The door was ajar, just a sliver of light leaking from the hallway into the darkened bedroom. Mom froze, her hand on the knob, drawn by the rhythmic slap of skin-on-skin and muffled grunts. Her eyes adjusted. There he was—her son, Jordan, all sweat-slicked muscle and fierce determination, his hips piston-fucking his sister, Maya, from behind.

Maya was bent over the mattress, her tight, round ass high in the air, her face buried in the duvet. Jordan gripped her dark, glossy hair with one strong fist, yanking her head back so the arch of her neck was a bowed line. His other hand clawed at the taut globe of her ass, spreading her cheeks, watching his thick, veiny cock hammer in and out of her gaping pussy.

Her sopping cunt was a tight sleeve, milking him with each invasive slam. Juices dripped down her inner thighs, leaving glistening trails. Jordan grunted with each thrust, the bedframe crying against the wall. “Hold still,” he growled, his voice a possessive command. Maya whimpered, her words desperate pleas for him to ease up, to slow down.

Mom’s breath hitched. Her son and daughter. Her own blood. The sight flooded her with a perverse, primal pride. Jordan was a god, rail-thin hips moving in a brutal cadence meant to claim. Every slap of his pelvis against Maya’s plush ass echoed her mother’s own filthy approval. She should be delicate, sensual, a proper lady even in surrender, Mom thought, watching Maya’s body shudder with each rough rape.

Jordan’s thrust