I woke up hard.
Not the kind of hard you roll over and ignore, either.
The kind that makes you question your sanity.
The kind that's her fault.
Sunlight spilled through the blinds, casting warm stripes across my chest. I groaned and sat up, rubbing my face, hoping it had all been a dream. A really weird, sex-soaked dream.
But then I looked down.
Tent.
Full pitch.
Great. Morning wood and unresolved trauma. Classic combo.
Her scent was still in the air — that sweet, heady, faintly floral warmth that somehow stuck to everything she touched. Even the doorknob felt warmer than it should've. Or maybe I was just imagining it.
Probably. Hopefully.
I climbed out of bed, stretched, and padded to the bathroom in boxers. The house was mostly quiet, aside from the distant hum of the kettle downstairs and birds chirping outside the window. Normal. Calm.
I opened the door.
She was in the hallway.
Wearing the same nightgown.
Bent over.
Picking up a dropped towel.
I froze.
She didn't.
Her ass was perfectly outlined through the silk fabric, smooth thighs bare, one leg slightly bent — like she'd practiced this exact pose in front of a mirror.
"Good morning, stepbro," she said without turning around.
My brain short-circuited.
"Did you… sleep in that?" I croaked, trying to look anywhere else but there.
She stood upright, slowly, and turned toward me with a sly little grin that knew exactly what it was doing.
"What, this?" she asked innocently, pulling the hem down even though it didn't help. "It's comfortable."
"I... noticed."
She stepped closer, brushing past me just barely — not enough to be considered a touch, but enough for the air between us to heat up instantly. Her bare shoulder grazed my chest, her hair tickled my jaw.
"You okay?" she asked softly. "You seemed… tense last night."
"You knocked on my door at midnight," I said, stepping back, trying to keep my eyes up. "Wearing that."
She tilted her head. "Did I?"
She was playing with me. There was no doubt anymore.
Before I could say another word, she leaned in, lips just inches from my ear.
"You left your door unlocked."
She walked past me and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me standing in the hallway, heartbeat pounding, completely wrecked.
The door clicked shut behind her.
And then I heard it.
Water running.
Shower.
Was she…?
Nope. Not thinking about that. Not doing this. Not again.
I turned and headed to the kitchen like a man running from a demon. Which, in hindsight, might not have been far off.
---
Downstairs, I poured myself some coffee, hands still shaking slightly. The kitchen smelled like toast and vanilla — probably her again. She was everywhere.
I sat at the counter and tried to scroll through my phone. Instagram. TikTok. Anything that didn't have ass or step-succubus in it.
Didn't help.
"Morning, boys."
My dad's voice boomed as he walked in, slapping me on the shoulder like everything was perfectly normal.
"Sleep okay?"
I nodded mutely. "Yeah. Fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn't it be fine?"
He raised a brow, poured his own coffee, and started buttering a bagel.
"You'll be seeing more of your stepsister now that we're all moved in. She's a sweetheart, isn't she?"
Sweetheart.
Right.
Sure. If by "sweetheart" he meant possibly demonic seductress with boundary issues and a hunger for male energy, then yeah — total sweetheart.
"Yeah," I said flatly. "She's… something."
---
She came downstairs ten minutes later.
Hair damp. Skin glowing. Fresh lip gloss. A towel around her neck and her nightgown swapped for a tight crop top and low-rise shorts that barely counted as clothing.
She smiled at Dad, kissed him on the cheek, and sat next to me like nothing happened.
Like she hadn't just whispered filth into my ear a few hours ago.
Like she hadn't just walked past me half-naked in the hall with a smirk that said I know exactly what I'm doing to you.
I stared at my coffee.
She leaned over.
"You're quiet this morning," she whispered. "Did you dream about me?"
I almost choked.
Dad looked up. "You okay, kiddo?"
I coughed into my fist. "Hot coffee. Burned my tongue."
She smiled, slow and wicked, stirring her cereal like she hadn't just wrecked my entire existence.
She's going to kill me.
And I wasn't sure if I wanted her to stop.