Flash Drama Hub-luoxy

Forced to share a horse with her worst enemy on a camping trip, Sloane thinks it is pure torture—until Cole's hands slide from her aching hips to places no stepbrother should ever touch. By the campfire he acts like nothing happened, but late at night she catches him behind an oak tree, one hand shoved in his sweatpants, growling her name. The next day on the trail he drops the act completely. His fingers inside her. His cock buried deep. His voice in her ear: "You are mine. Especially when I make you a mama."​Four months later their parents show up unannounced—walking straight into the bedroom to find Cole pinning her to the mattress, an ultrasound resting in plain sight on the nightstand. With their filthy taboo finally exposed, will the family survive, or is Cole's psychotic obsession just beginning?

Forced to share a horse with her worst enemy on a camping trip, Sloane thinks it is pure torture—until Cole's hands slide from her aching hips to places no stepbrother should ever touch. By the campfire he acts like nothing happened, but late at night she catches him behind an oak tree, one hand shoved in his sweatpants, growling her name. The next day on the trail he drops the act completely. His fingers inside her. His cock buried deep. His voice in her ear: "You are mine. Especially when I make you a mama."​Four months later their parents show up unannounced—walking straight into the bedroom to find Cole pinning her to the mattress, an ultrasound resting in plain sight on the nightstand. With their filthy taboo finally exposed, will the family survive, or is Cole's psychotic obsession just beginning?

Four years. We hated each other for four years. That is, until Dad's Tahoe pushed us into the same back seat—two days in a row, half of my body was pressed against his thigh. On the other side of the carton wall, Dad was driving three feet away. On this side of the cardboard wall, his arms were wrapped around my stomach like a steel cage, his thumb was circling on the inside of my thighs, and his breath was blowing warmly in my ears. When his fingers first reached under my leggings, I should have pushed him away. I should have screamed when he grabbed my throat and roared with his lips against my auricle. The moment he whispered, "I don't want to hate you," I should have let that wall stand up again. But I didn't. The worst thing is – I don't want him to stop. Our parents got married and shared a pair of twin sisters. He was supposed to be my family. But in the back seat of this car, all the "shoulds" are collapsing. There are still two days left in this car. And I was already obsessed with the truth that I had spent four years trying to escape.

Forced to share a horse with her worst enemy on a camping trip, Sloane thinks it is pure torture—until Cole's hands slide from her aching hips to places no stepbrother should ever touch. By the campfire he acts like nothing happened, but late at night she catches him behind an oak tree, one hand shoved in his sweatpants, growling her name. The next day on the trail he drops the act completely. His fingers inside her. His cock buried deep. His voice in her ear: "You are mine. Especially when I make you a mama."​Four months later their parents show up unannounced—walking straight into the bedroom to find Cole pinning her to the mattress, an ultrasound resting in plain sight on the nightstand. With their filthy taboo finally exposed, will the family survive, or is Cole's psychotic obsession just beginning?

Forced to share a horse with her worst enemy on a camping trip, Sloane thinks it is pure torture—until Cole's hands slide from her aching hips to places no stepbrother should ever touch. By the campfire he acts like nothing happened, but late at night she catches him behind an oak tree, one hand shoved in his sweatpants, growling her name. The next day on the trail he drops the act completely. His fingers inside her. His cock buried deep. His voice in her ear: "You are mine. Especially when I make you a mama."​Four months later their parents show up unannounced—walking straight into the bedroom to find Cole pinning her to the mattress, an ultrasound resting in plain sight on the nightstand. With their filthy taboo finally exposed, will the family survive, or is Cole's psychotic obsession just beginning?

Four years. We hated each other for four years. That is, until Dad's Tahoe pushed us into the same back seat—two days in a row, half of my body was pressed against his thigh. On the other side of the carton wall, Dad was driving three feet away. On this side of the cardboard wall, his arms were wrapped around my stomach like a steel cage, his thumb was circling on the inside of my thighs, and his breath was blowing warmly in my ears. When his fingers first reached under my leggings, I should have pushed him away. I should have screamed when he grabbed my throat and roared with his lips against my auricle. The moment he whispered, "I don't want to hate you," I should have let that wall stand up again. But I didn't. The worst thing is – I don't want him to stop. Our parents got married and shared a pair of twin sisters. He was supposed to be my family. But in the back seat of this car, all the "shoulds" are collapsing. There are still two days left in this car. And I was already obsessed with the truth that I had spent four years trying to escape.