Chapter 185 Stepsisters 4

Chapter 185 Stepsisters 4
The rain came down in sheets, turning the city into a smeared watercolor of light and shadow. Elena’s apartment occupied the entire thirty-second floor, all glass and marble and cold perfection. She had dismissed the housekeeper hours ago, poured herself a third glass of Barolo, and stood at the window watching lightning fork over the river when the intercom buzzed.

She knew who it was before the doorman spoke.

Liana stood in the foyer ten minutes later, soaked to the bone, white cotton dress plastered transparent against every curve. Mascara streaked her cheeks like war paint. Her nipples were hard points under the wet fabric; the dress ended high enough to prove she wore nothing beneath it. Water pooled at her bare feet.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Liana said. Her voice shook with cold or fury, maybe both.

“I was busy.” Elena didn’t move from the window.

“Busy fucking him without me?”

The words cracked like a whip. Elena turned slowly. “Watch your tone.”

Liana laughed, sharp and ugly. “Or what? You’ll throw me out? You already did that last night when you left the villa with him and told me to find my own way back.”

Elena set her glass down with deliberate calm. “You wanted space. I gave it to you.”

“I wanted you to choose,” Liana snarled. She crossed the room in three strides, water dripping everywhere. “But you never do, do you? It’s always the three of us or nothing. Except when it’s just the two of you.”

She shoved Elena hard in the chest. Elena’s back hit the glass, the impact rattling the floor-to-ceiling pane. For a second the storm outside and the one inside blurred.

Then Elena moved.

Her hand snapped around Liana’s throat, slamming her against the nearest wall. The impact knocked a framed Mapplethorpe off its hook; glass shattered across the marble. Liana gasped, but her eyes blazed triumph.

“There it is,” she whispered. “There’s the real Elena.”

Elena’s grip tightened. “You want the real me? Fine.”

She spun Liana around, face-first into the wall, and ripped the soaked dress down the back in one violent yank. Fabric tore like paper. Liana’s breath fogged the paint. Elena kicked her legs apart, pressed her whole body against Liana’s back, let her feel exactly how little she was wearing under the silk robe.

“You came here to get fucked,” Elena said against her ear. “So shut up and take it.”

Her free hand came down on Liana’s ass in a blistering slap. The crack echoed. Liana cried out, hips jerking forward. Another slap, harder, on the other cheek. Skin bloomed red instantly. Elena didn’t stop until Liana was sobbing, forehead pressed to the wall, thighs trembling.

Then she dragged her by the hair across the open living room and threw her face-down over the marble kitchen island. The surface was cold enough to make Liana hiss. Elena shoved the ruined dress up to her waist, exposing that perfect, punished ass.

“Stay,” she ordered.

She disappeared for ten seconds and came back with the strap-on she kept in the bedroom drawer (thick, black silicone, eight inches of unforgiving). She buckled it on right there, watching Liana watch her in the reflection of the dark windows.

Lightning flashed, illuminating them both: Elena tall and feral, cock jutting obscene and proud; Liana bent over, dripping rain and arousal in equal measure.

Elena didn’t use lube. She didn’t need to. One brutal thrust and she buried herself to the hilt. Liana screamed, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick marble. Elena gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and set a punishing rhythm, every stroke slamming Liana’s thighs into the edge of the island.

“You think you own me?” Elena snarled between thrusts. “You think you get to show up here and demand anything?”

“No,” Liana gasped. “Fuck, no, I just—”

Another thrust cut her off. Elena reached forward, fisted a hand in soaked hair, and yanked her head back.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” Liana choked. “I’m yours, Elena, please—”

Elena fucked her harder, the harness grinding against her own clit with every snap of her hips. The kitchen filled with wet sounds, the slap of skin on skin, Liana’s broken moans. The storm outside answered with thunder that rattled the glass.

Liana came first, sudden and violent, pussy clenching around the silicone cock, a gush of fluid spilling down her thighs onto the marble. Elena didn’t slow. She rode her through it, drawing it out until Liana was shaking, oversensitive, begging in fragments.

The front door opened without a knock.

Victor stepped inside, raincoat dripping, eyes taking in the scene with one sweep. He closed the door softly and leaned against it, arms folded.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said.

Elena met his gaze in the window’s reflection and smiled like a wolf. She pulled out of Liana abruptly, making the girl whimper at the loss, then hauled her upright by the hair and marched her toward the balcony doors.

Rain lashed sideways the moment they slid open. The balcony was wide, exposed, thirty-two floors above the street. Wind whipped Elena’s robe open; the silk stuck to her skin like a second layer. She shoved Liana against the railing, bent her forward until her hips pressed cold metal, breasts hanging free over the void.

Victor followed them out, coat discarded somewhere inside. He moved behind Elena first, hands sliding around to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her gasp. His cock pressed against her ass, already out, already wet with precome and rain.

“Hold her,” he told Elena.

She gripped Liana’s wrists, pinning them to the railing. Liana’s knuckles went white. The height, the storm, the exposure (none of it mattered). Only the need.

Victor entered Elena in one thrust, no warning, no gentleness. She moaned, pushed forward into Liana’s back. Then she dropped to her knees in the pouring rain and buried her face between Liana’s thighs from behind.

Liana screamed into the wind as Elena’s tongue speared into her, licking her own wetness mixed with rain. Victor fucked Elena hard, each thrust driving her mouth deeper against Liana’s cunt. The railing creaked under their combined weight.

Victor’s hand snaked around Elena’s throat, squeezing just enough to make stars burst behind her eyes. Breath play in a thunderstorm (dangerous, perfect). Elena’s vision tunneled; her orgasm built like a riptide.

She pulled back just long enough to gasp, “Choke her too.”

Victor released Elena and reached forward, wrapping one large hand around Liana’s slender throat from behind. Liana’s eyes rolled back, mouth open to the rain. Elena dove back in, sucking Liana’s clit hard, two fingers plunging deep, curling ruthlessly.

Liana came again, harder this time, body seizing so violently Victor had to tighten his grip to keep her from pitching forward over the edge. The scream that tore from her throat was raw, animal, swallowed instantly by the storm.

Victor pulled out of Elena and moved to Liana in one fluid motion. He slammed into her from behind, still holding her throat, fucking her with short, vicious strokes that made her whole body jolt. Elena stood, pressed herself to Liana’s front, and kissed her (deep, filthy, swallowing every moan).

Nails raked skin. Blood mixed with rain in thin pink rivulets. Victor’s other hand found Elena’s clit, rubbing brutally until she shattered against Liana’s thigh, coming with a snarl that tasted like copper.

Victor followed seconds later, burying himself deep in Liana and spilling with a roar lost to the thunder. Liana’s third orgasm hit at the same moment, her knees buckling. Only Victor’s grip on her throat and Elena’s arms around her waist kept her upright.

They stayed like that while the storm raged (three bodies slick with rain, come, and blood, shaking against each other on a balcony high above an indifferent city).

Eventually Victor carried Liana inside, Elena following on unsteady legs. They left wet footprints and crimson smears across the marble.

In the bedroom, they didn’t bother with towels. They collapsed onto the ruined sheets, limbs tangled, breath ragged. The rain kept falling, softer now, almost gentle.

No one spoke of tomorrow.

There was only the storm, and what it had stripped bare.