The honey pack incident part two

The first light crept through the slats of the living room blinds, a watery gray that painted stripes across our tangled limbs. Consciousness came not as a gentle tide but a sudden, electric jolt—my body already humming with a residual heat that sleep had done nothing to quench. Emily stirred against me, her bare skin hot and slick with dried sweat, her auburn hair a wild mess across my chest. The scent of honey and sex clung to every breath.
Her eyes opened at the same instant mine did. No drowsy blinking, no confusion. Just immediate, feral awareness. The honey—the Aphrodite’s Bloom, the Warrior’s Nectar—it hadn’t left our systems. It had only simmered.
Her hand was already moving, fingers digging into the meat of my shoulder. My own hand found the curve of her hip, nails biting into the soft flesh. We didn’t speak. Words were a luxury for people who weren’t starving.
And we were ravenous.
Her mouth crashed into mine, no tentative exploration this time. Teeth clashed, a sharp, sweet sting. I tasted copper and the ghost of honey. My tongue thrust past her lips, demanding, and she met it with equal force. A growl rumbled in her throat, vibrating against my chest. The sound shot straight to my cock, already thick and aching against her thigh.
She pulled back just enough to gasp, “Again. Now.”
Not a question. A command I answered by flipping our positions. I rolled on top, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. The couch cushions groaned beneath us. Her breasts, full and pale, bounced with the motion, nipples already hard as pebbles. She arched up, straining against my grip, thighs spreading wide.
“You’re so fucking wet,” I rasped, my free hand sliding down between her legs. My fingers found her cunt, hot and drenched, the lips swollen and slick. The honey had turned her into a furnace.
She bucked against my hand. “Stop talking and fuck me, Korin.”
The rough edge in her voice undid me. I released her wrists, grabbed her hips, and flipped her over onto her stomach. A startled cry escaped her, then a moan as I pulled her ass up, knees splayed on the cushions, her pussy presented to me like an offering. The morning light caught the glistening mess of her arousal, the dark curls matted.
I didn’t bother with gentleness. My cock, leaking pre-cum, nudged against her entrance. One hard thrust, and I buried myself to the hilt. The wet suck of her body swallowing me filled the room.
Emily screamed—a raw, ragged sound that was pure pleasure. Her hands scrabbled at the armrest, knuckles white. “Yes! Oh god, yes!”
I set a brutal pace, pistoning into her with a hunger that bordered on violence. Each stroke drew a fresh cry from her lips, the sound mingling with the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. My hands gripped her hips so hard I knew I’d leave bruises. She pushed back against me, meeting every thrust, her ass jolting with the impact.
“Harder,” she gasped, her voice cracking. “Don’t you dare hold back.”
I yanked her hair, pulling her head back until her spine bowed. Her cry turned into a choked sob. I leaned over her, my chest pressed to her sweat-slicked back, and bit the curve of her shoulder. Not a love bite—a mark. She shuddered, inner walls clamping down around my cock like a fist.
“Mine,” I snarled against her skin.
“Yours,” she echoed, a broken whisper. “All yours.”
The angle shifted, and the head of my cock dragged against a spot that made her whole body convulse. Her pussy spasmed, a fluttering that drove me to the edge. I could feel her orgasm building in the frantic clench of her muscles, the way her legs trembled.
“Come for me, Em,” I ordered, my thumb finding her clit, rubbing tight circles.
She shattered. A wail tore from her throat, raw and primal. Her pussy milked my cock with savage contractions, hot fluid gushing around my shaft. The sensation shoved me over the cliff. I drove in deep one last time, a snarl ripping from my chest as I emptied myself inside her, spurting hot and thick. The world narrowed to the pulse of my release, the wet heat of her body, the sound of our heaving breaths.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. I remained buried inside her, softening but still twitching. Her body gradually went limp, melting into the cushions. I pulled out carefully, a thread of our mixed fluids trailing onto the fabric. Emily rolled onto her side, face flushed, eyes hazy but still burning with that honey-fueled fire.
“We’re going to need more of those packs,” she murmured, her lips curving into a wicked smile.
I chuckled, the sound dry and spent. “I bought a whole box.”
A floorboard creaked.
The sound cut through the afterglow like a blade. We both froze. The living room doorway, half in shadow, framed a figure that made my blood run cold and hot in the same instant.
Amelia.
Our youngest sister. She’d just turned fifthteen last month, a detail that registered in the back of my stunned brain. Her hair, a fiery crimson, fell in wild curls around her shoulders, catching the pale light like embers. She was a carbon copy of Emily in the face—same hazel eyes, same bow of a mouth—but her frame was even more generous. Her chest, straining against a thin white tank top, was undeniably larger, the heavy swell of her breasts impossible to ignore. She wore cutoff shorts that displayed the full length of her pale legs.
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed beneath that impressive bust. Her gaze traveled slowly, deliberately, over our naked, slick bodies, the discarded clothes, the unmistakable stain on the couch cushion. Her lips parted, a flick of tongue wetting them.
“Well, well,” she said, her voice a low, amused drawl. “Looks like I missed quite the party.”
Emily scrambled for a throw pillow, a flush that had nothing to do with passion spreading across her cheeks. I just stared, my heart hammering, my mind a fog of shock and—I hated to admit it—a stirring of something else. The honey still pulsed in my veins, a quiet drumbeat.
Amelia’s eyes, a shade darker than Emily’s, glittered with something unreadable. Her smile widened, slow and catlike.
“Don’t stop on my account.” She took a single step into the room, the floorboard groaning under her weight. “I was just about to ask… you got any more of those honey packs?” The last photo is what my friend said what she would to to my sister 🥵