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There was blood staining the back of her shirt and thus staining the pristine white sheets of her parent’s bed, as Ashley, clinging desperately onto Andrew, got fucked by her brother. Their moans echoed through the ceiling, head arched back as she tried, desperately, to be more in contact with her dearest brother.
She was not sure how it happened: both had been quietly chopping, knife against bone, and then Ashley found herself kissing Andrew, who did not complain. No, he had let the knife cut away her shorts and panties - her only good panties, fuck -, pawing for her wet cunt, the two making out in the pool of blood before they dragged themselves somewhere more comfortable.
Maybe her parents should’ve gotten them a room in their new place, because no way they were going to fuck in that little basement bed.
It was like they’d been possessed, or maybe it was the warm blood congealing in their hands, spreading all over pristine sheets, but Ashley didn’t care, and by the way Andrew bit at her, she was sure he didn’t, either. He murmured mine, mine, mine, like a spell for her to stay. As if Ashley wouldn’t.
She dragged her nails on his back, hands under his sweater, gasping when his cock hits just the right spot, and her pussy contracting must’ve done something good, because Andrew - eyes rolling, a fuck muttered as if it were prayer - adjusted himself, and now the head of his cock brushed against it with every stroke. Ashley was not outside, but she could see stars forming in the ceiling, little dots of light and mounting pleasure in her pelvis.
When Andrew kissed her, it tasted like blood, and Ashley didn’t know whose it was. She came biting his lip, drawing his blood, drinking from Andrew like she could have him whole just for her.