“Another one?” Mike slurred, holding up the almost empty bottle of tequila. His eyes were already glazed over, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Honestly, he was such a lightweight.
“Duh,” I drawled, snatching the bottle from him and tilting it back. The burn of the liquor was welcome, a nice fuzzy warmth spreading through my chest. “What else are we supposed to do on a boring Friday night when Mom and Dad are out pretending to be sophisticated at Aunt Carol’s anniversary dinner?”
Mike chuckled, a loud, wet sound that made me roll my eyes. “Pretend to be sophisticated ourselves?”
“Ew, no. Sophisticated is for old people and people with no fun,” I scoffed, handing him back the bottle. He managed to take another swig, though it looked like half of it was dribbling down his chin. He was such a mess when he was drunk. Usually, I’d be annoyed, but tonight… tonight was different. Maybe it was the tequila talking, or maybe it was just the weird, stagnant energy hanging in the air between us tonight.
“You’re… you’re not sophisticated, Jenny,” he mumbled, leaning back against the couch, his words thick and clumsy.
“No shit, Sherlock,” I retorted, kicking my feet up on the coffee table. “Sophisticated gets you nowhere. Bratty and bitchy gets you everything.” I winked at him, mostly to be annoying, but I caught his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, a flicker of… something… in his eyes that wasn’t just drunken haze.
We’d been playing video games earlier, some stupid fighting game that Mike always somehow managed to win. He was annoyingly competitive, and I was annoyingly good at being annoying back. But the games had fizzled out along with the first bottle of tequila. Now, only the low hum of the TV, tuned to some late-night infomercial, filled the silence.
Mike shifted on the couch, suddenly closer to me. The air in the room felt thick, charged, like static electricity before a storm. “You are… you are… hot, Jenny,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, the words tripping over themselves.
Okay, wow. That was… unexpected. Mike had never called me hot before. Sure, we were siblings, and we bickered and teased each other constantly, but there was always an unspoken line. That line felt fuzzy tonight, blurred by tequila and something else I couldn’t quite name.
“Yeah, well, duh,” I said again, trying to sound nonchalant, even though my heart was suddenly hammering a little faster against my ribs. “Everyone knows I’m the hotter sibling.” I pushed him playfully on the shoulder, a little harder than I intended.
He pushed back, grinning, but his eyes were still fixed on me, intense in a way that made my stomach flip. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”
“Prove what?” I laughed, trying to keep it light, but my voice was a little breathier than I wanted it to be.
“Prove you’re hot. Let’s wrestle,” he said, the words slightly slurred but the challenge clear.
“Wrestle?” I scoffed. “That’s so… lame.” But even as I said it, a thrill shot through me. Wrestling with Mike, like we used to when we were kids, but now… now it felt different. Now it felt… dangerous.
“Come on, bratty and bitchy,” he taunted, reaching for me. “Scared?”
“Scared of you? Please,” I snorted, letting him pull me into a playful scuffle. We tumbled off the couch onto the rug, laughing and grappling like puppies. Except… it wasn’t quite like puppies anymore. His hands lingered a little too long on my waist as he tried to pin me, his body pressing against mine, heat radiating off him.
“Okay, okay, you win!” I gasped, laughing breathlessly as he finally managed to straddle me, his knees pinning my arms to the floor. He was heavier than I remembered, his weight pressing into me in a way that was… surprisingly not unpleasant.
“I always win,” he grinned down at me, his face flushed, his eyes dark. He was so close. I could smell the tequila on his breath, and something else, something musky and male that made my skin prickle.
“Yeah, yeah, get off me, you oaf,” I said, but there was no real bite in my voice. He was still hovering over me, his gaze raking over my body, lingering on my chest, on my legs.
“You’re… you’re really… you’re wet,” he mumbled, his voice suddenly thick again, his eyes wide with surprise, or maybe something else.
Wet? What was he even talking about? I frowned, confused, then realization hit me like a jolt of electricity. My jeans… they were tighter than usual, and the playful wrestling, the heat of his body… yeah, I was wet. Holy shit, I was wet.
The word hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. His eyes widened further, focusing on the area between my thighs. The air crackled with tension, the playful energy completely vanished, replaced by something raw, something forbidden.
He didn’t need to hear anything else. It was like a switch flipped in his brain. His grin disappeared, his eyes darkening with a hunger I’d never seen before. He scrambled off me, suddenly urgent, his movements jerky and fueled by something primal.
He reached for the hem of my t-shirt, his fingers clumsy but determined. My breath hitched in my throat. This was insane. This was my brother. But… a part of me, a deep, hidden, shameful part of me, was screaming yes.
“Mike, wait…” I started, but the words died in my throat. He wasn’t listening anyway. He pulled my shirt over my head in one swift motion, tossing it aside. My bra was flimsy lace, offering little coverage. His eyes devoured me, making my nipples harden instantly, aching for his touch.
He reached for the button of my jeans, his fingers trembling slightly. My own hands were frozen at my sides, my mind a whirlwind of shock and desire. This was wrong, so wrong, but… oh god, it felt so right.
He fumbled with the button, then the zipper, and my jeans slid down my hips, pooling at my ankles, taking my panties with them. I was standing there, in just my bra and bare legs, completely exposed under his gaze. Shame mixed with a potent, thrilling excitement.
He knelt in front of me, his eyes still locked on… down there. He reached out a hesitant hand, his fingertips brushing lightly against my inner thigh. A jolt of pure electricity shot through me. I gasped, involuntarily arching my back.
He took that as permission. His hand grew bolder, sliding higher, his fingers parting my wet folds. I gasped again, a sharper sound this time, as his fingers found my clit. He started to stroke me, slow, deliberate circles, and a moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.
“Oh, Jenny…” he breathed, his voice hoarse, his gaze lifting to meet mine, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and raw desire. “You’re so… wet.”
I couldn’t speak. My body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming. His fingers were doing magic, sending waves of pleasure through me, melting away any remaining resistance, any semblance of rationality.
He leaned closer, his mouth finding mine, his lips hot and demanding. It wasn’t a brotherly kiss. It was hungry, desperate, urgent. His tongue pushed past my lips, tasting me, exploring me, mimicking the rhythm of his fingers below.
He broke the kiss, panting, his eyes still blazing. He stood up, stripping off his own t-shirt and jeans with furious haste, and then he was there, naked before me, his cock thick and hard, throbbing with need.
He lifted me, easily, carrying me to the couch. He laid me down gently, then kneeled between my legs, his gaze locking with mine. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice still rough, but with a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely audible, but filled with a desperate yearning that surprised even me. “Oh god, yes.”
He didn’t hesitate then. He positioned himself between my legs, his cock nudging against my entrance. I was so wet, so ready, it slid in easily, smoothly, filling me with a heat that chased away all thoughts, all doubts.
I gasped again, this time with pleasure, pure, unadulterated pleasure. He was inside me. My brother. It was wrong, so wrong, but it felt so unbelievably, impossibly right.
He started to move, slow, deep thrusts, his eyes never leaving mine. Each thrust sent waves of sensation through me, building with each motion, each moan that escaped my lips. “Oh, Mike…” I moaned, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Jenny…” he groaned back, his breathing ragged, his movements becoming faster, harder. He was filling me, stretching me, taking me apart and putting me back together with every thrust.
The rhythm intensified, the pleasure escalating, building towards a crescendo. Moans ripped from my throat, uncontrolled, desperate. He was pounding into me, his body slick with sweat, his face contorted with effort and pleasure.
He pulled out slightly, shifting his weight, and then he flipped me over, pushing me onto my hands and knees on the couch. “Doggy style?” he panted, his voice thick with lust.
“Yes,” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. The new position was intense, deeper, harder. He was hitting my G-spot with every thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.
I gripped the edge of the couch, arching my back, giving him more access. He groaned again, louder this time, his thrusts becoming frantic, desperate. I was close, so close, the pleasure building to unbearable heights.
“Jenny… I’m gonna…” he grunted, his voice strained.
“Yes, Mike, yes!” I screamed, my body convulsing, pleasure exploding through me in a blinding white hot rush. I cried out, my head thrown back, the orgasm gripping me in its powerful embrace.
He followed right after, his own groan a primal sound as he emptied himself inside me, collapsing on top of me, his body heavy and slick with sweat.
We lay there for a long time, tangled together on the couch, breathing heavily, the silence broken only by our ragged breaths. The tequila haze had burned away, replaced by a dizzying mix of shock, confusion, and… something else. Something that felt a lot like satisfaction.
Finally, he rolled off me, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. I sat up, pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it around myself, feeling suddenly cold despite the lingering heat between my legs.
Neither of us spoke. What was there to say? We’d crossed a line, a line that was supposed to be unbreakable. But… god, it had felt so good. So incredibly, unbelievably good.
After a long silence, Mike finally spoke, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Your pussy… Jenny… it feels… it feels so much better than… than my girlfriend’s.”
My breath hitched in my throat. He actually said it. He admitted it. And in that moment, looking at his flushed face, his still-dilated pupils, a strange, forbidden kind of satisfaction washed over me.
Maybe we shouldn’t have done it. Probably we shouldn’t have. But… goddamn, it felt like we were going to do it again. And a small, wicked voice inside me whispered that I couldn’t wait. My brother’s cock inside me… it really did feel so much better than anything I’d ever experienced before. And judging by the look in his eyes, he felt the same way.