Riding My Hot Stepbrother And Spraying Milk – I was still half-asleep, shuffling down the upstairs hallway in my ratty tank top and sleep shorts, when the sound stopped me cold. A low, ragged moan drifted from behind Ryan’s door—thick, hungry, and far too intimate for seven-thirty in the morning. My first thought was immediate and bitter: He snuck a girl in again. Of course he had. Ryan Hamilton—golden boy of the university hockey team, campus legend, the guy every girl (and half the guys) fantasized about dragging into bed. Tall, broad-shouldered, stupidly gorgeous with that messy dark hair and the smirk that could melt panties at twenty paces. He probably had some cheerleader bent over his desk right now, whispering filthy promises while he fucked her senseless. Good. Let Mom catch him. Let her finally ground his perfect ass.
Because yesterday that same perfect ass had swapped my shampoo for industrial-strength green hair dye. I had woken up looking like a goddamn leprechaun. My long-awaited date with Luke—the sweet, shy guy from my literature seminar I had spent three months gathering the courage to confess to—had been canceled before it even started. I had stared at my reflection, green curls sticking out like I had been electrocuted, and screamed so loudly the neighbors probably thought someone was being murdered. Ryan was going to pay. Dearly. I slipped my phone out of my pocket, thumb already hovering over the camera app. One incriminating photo, ready to sent straight to Mom with the caption Your precious son is entertaining guests again. Heart hammering, I crept closer. The door was cracked open just enough.
I pressed my palm to the wood, pushed it another careful inch, and looked. No girl. Just Ryan. Naked. He was sprawled on his back in the middle of his unmade bed, sheets kicked down around his ankles. One large hand gripped the base of his cock—thick, flushed, glistening at the tip—while the other clutched something pink and soft against his face. A dress. My eyes flicked over the delicate straps, the short hem, the way the fabric bunched in his fist as he stroked himself slow and ruthless, each upward glide deliberate and obscene. Holy shit. I should have backed away. I should have slammed the door and pretended I had seen nothing. Instead, my feet rooted themselves to the floor. I stayed hidden behind the edge of the doorframe, barely breathing, and watched. Ryan’s chest rose and fell in heavy waves. A bead of sweat rolled down the deep groove between his abs.
His thighs were tensed, muscles corded, and every time his fist slid up that impressive length, his hips jerked as if he were fucking someone who wasn’t there. The pink dress dragged across his mouth as he groaned again, deeper this time, the sound raw and broken. “Fuck… so tight,” he rasped, voice wrecked and filthy. “That’s it, baby. Take every inch. Let me stretch you open.” My stomach flipped violently. Heat pooled low in my belly, sudden and traitorous. He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, thumb swiping over the swollen head, spreading the slickness that leaked from him. His breathing hitched. “Goddamn, you’re dripping for me already. So fucking wet I can hear it.” I squeezed my thighs together without thinking. A rush of warmth soaked into my panties. I was supposed to be furious. I was supposed to be gathering blackmail material. Instead, I was mesmerized by the way his cock throbbed in his fist, thick veins standing out, the head flushed dark and shiny.
My best friends had always whispered about Ryan being hung and ruthless in bed. I had rolled my eyes every time. I wasn’t rolling my eyes now. He dragged the pink dress lower, rubbing the silky fabric over his chest, then down his stomach. The hem brushed the base of his cock and he hissed through his teeth. “Yeah… just like that. Squeeze me with that pretty little pussy. Fuck, you feel so good.” His strokes sped up, obscene and wet-sounding. The dress fluttered against his skin like it was alive. I realized with a distant, dizzy jolt that the fabric looked painfully familiar—soft rose, the exact shade I had bought last month—but my brain refused to connect the dots. All I could focus on was the way his abs clenched every time he thrust into his fist, the way his balls drew up tight, the low growl vibrating out of his throat. I had known Ryan since I was thirteen.
The day Mom dragged me to that hockey game, he had been a god on the ice—fast, brutal, beautiful. When he scored the winning goal and ripped off his helmet, grinning straight at us with those storm-gray eyes, I had felt my stupid little heart crack open. I finally have a big brother, I had thought. A perfect one. Then we moved in together. And the pranks started. Fake spiders in my bed. Salt in my coffee. He was relentless. Cruel in that playful, big-brother way that made me want to kill him and kiss him in the same breath. Yet when those bitchy girls in high school cornered me in the bathroom and called me “cow” because my chest had developed faster than the rest of me, Ryan had appeared like some avenging angel. He hadn’t even raised his voice. Just smiled that terrifying, polite smile and told them if they ever looked at me sideways again he would forget the rule about not hitting girls. They had scattered like roaches. He only ever let himself torment me.
And now here I was, spying on him jerking off like a pervert, my nipples tight and aching, my pussy clenching around nothing while he fucked his own fist and whispered filth into the empty room. I should leave. I didn’t. Ryan’s head fell back against the pillow, throat working. The pink dress was bunched against his mouth again as he sucked in a shaky breath. “Come on, baby… milk my cock. I want to feel you come all over me.” A fresh gush of wetness slicked my thighs. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. This was wrong. So wrong. He was my stepbrother. The same guy who had ruined my hair, my date, and my entire week. But my body didn’t care. I felt the familiar, embarrassing warmth bloom behind my nipples—the secret I had never told anyone except my doctor. My stupid, overactive glands. One good orgasm and I would be leaking milk like some kind of porn trope, soaking my shirt, dripping down my ribs. I wasn’t even touching myself and I was already teetering on the edge just from watching him. Ryan’s strokes turned frantic. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room.
“Fuck—gonna come. Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days—” His hips snapped up. Thick ropes of cum erupted from the head of his cock, striping his abs, his chest, even catching the edge of the pink dress still clutched in his fist. He groaned long and low, the sound raw and broken, hips jerking through the aftershocks while he milked every last drop. I couldn’t breathe. My clit throbbed in time with his pulse. My panties were ruined. For one endless second I imagined stepping inside, climbing onto that bed, and letting him see exactly what he had done to me. Then common sense slammed back in. I eased the door shut with trembling fingers, heart thundering so loudly I was sure he would hear it.
My legs felt like jelly as I backed away down the hall, phone still in my hand—screen dark, no photo taken. I slipped into my own room, locked the door, and leaned against it, sliding down until my ass hit the carpet. What the hell is wrong with me? I pressed my thighs together again, chasing the ache that refused to fade. My nipples were so hard they hurt, already tingling with that telltale fullness. If I came right now I would soak my tank top in seconds. And the worst part? I wanted to. I wanted to come thinking about my stepbrother’s cock and the filthy things he had said while he stroked it. I dropped my head back against the door and let out a shaky laugh that sounded dangerously close to a moan. This was going to be a problem. A very, very big problem.