The walk to the car is a delicious torture. Each step brings my body in contact with hers, hip against hip, my arm draped over her shoulders, her hand firm against my waist. I deliberately stumble once, causing her to catch me more fully against her chest.
"Travis," she whispers harshly in my ear, "I need you to work with me here."
"I am," I mumble, letting my lips brush against her neck as I speak. "Working very hard."
She freezes for a half-second before she continues dragging me forward. When we reach the car, she props me against the passenger side while fumbling for her keys.
"You're beautiful," I say, watching her face in the dim glow of the street light. "So fucking beautiful, Kayla."
Her face flushes crimson, and she avoids my eyes as she yanks open the passenger door. "You're drunk," she mutters, guiding me into the seat with surprising gentleness despite her obvious tension.
I let myself go limp, enjoying her hands on me as she reaches across my body for the seatbelt. Her "#1 Sister" sports bra is inches from my face as she stretches to secure the buckle with a click. The scent of her skin makes my head swim more than the alcohol.
"I'm sorry I got you so drunk," she whispers as she adjusts the strap across my chest, fingers lingering a moment too long. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
I catch her wrist before she can pull away completely. "What was supposed to happen, Kayla?" I slur, deliberately making my words mushier than they need to be.
She extracts herself from my grip with surprising care, closes my door, and hurries around to the driver's side. The car dips slightly as she slides in beside me, her breathing still uneven.
"Nothing," she says firmly, starting the engine with shaking hands. "Nothing was supposed to happen."
The drive home is silent except for the hum of tires on asphalt.
I stare out the window as streetlights blur past, each one sending streaks of gold across Kayla's concentrated face. My stomach gurgles loudly in the quiet car, reminding me I haven't eaten since that half-finished lunch in the cafeteria.
"Did you eat anything today?" Kayla asks, her voice cutting through the tension.
I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as the world spins. "Not since lunch."
She mutters a curse under her breath. "Travis, you can't drink on an empty stomach. No wonder you're such a mess."
"'M' fine," I insist, though the churning in my gut suggests otherwise.
"You're not fine. You're going to be sick. I shouldn't have let you drink so much."
We pull into our driveway, the headlights illuminating our dark house. Mom must be working late again. The car goes silent as Kayla kills the engine, but neither of us moves to get out.
"Can you walk?" she finally asks.
I consider lying, saying I need her to carry me, but my stomach lurches warningly. "Yeah. Just...slowly."
She's at my door before I can even reach for the handle, helping me out with that same careful touch. Her arm slides around my waist, strong and secure, as we make our way to the front door.
Inside, the house is quiet except for our footsteps. The stairs loom ahead like a mountain I'm not sure I can climb.
"Let's get some food in you first," Kayla says, steering me away from the stairs and toward the kitchen instead. Her hand presses firmly against the small of my back, guiding me with surprising tenderness.
She sits me down at the kitchen table and, instead of taking the chair across from me like she normally would, slides into the seat right next to mine. Our thighs press together under the table, and I can feel the heat of her body through my beer-soaked jeans.
"Don't move," she orders, but there's no harshness in her tone. She disappears into the pantry, returning moments later with a small bowl of green grapes.
Rather than placing it in front of me, she holds the bowl in her lap and plucks a single grape, bringing it directly to my lips.
"Open," she commands softly, her eyes fixed on my mouth with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
I part my lips obediently, and she places the grape on my tongue, her fingertips lingering against my bottom lip for a fraction of a second too long.
"I just need you to eat a few, okay?" she murmurs, her voice dropping to that husky register that makes my skin tingle.
She's sitting so close that I can count her eyelashes, can see the slight dilation of her pupils as she watches me chew. Her shoulder presses against mine, and she makes no attempt to create distance between us. If anything, she seems to be leaning in closer with each grape she offers.
"Another," she says, already holding the next one to my lips. This time, I deliberately let my lips brush against her fingers as I take the grape, watching her reaction carefully.
Her breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she shifts in her seat, angling her body toward mine even more.
"Good boy," she whispers, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my forehead. Her touch sends electricity through my veins, far more intoxicating than the beer ever could be.
She continues feeding me grapes one by one, each exchange feeling more intimate than the last. I notice she's matched her breath to mine, inhaling when I do, exhaling in perfect harmony.
By the fifth grape, her free hand has somehow found its way to my knee, resting there with a casual possessiveness that seems both innocent and dangerous. Her thumb traces small circles on my kneecap, the motion so subtle I'm not sure she's even aware she's doing it.
"How are you feeling now?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper despite us being alone in the house.
"Better," I mumble, though the alcohol is still humming through my system. My head feels clearer, but my inhibitions remain pleasantly lowered. "You're taking such good care of me."
Her fingers pause mid-circle on my knee, her eyes suddenly serious as they search mine. "I'm nervous you're going to throw up, so I want you to sleep in my bed with me tonight."
The words hang between us, loaded with possibilities. My heart thunders against my ribcage so hard I'm sure she can hear it.
"Just to keep an eye on you," she adds quickly, her cheeks flushing. "I mean, I'd never forgive myself if you choked on your own vomit or something."
"Okay," I agree, perhaps too eagerly. I try to temper my excitement with a casual shrug. "If you think that's best."
Her hand tightens on my knee before sliding away, leaving a cold spot where her warmth had been. "I do. It's just... safer."
She stands abruptly, the bowl of grapes forgotten on the table. "Let's get you upstairs and changed. Your clothes reek of beer."
I let her help me to my feet, exaggerating my unsteadiness just enough to ensure her arm remains firmly around my waist as we navigate the stairs. Each step is a delicious torment, her hip bumping against mine, her fingers pressing into my side.
At the top of the stairs, she hesitates, glancing between my bedroom door and hers. For a moment, I think she might be reconsidering, but then she steers me firmly toward her room.
Her bedroom door clicks shut behind us, and the atmosphere shifts instantly as she locks the door. The dim light from her bedside lamp casts everything in a warm golden glow, making her movements seem almost dreamlike as she turns to face me.
"We need to get you out of these clothes," There's something primal in her eyes now, pupils dilated so wide her irises are just thin rings of green.
Her hands are on me before I can respond, fingers gripping the hem of my beer-soaked shirt with a strange mixture of urgency and care. She pulls it up and over my head in one fluid motion.
"Arms up," she commands softly, and I comply without hesitation.
The way she's looking at me makes my heart race like I'm something precious yet dangerous, something to be handled with both reverence and caution.
Her fingers trail down to my jeans, working the button with surprising dexterity despite the slight tremor in her hands. The zipper follows with a quiet rasp that sounds deafening in the silent room.
"Your turn," I reply, emboldened by the hunger in her gaze.
She shrugs off her bolero jacket, letting it fall to the floor beside my discarded clothes. Without breaking eye contact, she crosses her arms and grips the bottom of her sports bra, pulling it upward in one smooth motion.
Her breasts spill free, full and perfect in the soft light, the "#1 Sister" logo now crumpled on the floor between us. I can't help but stare, mesmerized by the sight I've been lucky enough to see before.
She doesn't give me long to look, quickly stepping out of her jeans until she's standing before me in nothing but simple black underwear. I'm down to my boxers, the thin fabric doing little to hide my obvious arousal.
"Come on," she says, voice husky as she takes my hand and leads me to her bed. "You need to sleep this off."
The mattress dips beneath our weight as she pulls me down beside her. For one breathtaking moment, we're face to face, close enough that I can feel her breath on my lips. Then she gently turns me away from her, pulling my back against her chest in a spooning position.
Her arm wraps around my waist, her breasts pressing against my back, skin to skin, with nothing between us but the heat of our bodies. I can feel her heartbeat hammering against my back, slightly too fast for someone who's just going to sleep.
My back is slick with sweat where it presses against her bare chest, her arm still draped possessively around my waist. The minutes crawl by, each one an eternity of anticipation as her breath tickles the nape of my neck.
But to my complete disappointment, she doesn't try anything. The hand on my stomach remains frustratingly still, neither drifting lower nor pulling me closer. Her breathing eventually steadies, though her heart continues its rapid pace against my back.
After ten excruciating minutes, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I exhale deeply, my body going slack as I feign sleep. Then, with a mumbled nonsense word, I roll over, turning to face her as if unconsciously seeking warmth.
My face ends up pressed against her collarbone, my lips mere centimeters from her skin. Her heart rate spikes even higher, the steady thump becoming a gallop beneath my ear. She's wide awake, her body tense and alert despite her pretense of sleep.
I wait another moment, letting her think I'm still unconscious, before pressing my lips gently against the curve of her breast.
Kayla goes completely rigid, her breath catching in her throat. I continue, my lips tracing a path upward, leaving a trail of kisses across her chest toward her neck. Each touch is feather-light as if I'm merely nuzzling in my sleep, seeking comfort from my protective sister.
"Travis," she whispers her voice a strangled mix of warning and desire. Her hand hovers uncertainly above my shoulder, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer.
I ignore her, continuing my sleepy exploration. My lips find the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and I feel rather than hear the small gasp that escapes her.
"You need to stop," she groans, but her head tilts almost imperceptibly, giving me better access to her neck. Her fingers tangle in my hair, neither guiding nor restraining, just holding on like she's afraid I might disappear.
I let out a soft, sleepy moan against her skin, my hand finding her waist in an innocent, unconscious gesture. Her muscles jump beneath my touch, her entire body trembling with restrained energy.
"You're asleep," she whispers, and I'm not sure if she's trying to convince me or herself. "You don't know what you're doing."
I pull Kayla against me suddenly, my lips finding hers with desperate hunger.
Her hesitation lasts only a heartbeat before something inside her snaps. Kayla's hand curls around the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as she takes complete control of the kiss. Gone is the uncertainty, replaced by a possessive hunger that feels like it could devour me.
She angles my head exactly how she wants it, her lips commanding mine with surprising expertise. I try to deepen the kiss further, but she sets the pace, slowing me down when I get too eager, teasing my bottom lip between her teeth when I try to rush.
"Let me," she breathes against my mouth, the words both a command and a plea.
I surrender completely, my body going pliant beneath her touch. Her fingers maintain their grip on my hair, using it to guide my movements as she explores my mouth with devastating thoroughness. Each sweep of her tongue sends electricity racing down my spine, pooling hot and heavy in my groin.
We lie on our sides, face to face, legs tangled together but neither of us making any move to escalate beyond the kiss. Her free hand rests on my waist, occasionally squeezing when I make a sound she particularly likes, but never straying lower despite my obvious arousal pressing against her thigh.
The kissing continues for what feels like hours, Kayla setting a rhythm that builds and recedes like waves against a shore. Just when I think I might die from the need for more, she gentles the kiss, drawing it out into something sweet and tender that makes my chest ache with longing.
"Travis," she whispers against my lips, her voice thick with emotion. "We shouldn't."
But even as she says it, she's pulling me back in for another kiss, this one deeper than before. Her teeth graze my lower lip, tugging gently before soothing the sting with her tongue. I whimper, unable to contain the sound, and feel her smile against my mouth.
"Shhh," she soothes, pressing soft kisses to the corner of my lips, my cheek, the sensitive spot just below my ear. "I've got you."
Her words send a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the temperature. The possessiveness in her tone, the absolute certainty that I am hers to care for, to protect, to kiss senseless, it's everything I've ever wanted.
I try to roll her onto her back, desperate to feel more of her against me, but her hand on my waist holds me firmly in place. Her strength, so casually displayed, makes me dizzy with want.
"No," she purrs, nipping at my earlobe in gentle reprimand. "Just this. Just kissing."
"I want you so bad, Kayla," I groan, my voice breaking with raw need. "I love you so much. Please."
Her fingers tighten in my hair, almost painful as she pulls back enough to study my face. In the dim light, her eyes are nearly black with desire, but something else flickers there too, restraint, responsibility, that damnable protective instinct that's both my greatest frustration and deepest comfort.
"You're too drunk," she whispers, though her body contradicts her words, pressing closer against mine. "It can't be like this."
I try to capture her lips again, but she holds me firmly in place with that hand in my hair, forcing me to meet her gaze.
"Travis, listen to me," she says, her voice steadier now despite the flush spreading across her chest. "If we ever cross that line... I need you to be all there. Present. I need to know it's really you wanting this, not the alcohol."
The implications of her words hit me like a freight train.
"I'll remember everything," I promise, nuzzling against her palm as she brings it to cup my cheek. "Every touch, every kiss. I swear."
Her smile is soft, almost sad, as she presses her forehead against mine. "I know you think that now. But I need to be sure."
I want to argue, to convince her that my desire for her transcends any amount of alcohol in my system, but she silences me with another kiss, this one achingly tender.
"Sleep," she murmurs against my lips. "We have time."
Those three words, we have time, feel like a promise, an acknowledgment that whatever this is between us isn't going away. It's been building for years, and it will still be there in the morning, in the light of day, when I'm sober and clear-headed.
I settle against her, my head tucked beneath her chin, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against my ear. Her arms wrap around me, one hand tracing lazy patterns on my back while the other remains tangled in my hair, occasionally stroking or gently scratching my scalp in a way that makes me melt against her.
Between kisses that grow slower and more languid as sleep begins to claim us, I feel her whisper something against the top of my head. The words are too soft to make out, but the tender possessiveness in her tone wraps around me like a blanket.
As consciousness begins to slip away, I realize with perfect clarity that I've won. Not the war, perhaps, but a critical battle. The walls she's built between us have cracked, and now it's only a matter of time before they crumble completely.