The house was dark when I got in, my boots heavy on the stairs. My back screamed from the site — sixteen hours of framing, drywall, the kind of exhaustion that usually killed every thought before it could form. My hands throbbed. All I wanted was sleep. The blackout curtains in my room meant total darkness, meant I could collapse and forget the world existed for a few hours.
But my bed wasn't empty.
Maya was curled there, a pale shape in the dark, wearing my old shirt — the gray one with the torn collar I'd been meaning to throw out. It had ridden up her thighs. Moonlight through the window caught the curve of her ass, bare against my sheets. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. The shirt had bunched around her ribs, and I could see the slope of her spine, the delicate bones of her shoulders, the way her hair spread across my pillow like she belonged there.
My breath stopped. My cock stirred despite the exhaustion, despite the voice in my head screaming that this was wrong. She was eighteen. My sister. My blood. But she was also the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and she was in my bed, wearing my clothes, her bare skin against the same sheets I slept in every night.
"Maya." My voice came out rough. I shook her shoulder. Her skin was warm, soft. "Wake up."
She stirred slowly, making a small sound in her throat. The sound hit me in the chest — sleepy, trusting, intimate in a way that made my pulse hammer. She turned toward me, her face finding mine in the dim light. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, still half-asleep, but they focused on me with an intensity that made my throat tight.
"Liam." Just my name. Soft. Like it meant something.
"What are you doing in my bed?" I tried to sound stern. It came out breathless.
She didn't answer. Her legs shifted under the sheets, and I saw them part slightly — a small movement, barely anything, but deliberate. I knew it was deliberate. She reached for my hand, her fingers wrapping around mine, and pulled me down toward her. I was too tired to resist, or maybe I'd never wanted to resist. I let her guide me until I was sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough to smell her — warm and clean and young. The particular scent of her shampoo, something floral, mixed with the musk of sleep and the heat of her body.
"Stay," she whispered.
The word hit me like a blow. Stay. Like it was that simple. Like the last eighteen years of being her brother meant nothing. Like the walls of this house, the photos of our father on the mantle, the family dinners where we passed the salt like strangers — like none of it existed.
"Maya, I can't—"
"You can." Her hand tightened on mine. "I want you to."
My cock was already hard — had been the moment I saw her in my bed, the moment I registered the pale curve of her ass, the bare skin of her thighs. It ached now, pressed against my jeans, insistent and desperate. I could feel the heat of her body radiating through the space between us. My fingers itched to touch her. My mouth ached to taste her.
"This is—" I started.
"Wrong?" She sat up slowly, the shirt falling forward to cover her chest. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her blue eyes found mine in the dark, and there was nothing innocent in them now. "I don't care."
She reached for my hand again, but this time she guided it to her thigh. My fingers touched bare skin — warm, impossibly soft. She pressed my hand against her leg, held it there, and I felt the small tremor that ran through her body. She was nervous. She was also sure.
"I've been waiting," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For months. I thought you'd never—" She stopped, swallowed. "I thought I'd have to do something drastic."
I could smell her. Warm and clean and young. My little sister. My blood. And I wanted to bury myself in her so badly I shook. My hand trembled against her thigh. She felt it. She covered my hand with hers, held me steady.
"It's okay," she breathed. "It's okay, Liam. I want this. I want you."
She leaned forward, her face inches from mine. I could see the pulse beating in her throat. Could see the way her lips parted slightly, the invitation she was offering without words. The moonlight painted her in silver and shadow, made her look like something from a dream — too perfect, too forbidden, too close to touch.
"Kiss me," she whispered. "Please."