloomed and faded across her skin like secret constellations. Julian grew more meticulous: doors double-checked, sheets changed before dawn, trash double-bagged and taken out himself. They spoke less during the day—words felt too dangerous now—but the glances lingered longer, the touches under tables briefer but more electric.

Monday night they pushed the limit again.

The parents were at a neighbor’s wine tasting—home by 10:30, maybe 11 if the conversation flowed. Sophia waited in the laundry room—small, windowless, the hum of the dryer the only cover. She’d started the machine on an empty load just for noise. Hoodie unzipped to her navel, shorts around her ankles, bent over the folding counter. Julian slipped in at 10:42—door locked behind him.

No preamble. He pressed against her back, jeans shoved down, cock sliding into her in one deep thrust. The counter edge dug into her hips; she gripped the warm metal to brace.

“Quiet,” he whispered, hand clamping over her mouth. “Dryer’s loud, but not that loud.”

He fucked her hard—fast, punishing strokes that rocked the counter, made the dryer thump rhythmically against the wall. Sophia bit his palm—hard enough to taste copper—muffling the whimpers that escaped anyway. His free hand slid around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough circles.

“You’re soaked again,” he growled against her ear. “All day you sat at lunch with Mom asking about your ‘boyfriend situation’ while my cum from last night was still leaking into your panties. You like lying to her face with your brother’s load inside you, don’t you?”