The credits rolled on the movie.
Valentina stretched like a cat, hoodie riding up, flashing everything, then smiled at me.
"Your big stepsister lands tonight. Airport run?"
I groaned playfully. "Do we have to wear clothes?"
She laughed. "In the car only. Promise."
An hour later we were in her blacked-out SUV, tinted windows maxed, privacy mode. Valentina drove, I sat in the back like a good boy.
We parked in the short-term pickup zone.
Minutes later, a familiar click of heels.
Tap-tap on the glass.
I opened the door and nearly swallowed my tongue.
There she was: Isabella Rosewood, Valentina's daughter from her first marriage, my 24-year-old stepsister, fresh off a three-month overseas modeling tour.
Long legs, tiny skirt, crop top straining against perfect curves, suitcase in one hand, wicked grin on her face.
She slid in beside me, slammed the door, hit the child lock.
"Hey, Mom," she chirped to the front seat.
"Hey, baby girl," Valentina answered, already pulling out of the spot.
Isabella turned to me, cupped my face, and kissed me deep, no hesitation, tongue claiming my mouth like she'd been starving for it.
"I missed you so much, husband," she whispered against my lips.
"husband" was our private joke that stopped being a joke a long time ago.
"Missed you more," I managed.
She didn't waste time.
Skirt up, no panties (of course), already dripping.
She unzipped me, freed my cock, and sank down in one smooth motion until I was buried to the hilt.
Then… she stopped.
Just sat there, full, warm, pulsing around me, arms wrapped around my neck, face buried in my shoulder.
"Don't move," she breathed. "Please. I just want to feel you inside me the whole ride. I dreamed about this every night."
Valentina glanced in the rear-view mirror, smirked, and hit the highway.
Every bump, every turn, every brake sent tiny shocks through us.
Isabella bit her lip to stay quiet, but soft whimpers escaped with every pothole.
I stayed perfectly still, hands on her hips, feeling her heartbeat to heartbeat.
Forty-five minutes of the sweetest torture.
By the time the garage door closed at home, we were both shaking, on the edge but holding.
Isabella finally lifted her head, eyes glassy with love and lust.
"Welcome-home sex can wait till after dinner," she decided, voice trembling. "Right now I just want to stay exactly like this."
She didn't move an inch.
Valentina killed the engine, looked back, and laughed softly.
"Dinner's going to be interesting with you two glued together."
Isabella grinned, not letting go.
"Good. I'm not leaving this seat, or him, until tomorrow morning."
I kissed her forehead.
"Deal."
The garage door rolled down with a soft thud.
Valentina leaned back in through the driver-side window, smirking.
"You two coming inside, or…?"
Isabella didn't even look up from my neck.
"Nope. I'm riding my husband all night right here. Go sleep, Mom."
Valentina laughed, low and fond.
"Fine. Try not to scratch the leather too bad. Love you both."
She disappeared into the house, heels clicking away.
The second the inner door shut, Isabella locked eyes with me, rolled her hips once, and whispered:
"Finally."
Then she started moving.
Slow at first, savoring every inch, then faster, harder, like three months of missing me exploded out of her all at once.
"Ahh—yes—husband—never leaving again—"
I gripped her hips, met every thrust, kissing her possessively, swallowing every moan.
The car rocked on its suspension.
Windows fogged.
Her nails dug into my shoulders.
Hours blurred into pure need.
We came together, hard, her walls milking me, my release flooding her until we were both shaking, breathless, laughing into each other's mouths.
She collapsed forward, forehead against mine.
"Don't pull out," she murmured, already half-asleep. "Want you inside me till morning."
I wrapped my arms around her, kissed her hair.
"Done."
We stayed just like that, joined, tangled, hearts slowing together, drifting off in the warm leather seat.
Meanwhile – inside the dark house
Valentina padded to the living room, still naked, skin flushed from the day's teasing.
She dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide, pussy still swollen and dripping.
One click on the remote.
The big screen lit up with our private home video:
Me and her in missionary on this exact sofa months ago, her legs locked around my waist, both of us lost in each other, wet sounds and filthy whispers filling the speakers.
"Yes—deeper, baby—fuck Mommy just like that—"
She bit her lip, fingers sliding three fingers inside herself, matching the rhythm on screen.
The house echoed with moans—hers now, hers from the past, mine from the recording.
She came hard, back arching, crying out my name into the empty room.
Didn't even bother turning it off.
Just left the video looping, wet sounds and dirty talk playing softly all night like a lullaby, and fell asleep right there on the couch, satisfied, waiting for morning when her babies would come claim her again.
I woke up to the best alarm clock in existence: still buried deep inside Isabella, her warm walls fluttering around my morning wood.
She stirred, felt me swell even harder, and let out a sleepy, happy moan.
"Mmm… good morning, husband," she whispered, clenching deliberately. "Go ahead. Use me."
That was all the permission I needed.
I started slow, savoring every inch, letting her wake up to the feeling of me stretching her again.
Wet sounds filled the quiet garage immediately, soft and filthy.
A few minutes of gentle rocking turned into hungry thrusts.
She arched her back, nails digging into my shoulders, moaning louder with every slam.
"Ahh—ahh—fuck—yes—harder, husband—!"
Her eyes rolled back, little hearts practically glowing, possessive and completely gone.
"I love you—love you—never take it out—"
I lost control, pounding deep, wet slaps echoing off the concrete walls like applause.
We came together in a rush, her walls milking me dry, my release flooding her until it leaked out around us even while I was still inside.
We stayed locked, panting, laughing into each other's necks.
Eventually she pouted.
"Do you have to take it out?"
I kissed her slow and sweet.
"Wife… I'm starving. Need breakfast."
She fake-sighed, lifted her hips.
A river of us spilled onto the leather seat.
"Fine," she said, climbing off only to straddle my lap facing me, arms around my neck.
"But you're feeding me every bite. Deal?"
"Deal."
She grinned, already feeling me getting semi-hard again.
"Come on. Shower first. You can take me from behind while the water's running. I want to start the day properly."
I didn't argue.
We slipped out of the car naked, hand in hand, cum still dripping down her thighs, and walked straight through the house to the master bathroom like we owned the world.
Because right now, we did.
Hot water poured over us like liquid silk.
I took my time washing Isabella, hands gliding over every perfect curve, soaping her heavy breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples until she moaned like a needy kitten.
"Ahh—ahh—yes, just like that, baby—"
When I spun her around, pressed her hands to the marble wall, and slid into her from behind, she went completely limp with pleasure.
I gripped her hips, stayed buried deep for a long moment, letting her feel every inch stretch her again.
Then I started moving, slow, deep strokes that turned into hard, possessive thrusts.
The shower echoed with wet skin-on-skin slaps and her broken moans.
"Yes—yes—fuck me, husband—harder—!"
I gave her everything until we both shattered, her walls clamping down so hard she actually blacked out for a few seconds, legs giving out.
I caught her before she hit the tile, wrapped her in the fluffiest towel, and carried her to the bed like she weighed nothing.
Tucked her in, kissed her forehead, watched her drift off with the happiest little smile.
Then I sat at my desk, still naked, and knocked out the homework I'd been ignoring all weekend.
An hour later the door opened quietly.
Valentina slipped in, wearing only a silk robe that didn't close.
She took one look at Isabella, spread-eagle, still leaking, and licked her lips.
Without a word she crawled between her daughter's thighs and started cleaning her up with slow, thorough licks.
I just leaned back in the chair, stroking myself to the sight.
When Valentina finished, she crawled straight to me, took me deep into her mouth, tasting both of us mixed together.
I threaded fingers through her wet hair, fucked her mouth slow and steady while she fingered herself shamelessly.
We came at the same time, her swallowing every drop, eyes locked on mine the whole time.
Afterward she lay on the floor, legs spread, and I returned the favor, licking her clean until she was shaking again.
When we could finally breathe, she kissed my cheek.
"Next time," she whispered, "that cock goes inside Mommy's pussy. Understood?"
I grinned. "Yes, ma'am."
She left with a sway of hips.
I crawled back into bed, spooned my sleeping stepsister (still warm and full of me), and let the Sunday laziness pull us both under.
Best. Weekend. Ever.