I never planned to fuck my sister. But the night it happened, the house was quiet, the rain was hammering the windows, and we were both too drunk on cheap wine and years of pretending we didn't want each other.
I'm twenty-eight. Lena is twenty-five. We grew up sharing a bedroom until I moved out, then she followed me to the same city two years ago. We told everyone we were just close. The truth was we had been circling each other since we were teenagers, stealing glances when we changed clothes, lingering hugs that lasted a beat too long. We never talked about it until that night.
We were on the couch in my apartment, legs tangled under a blanket, watching some mindless movie. Lena's tank top had ridden up. Her bare stomach was warm against my thigh. I could smell her shampoo, her skin, the faint salt of sweat. My pussy was already wet and I hadn't even touched her yet.
She turned her head and looked at me. "You keep staring," she said, voice low.
"So do you," I answered.
Her hand slid under the blanket and found my thigh. She squeezed, then moved higher, fingers brushing the edge of my shorts. "Tell me to stop," she whispered.
I didn't. I spread my legs instead.
Lena's fingers slipped inside my shorts and found my cunt already soaked. She groaned when she felt how wet I was. Two fingers pushed between my lips and sank straight into me. I bit my lip hard to keep from moaning too loud.
"Fuck, you've been like this the whole time?" she asked.
"Every time you're around," I admitted.
She pulled my shorts off completely and got between my legs. Her mouth was hot and greedy. She licked me like she had been starving for the taste. Her tongue flicked my clit, then flattened and dragged slow, heavy strokes that made my hips jerk. I grabbed her hair and held her there while she sucked and licked, two fingers still pumping inside me.
I came fast, thighs shaking around her head, biting my own wrist to stay quiet. Lena didn't stop. She kept licking through it, softer now, until I was twitching and oversensitive.
Then she climbed up my body and kissed me. I tasted myself on her tongue. We pulled each other's clothes off in a rush. Her tits were smaller than mine but her nipples were dark and tight. I sucked one into my mouth while my hand found her pussy. She was dripping too. I slid two fingers into her and felt her clench around me.
We ended up on the floor, sixty-nine, both of us licking and fingering like we were trying to make up for every year we hadn't touched. Lena came first, grinding down on my face, her juices coating my chin. I followed right after, her tongue buried deep while her fingers rubbed my clit in fast circles.
Afterward we lay there sweaty and breathing hard. Lena kissed my stomach and said, "We can't tell anyone."
"I know," I said. "But we're not stopping."
We didn't. That night turned into every night we could manage. Sometimes slow and teasing, sometimes rough. She'd come over after work, push me against the wall, and finger me until I was shaking. I'd wake her up in the mornings by spreading her legs and eating her until she came with her hand over her mouth. We used toys. We used our mouths. We used our fingers in every combination we could think of. We were careful, but we were also addicted.
The risk made it hotter. Family dinners where we'd sit across from each other, wet and aching, knowing exactly what we'd do the second we were alone. Quickies in bathrooms at parties. Whispered filthy talk over the phone when we couldn't meet up.
We never called it love. We called it what it was: two sisters who couldn't keep their hands off each other. And every time she touched me, every time she moaned my name against my cunt, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
