The lake house smells like damp pine and secrets that stick to your skin. Moonlight slashes through the curtains, turning the porch into a stage for the kind of sins you don’t confess. Cyrus is out there, sprawled on the steps, whiskey bottle loose in his fingers, staring at the lake like it’s got his answers. Or maybe his guilt.

I linger in the doorway, my sundress clinging to my thighs, thin as a whisper in the humid night. Cleo’s upstairs, knocked out with her pathetic little stomachache. Food poisoning, my ass—I pushed the salmon on her at dinner, knowing her allergies flirt with disaster. A little chaos to get her out of my way.

“Cyrus,” I say, my voice cutting through the dark like a blade.

He looks up, those brown eyes—melted chocolate, heavy with whatever storm he’s carrying. “Can’t sleep, Rachie?”

I shake my head and step out, barefoot, the boards cool under my feet. I sit beside him, close enough that my knee brushes his. Heat sparks where we touch, electric and dangerous. “You neither.”

He hands me the whiskey. It burns my lips, sears my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the fire in my chest, the one that’s been raging since I knew he was mine. We talk—bullshit about his lost trial, Mom’s off-key singing in the kitchen. Laughter comes easy, like it always does when it’s just us. No Cleo. No ring. No fucking future that doesn’t belong to me.

His hand lands on my knee. Casual, then not. His fingers tighten, and I feel it—the air shifting, heavy with what we’ve never said.

“Rachel,” he says, voice rough, like he’s been swallowing nails.

I turn, our faces inches apart, breath mixing—whiskey and want. “You remember that night we swam here as kids?” I whisper, lips close enough to taste his heat. “You pulled me under, and I played dead just so you’d save me.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. “Yeah, I remember.”

My hand slides up his arm, feeling the muscle tense under my touch. “Save me now, Cyrus.”

He freezes. Then he doesn’t.

His mouth crashes into mine, hard and hungry, teeth scraping like we’re trying to devour each other. His hands dive into my hair, pulling, twisting, like he’s anchoring himself to me. I taste salt, sweat, the bitter edge of everything he’s holding back.

“Cyrus,” I gasp against his lips, “I’ve waited too fucking long for this.”

“God, Rachel,” he groans, voice thick. “We’re so fucked.”

“Then fuck me,” I say, biting his bottom lip hard enough to sting.

I swing my leg over, straddling him on the steps. My dress rides up, baring my thighs. His hands grip my hips, thumbs digging in, bruising. I want the marks—proof he’s mine. I grind against him, feel him hard and thick through his jeans.

My fingers claw at his belt, zipper rasping in the quiet night. He springs free, hot and heavy in my hand. I stroke him slow, thumb circling the tip, slick with pre-cum.

“Jesus, Rachel,” he mutters, head tipping back. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” I purr, leaning in to nip his jaw. “Die for me.”

I lift my dress. No panties—just me, wet and aching for him. I sink onto him, slow, taking him inch by inch. He stretches me, fills me, like he was carved for this moment. I moan, low and raw, as I settle, my body claiming him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, hands clamping on my ass.

“You feel too good.”

“For you,” I whisper, rocking my hips. “Only for you.”

I ride him hard, hips rolling, grinding, the steps creaking under us. He yanks the straps of my dress down, mouth finding my breast, sucking, biting. I arch into him, nails raking his shoulders, drawing blood. “Harder, Cyrus,” I demand.

“Make it hurt.”

“Like this?” he growls, thrusting up into me, sharp and deep.

“Yes,” I moan, head falling back. “Fuck, yes, like you mean it.”

He flips me, my back slamming against the steps, wood biting into my skin. He drives into me, relentless, each thrust a claim. The slap of our bodies echoes over the lake, raw and filthy. My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper.

“Rachel,” he pants, eyes locked on mine, dark and wild. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Always,” I gasp, clawing at his chest. “Say it back, Cyrus. Say I’m yours.”

“You’re mine,” he growls, voice breaking. “Fuck, you’ve always been mine.”

His hand slips between us, thumb finding my clit, circling, pressing. Sparks shoot through me, building, spiraling. “Don’t stop,” I beg, voice raw. “Make me feel you.”

“Never stopping,” he says, thrusting harder. “Not now. Not ever.”

I shatter, body arching, vision blurring as pleasure crashes through me, hot and electric. “Cyrus!” I cry, biting his shoulder to muffle the scream.

He follows, hips jerking, burying deep. “Rach—fuck,” he groans, spilling inside me, warm and thick, marking me as his.

He collapses, breath ragged, body heavy on mine. We’re a tangle of sweat and sin, the night air cooling our skin but not the fire between us.

I trace circles over his heart, smiling into his chest. “We’re not done, are we?”

He kisses my forehead, soft now, but his voice is rough. “Not even close.”

Inside, Cleo sleeps, clueless. Outside, His kiss lingers on my forehead, soft but laced with the roughness in his voice.

“Not even close,” he says, his breath hot against my skin, eyes darkening with something deeper than lust—regret, maybe, or the truth he’s been burying.

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble scrape like a promise.

“Then prove it,” I whisper, my voice trembling with the weight of years unspoken. “Take me inside, Cyrus. Right now. Show me you can’t stop.”

He hesitates, glancing toward the house where Cleo lies oblivious, but his hands tighten on my hips, pulling me closer. “Rach, she’s right there… What if—”

“What if she wakes up and sees?” I cut him off, my lips brushing his ear, voice low and venomous. “Let her. Let her see what she’s never given you. What I’ve always been waiting to give.”

His breath hitches, conflicted, but his cock twitches against my thigh, still half-hard, betraying him. “You’re killing me, you know that? This… us… it’s wrong, but fuck, I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything.”

“Then need me louder,” I say, standing and tugging him up with me, my dress still hiked up, his cum slick between my thighs. I lead him inside, the screen door creaking softly as we slip through the dim living room, past the couch where we used to watch storms as kids.

My heart pounds—not from fear, but from the thrill, the destruction I’ve craved. Cleo’s in the bedroom, the door cracked open, her breathing shallow and ragged from whatever’s twisting her guts.

We push inside. The room smells like her—lavender lotion and sickness, the faint tang of vomit from earlier. She’s curled on her side under the thin sheet, face pale in the moonlight filtering through the window, so out of it from the pills I slipped into her tea that she doesn’t even stir. Her perfect little world, shattered without her knowing.

Cyrus freezes in the doorway, eyes on her, guilt flashing across his face. “Rachel, we can’t… not here. Not like this.”

I press against him from behind, my hand sliding down to wrap around his cock, stroking him back to life. He hardens in my grip, a low groan escaping his lips. “We can,” I murmur, nipping his shoulder. “We have to. Look at her, Cyrus. She’s nothing compared to us. She’s cold, clinical. I’m fire. I’m yours. Tell me you don’t want this—want me—more than her.”

He turns, pinning me against the wall beside the bed, his body hot and urgent. “I do,” he admits, voice breaking with emotion, eyes wet like he’s on the edge of tears. “God help me, Rachel, I’ve loved you forever. Buried it, pretended it was just family, but it’s always been you. You’re in my blood.”

“Then take what’s yours,” I breathe, pulling him down for a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation, tasting the salt of his confession. He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bed—the same bed he shares with her.

He lays me down inches from Cleo, her back to us, oblivious in her haze. The mattress dips under our weight, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t wake.

Cyrus hovers over me, his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers, voice thick with raw need. “Not after this. Promise me, Rach—this isn’t just tonight.”

“It’s forever,” I vow, arching up to meet him, guiding him inside me with a gasp. He slides in deep, filling me again, our bodies syncing like they were always meant to. “You’re mine, Cyrus. Say it. Say you’ll leave her for me.”

He thrusts slow at first, eyes locked on mine, ignoring the woman beside us. “I’ll leave her,” he groans, voice cracking with the weight of it. “Fuck, Rachel, I’ll burn it all down for you. You’re everything—she’s nothing.”

I moan softly, my nails digging into his back as he picks up pace, the bed creaking faintly. Cleo shifts in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent, but her eyes stay closed, lost in her drugged fog. The risk makes it hotter, sharper—my walls clench around him, pulling him deeper.

“Harder,” I demand, my voice a whisper-shout. “Make me feel how much you love me. Not her.”

“I love you,” he chokes out, pounding into me now, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest. “Always loved you, Rach. More than I can fucking stand. You’re my sister, my everything—God, I’m so sorry I waited.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I gasp, my hand reaching out to brush Cleo’s hair lightly, mocking her stillness as ecstasy builds in me. “Just fuck me like you’ve dreamed of. Cum inside me again. Claim me while she’s right here.”

He loses it then, thrusts erratic and brutal, his mouth crashing onto mine to stifle our cries. “Rachel—fuck, I’m yours,” he rasps against my lips. “All yours. Forever.”

I cum first, shattering around him, biting his shoulder to muffle the scream, waves of pleasure ripping through me like fire. He follows seconds later, burying deep, spilling hot and thick, his body trembling as he collapses onto me.

We lie there, tangled and breathless, Cleo inches away, still lost to the world. His head rests on my chest, and I stroke his hair, whispering, “You’re home now, Cyrus. With me.”

He nods, wetting my skin. “I know.”

As we lie tangled on the bed, Cyrus’s weight is heavy on me. his breath warm and uneven against my neck, the lake house creaking around us. Cleo’s beside us, lost in her drugged haze, her shallow breathing a quiet hum in the dark. Moonlight spills through the window, painting her face pale, like she’s not even here.

Maybe she isn’t—not really. Not in the way I am, not in the way Cyrus and I have always been. My fingers trace slow circles on his back, feeling the heat of his skin, the pulse of his heart against mine. My mind drifts, not to plans or vengeance, but to him. To us. To the moments that made us this—two halves of a whole, caught in a love we can’t name but can’t escape.

I close my eyes, and the memories come, soft and sharp, like old photographs with edges that cut. We were kids once, inseparable, two kids against the world in that crumbling house with Mom’s cigarette haze and Dad’s absence like a ghost. I think of us at eight and ten, racing bikes down the quarry path, the summer air thick with dust and freedom.

Cyrus always went too fast, like he was chasing something bigger than himself. He’d grin back at me, wild and fearless, and my heart would skip, even then, knowing I’d follow him anywhere. When he crashed, skidding across the gravel, blood streaking his knees, I ran to him, dropped to the dirt.

“You’re okay,” I said, wiping his wounds with my shirt, my hands steady but trembling inside. He looked at me, eyes wide, trusting. I kissed his forehead, soft, and he didn’t pull away. “Thanks, Rachie,” he mumbled, voice small. I wanted to hold him forever, keep him safe, keep him mine.

Then there was the winter we were twelve and fourteen, snowed in, the power gone. We built a fort in the living room, blankets over chairs, candles flickering like secrets. Inside, it was just us, no world outside.

We played truth or dare, laughing, daring each other to stupid things—eat a spoonful of hot sauce, run barefoot in the snow. Then I dared him to kiss me. “Cheek,” I said, but my heart pounded as he leaned in. I turned my head, and our lips met—soft, clumsy, electric.

My stomach flipped, heat blooming low. He pulled back, cheeks red. “Rach, we’re not supposed to…” But he didn’t finish, just stared, and I knew he felt it too. That pull. That thing we couldn’t say.

But the lake house—that’s where it happened. We were fifteen and seventeen, summer sticky and endless, the air buzzing with cicadas. We’d come here with Mom, but she was always working, leaving us to roam. That night, we swam in the lake, the water black and cool, moonlight ripping across it like a blade.

We splashed, laughed, dunked each other, but it shifted when I wrapped my legs around him underwater, our bodies pressed close, slick and warm. I felt him harden against me, his swim trunks no barrier. His breath caught, eyes dark. “Rach,” he whispered, voice breaking. I kissed him, open-mouthed, desperate, and he kissed back, hands gripping my waist.

We stumbled to the shore, hidden by the reeds, the world gone quiet except for us. My bikini top was already loose, his hands shaking as he pushed it aside. “We shouldn’t,” he said, but his lips were on my neck, my chest, hungry. “Then stop,” I whispered, but I pulled him closer, my hands tugging his trunks down.

He was hard, hot, and I guided him to me, both of us trembling, scared but burning. It was quick, messy—him inside me, my back against the damp earth, his gasps mixing with mine. It hurt, but it was perfect, like we’d unlocked something we’d always known was there.

When it was over, we lay there, panting, staring at the stars. “Rachel,” he started, but I pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” I said. “Just… don’t.” We never spoke of it, but it lived between us, an open secret, heavy in every glance, every touch.

Now, here in the lake house, years later, with Cleo asleep beside us, that secret hums louder than ever. Cyrus shifts, lifting his head, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light.

“Rachel,” he says, voice low, raw with something heavy.

“This… us… it’s always been there, hasn’t it?”

The lake house holds its breath, our secret woven into the walls.

For now. the lake keeps our secret.