Living with my PORNSTAR sisters-Chapter 19: My fucking luck

The kitchen stayed quiet for a while after Leo sat down.

Not the awkward quiet of people pretending nothing happened. More like the quiet that settles after a storm when everyone’s too tired—or too full—to speak yet. Forks scraped plates. Coffee mugs were lifted and set down. Someone’s foot brushed someone else’s calf under the table and nobody moved away.

"I cried in the shower earlier, when leo was fucking me," raven said softly. "Not because I regretted anything. Just... because it felt like the first time in years someone actually wanted me. Not only my body. But Me." She gave a small, watery laugh. "Stupid, right? After all that."

Nobody answered right away.

Lana reached over and covered Raven’s hand with hers. Just held it. Raven turned her palm up and laced their fingers together. They stayed like that.

Sasha watched them for a second, then looked at Leo. Her usual sharp smirk was gone; something softer sat in its place.

"You scared me a little last night," she admitted. "Not gonna lie. The way you locked your dad in that room... I’ve seen guys lose it before. On set, in real life. But you didn’t hurt anyone. You just... claimed what you wanted." She paused. "I’m not saying it was healthy. I’m saying I’ve never seen you look that sure of anything."

Leo swallowed the bite of bacon he’d been chewing. It went down dry.

"I wasn’t thinking," he said quietly. "I just knew I wanted them for myself, and if I let him back in the room, everything would turn ugly again. And I didn’t want ugly. Not with you two. Not with them." He nodded toward Raven and Lana without looking up.

Blair leaned back in her chair, arms crossed under her chest. The motion pushed her tits up against the thin crop top.

"I’m not gonna pretend I’m some saint," she said. "We’ve all been sluts in that room—literally and figuratively. But there’s a difference between fucking for money, fucking for fun, and fucking because you’re running from something." She looked straight at Leo. "You weren’t running last night. You were chasing. That’s new for you."

Leo finally lifted his eyes. Met hers. Then Sasha’s. Then Raven’s. Lana’s.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," he said, voice rough. "I just know I don’t want to go back to pretending I don’t feel this. Any of it."

Raven’s thumb brushed the back of Lana’s hand.

"I don’t want to pretend either," she said. "I spent too many years pretending my marriage was salvageable. Pretending I didn’t want more. Pretending I wasn’t lonely even when I was being fucked." She looked at Leo—really looked. "You made me feel seen. Not just desired. Seen."

Lana let out a shaky breath.

"Marcus always called me a whore like it was an insult," she said. "Last night... hearing him laugh and walk away like I couldn’t possibly be capable of all that cum on the floor... it hurt. And it turned me on. And I hate that it turned me on." She glanced at Leo. "But when you touched me—when any of you fucked me—it didn’t feel like an insult. It felt good."

Sasha reached across and brushed a stray curl off Lana’s cheek. The gesture was gentle. Almost sisterly.

"You’re allowed to want it rough and still want it tender," she said. "You’re allowed to be a slut and still be loved. We’re all proof of that."

Blair snorted softly. "Speak for yourself. I’m mostly just proof that eight dicks in six hours is a terrible career move."

That got a laugh—small, tired, real—from everyone.

Leo looked around the table again.

"I don’t know how to do this," he said. "All of us. Together. Without it turning into a fight or somebody getting hurt."

Raven smiled—small, sad, hopeful.

"Then we figure it out slowly," she said. "One breakfast at a time. One night at a time. One honest conversation at a time."

Lana nodded. "And maybe one orgasm at a time."

Blair grinned. "There she is."

Sasha stood up, stretched, and the tiny crop top rode high enough to show the underside of her breasts. She didn’t bother fixing it.

"I vote we clean the living room before anything else," she said. "I’m not fucking anybody on a floor that still smells like my step-dad’s jizz."

Raven winced. "Fair."

Lana stood too. The silk robe slipped off one shoulder.

"I’ll help," she said. "But only if someone promises to bend me over the kitchen island later."

Leo groaned—but it was half laughter.

"You’re all trying to kill me."

Blair walked past him on her way to the sink, leaned down, and whispered against his ear.

"Not kill you, baby brother. Just keep you hard enough that you never forget who owns that dick now."

She nipped his earlobe—sharp enough to sting—then kept walking like nothing happened.

Leo stayed seated for another few seconds, breathing hard, cock throbbing painfully against his zipper again.

Raven came up behind him, rested her chin on his shoulder, and murmured so only he could hear:

"I meant what I said last night. You’re mine now aswell, you know. Not just the other way around."

She kissed the side of his neck—soft, lingering—then walked away to help with dishes.

Lana paused at the doorway, looked back at him, and gave the smallest, shyest smile.

"I’m not sorry I came back for sugar," she said.

Then she disappeared into the living room.

Sasha was last. She stopped in front of Leo, tipped his chin up with one finger, and looked straight into his eyes.

"We’re not done talking," she said quietly. "Not even close. But right now? Eat your damn bacon. You’re gonna need the stamina."

She kissed him—slow, deep, tasting like coffee, then turned and sauntered away, hips swaying.

Leo sat there alone at the table for a minute.

Listened to the soft clatter of dishes.

The low murmur of female voices.

The occasional laugh.

His cock ached.

His chest ached too—in a different way.

He picked up his fork.

Took a bite.

And smiled—small, tired, certain.