Ross answered with a snarl and flipped her.
One second she was on her back, the next her face was pressed into the mattress, ass in the air, spine arched so sharply her tits barely brushed the sheets.
Ross gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and drove back in, deeper from this angle, punishing.
The new position made her feel him in her throat.
She shrieked into the pillow, muffled and raw, fingers scrabbling for something to hold onto as he set a pace that should have been illegal.
Her second orgasm hit like a freight train.
She squirted again, harder this time, a violent gush that soaked his thighs and splattered the sheets in messy arcs.
Ross just smiled, dark and filthy, and kept going, pounding through the spasms, forcing her body to take more even while she shook apart.
He wasn't gentle. He wasn't slow.
He used her exactly the way she'd begged him to: like a toy built for his pleasure, like a prize he'd earned twice over tonight.
Every position was more obscene than the last.
On her side, one leg thrown over his shoulder, his hand splayed across her lower belly so he could feel himself moving inside her.
On her knees, face down, ass up, his palm cracking across her cheek hard enough to leave a handprint while he railed her from behind.
Sitting up in his lap, impaled, arms pinned behind her back as he bounced her on his cock like she weighed nothing, her tits jolting with every downward thrust.
Standing. Fucking standing.
He lifted her clean off the floor, hands under her thighs, and fucked her against the wall until her voice gave out and her head lolled against his shoulder, nothing but broken sobs and breathless chants of his name.
Hours blurred.
Chelsea lost count of how many times she came. Five? Ten? Twenty? It stopped mattering.
Her entire world narrowed to the thick cock splitting her open, the ache in her thighs, the wet slap of his hips against her ass, the way her pussy kept fluttering and clenching and gushing like it would never stop.
She was a mess: hair plastered to her face with sweat and tears, mascara streaked down her cheeks, lips swollen and bitten raw.
Drool ran freely now, dripping off her chin onto her bouncing tits.
Her voice was shredded, nothing left but hoarse, filthy whimpers and cracked pleas.
"More—please—Ross—don't stop—never stop—wreck me—break me—own me—"
Another climax tore through her, bigger than the rest, a full-body seizure that made her vision white out.
She screamed until her throat gave out entirely, back arching so violently he had to clamp an arm around her waist to keep her from bucking off him completely.
A flood poured out of her, soaking them both, running down his legs in thick rivulets.
And still he didn't come.
He just kept fucking her through it, relentless, tireless, a machine carved out of raw hunger and control.
Eventually, mercifully, the storm broke.
Chelsea's final orgasm hit like the end of the world.
She convulsed in his arms, pussy clamping down so hard he actually groaned, every muscle seizing, a raw, guttural howl ripping from her ruined throat.
Her eyes rolled back completely, body going rigid, then limp all at once.
Ross lowered her to the mattress like something sacred and broken.
She collapsed in a trembling heap, legs splayed wide, chest heaving, pussy swollen and gaping and still leaking in slow pulses.
A soft, exhausted snore slipped out almost immediately, deep and sated and utterly gone.
Just like Lea.
Ross stood over the bed, chest rising and falling, cock still rock-hard and glistening, untouched by his own release.
Two sisters. Two ruined, snoring wrecks.
***
The next day, Chelsea and Lea woke late in the afternoon, their bodies heavy and aching from the intensity of the night before.
Every step, every stretch sent shivers through them, a reminder of the pleasure they had willingly surrendered to.
Their skin was still tender, their muscles sore, yet there was a lingering heat that seemed to hum beneath the surface, an echo of the exquisite torment Ross had left behind.
They were still human, still bound by the limits of flesh, and the fact that Ross had not yet come inside them meant they had not become immortal.
Lea glanced at her sister, her eyes bright yet cautious.
"We need to talk," she whispered, her voice trembling ever so slightly.
Chelsea nodded, drawing in a deep, steadying breath.
"Yes," she agreed. "We need to figure out what this… all of this… means."
The day stretched on with an awkward tension. Words hovered on the tip of their tongues, but neither sister could find the courage to speak them aloud.
The shared memory of the night before lingered like a secret they weren't ready to voice.
And yet, as evening fell, that tension twisted into something else—a heat, a desire that neither could deny.
When night came, they called Ross once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing.
The moment he entered, a shiver ran through both sisters.
Their bodies reacted instinctively, opening to him with a hungry anticipation that surprised even them.
Chelsea's hands trembled slightly as she reached for him, while Lea's breath hitched, her eyes dark with want.
They spread their legs willingly, bodies arching toward him as though drawn by some irresistible force.
Ross moved between them with ease, his touch commanding yet gentle, and the sisters responded in kind.
Moans of delight and ecstasy spilled from their lips, filling the room with a heady, intoxicating chorus.
Every stroke, every deep thrust sent tremors through their bodies, leaving them gasping, shaking, and trembling with need.
Ross came inside them repeatedly, each time pushing them further, igniting a fire within that seemed impossible to extinguish.
"Ahhhhh…"
"Ohhhhh…"
"Ughhhh…" the moans kept on ringing and the two sisters kept on coming.
Chelsea's back arched as Ross's hands and lips explored her with precision, and she cried out, a sound both of surprise and rapture.