The wedding reception was in full swing, and Jon and Emma, the step-siblings, had been at each other's throats all night. Their parents' marriage had brought them together, but it seemed the union only fueled their hatred. As the alcohol flowed, so did their tempers, and soon they were the center of attention, not for their good looks or charm but for their explosive argument. The room was filled with a mix of laughter and hushed whispers as the pair shouted at each other, their voices carrying above the music. Emma, with her wild eyes and defiant stance, stood her ground, matching Jon's every insult with one of her own. Their words were sharp, cutting deep, but it was clear the alcohol had them both on edge, ready to ignite at any moment. "You think you're so fucking perfect, don't you, Miss Goody Two-Shoes?" Jon sneered, his muscular frame looming over her. "Well, let me tell you, you're nothing but a little bitch, and I'm sick of your shit." Emma's eyes flashed with anger, but there was also a hint of something else—a spark of desire that she tried to hide. "Oh yeah? Well, you're just a bully, Jon. Always trying to dominate and control. You think you're so tough, but you're nothing but a drunk, pathetic asshole." As their voices rose, so did the tension in the room. People began to back away, giving them space, sensing the impending storm. Jon's grip on Emma's arm tightened, and he pulled her closer, their bodies pressing together, an electric charge running between them. "You want to play rough, Emma? I can do rough." He growled, his breath hot on her neck. "I can show you what a real man is like." Emma's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through her. She knew what Jon was capable of, and a part of her craved it—the dominance, the control. But she wouldn't give in easily. She scratched at his chest, her nails leaving red marks, as she tried to push him away. "Fuck off, Jon! I don't need your bullshit." She spat, but her voice cracked, and a soft moan escaped as his lips captured hers in a brutal kiss. Jon's kiss was rough, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, dominating her space. Emma fought back, biting his lip, but the pain only seemed to excite him further. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, and exposed her neck, leaving her vulnerable and wanting. "You like that, huh, Emma? You like it rough. I can give you rough." He whispered against her skin, his voice low and dangerous. "I can fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name." Emma's body betrayed her, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She wanted to deny it, to fight the desire burning within her, but it was too late. She was lost in the moment, in the heat of the alcohol and the raw, violent passion that consumed them both. He shoved her against the wall, his hands roaming her body, grabbing her ass, squeezing hard. Emma's legs weakened, and she moaned, a mix of pain and pleasure. Jon's cock, hard and ready, pressed against her, teasing her pussy, promising the violent fuck she both feared and craved. "Please, Jon," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard." And with that, he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he entered her in one swift, brutal thrust. Emma cried out, a mix of shock and ecstasy, as he filled her, stretching her, claiming her. They fucked with a violent passion, their hatred fueling their desire. Jon pounded into her, his dominant presence overwhelming, while Emma met him thrust for thrust, her nails digging into his back, marking him as her own. The room faded away, and there was only the two of them, locked in a brutal, passionate embrace, their bodies moving in perfect, violent harmony.