Kyle didn’t mean to stare. It just kinda happened.

A drop of sweat started on her neck and slid down, slow, right between her boobs. Her skin was tan and slick, shiny from how hot it was in the room. The bra was gray, nothing flashy, but tight enough to show off everything. It had some lace on top, kind of pointless, but it caught the eye. One of the straps was falling off her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. The fabric looked soft and a little soaked now, clinging to her. The whole thing looked like it didn’t want to hold back much. He wasn’t even into that usually, but damn. It was right there. Full, bouncy, nothing fake about it. 34C maybe? He had no idea. They just looked really fucking good.

And that was the problem.

Ivy was his twin sister. He knew he shouldn’t be looking. And he definitely looked. Now it was stuck in his head. His eyes had wandered, and now his brain wouldn’t shut up.

She looked up from her phone with these piercing green eyes and raised a perfect brow. Not sure if he was actually checking her out or if she was imagining it. That was somehow worse.

“Dude. My face is up here.”

She didn’t even sound mad—just flat, confused.

Kyle looked up fast. “Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to—” He stopped himself. “I just spaced.”

The heat wasn’t helping. They were stuck in this crappy hotel room, both sweating through their clothes. He was down to just his shorts. She had on those tiny running ones and that little bra, like she’d just come from the gym. The air conditioner had died sometime earlier and the fan in the corner was useless, spinning hot air like it thought it was doing a good job. They’d tagged along with their parents on this summer trip through Europe, college on break, and now they were in Italy—nice hotel, sure, but the heatwave had knocked the AC out right when their parents left for the opera.

She leaned back again, propping herself up with her arms. Her chest was right there, like she didn’t care. Her brown hair, cut stylish and brushing just to her shoulders, stuck a little to her damp skin, strands curling from the heat. It made her look even more careless, lounging there in the sticky air.

Kyle bit the inside of his cheek and stared up at the ceiling, trying to think about literally anything else.

Ivy let out a groan. Her thumbs were flying across the screen, tapping fast. She muttered, "Unreal. I'm telling this guy how I’m sweating my ass off in a broken hotel room, and he goes, ‘send me a hot pic.’ Can you believe that?"

He didn’t answer right away. Part of him wanted to say yeah, that was messed up. The other part? The one that’d just been staring at her chest a minute ago? That part thought it made total sense.

She looked up at him again, caught the silence.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Kyle. Not you too.”

"What? I didn’t even say anything," he shot back, a little too quick.

She gave him a look. Eyes half-lidded. Not angry, not shocked. Just tired. She’d seen it before, maybe too many times. Her grey eyes stayed on him a second longer than they needed to. She just kept looking at him like she already knew where his head was. Then came the line, calm but sharp.

"Don’t even try. You guys are all the same. Tits on the brain, 24/7. Can’t even stop staring at your sister’s chest for five minutes."

Ivy leaned back against the wall, one leg out, the other bent and loose. Her skin had that even tan that made it hard not to look. Her legs were long, smooth, just the right mix of soft and firm. The kind that didn’t need effort. Her black shorts barely covered anything. Her toes were painted black—simple, clean, fresh like she'd just done them.

Kyle let out a breath. "Oh, shut up. I wasn’t staring at your tits. I just looked at what you were doing."

She didn’t say a word.

He wiped his hand down his face. "And if you don’t want people seeing cleavage, maybe put on a shirt. I’m roasting too, but you don’t see me pulling my shorts off."

She glanced over at him like he wasn’t worth the effort. Then her mouth curled into a slow smirk.

"You can pull your shorts down if you want," she said, voice low and lazy. "Whatever you’ve got under there too. I don’t mind."

Kyle froze. His ears burned. He blinked, mouth opening halfway, but no words came out. He scratched the back of his neck, then dropped his hand, realizing how dumb that looked. His knees shifted like he was about to stand up or say something, then didn’t. He just stared at the floor.

Ivy burst out laughing. No warning. Just loud, sudden, like he’d handed her a punchline. She leaned back, still grinning, then looked straight at him with that face—half smug, half annoyed. Her eyes narrowed just enough to say, ‘seriously?’ The kind of look older sisters (even when she’s just 2 minutes older) are born with.

"You’re such a perv," she said, shaking her head. "I’m your sister, for fuck’s sake."

Kyle muttered without thinking, "Yeah, like that’s ever stopped you from going after guys who look like me."

Ivy’s fingers froze on her phone screen. Her head turned slow. "What the hell did you just say?"

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at her. Just gave a little shrug and smirked. "Just something I noticed."

Her face went red quick. Not blush-red—pissed. She pushed herself upright, legs shifting, phone tossed to the side. "Say that again. I dare you. I will come over there and spank you like I used to when we were younger."

"You can try. Joke’s on you though—we might end up liking it."

He wasn't really into that. But messing with her like this? Watching her get flustered, mad, trying to figure out if he was serious or just being a dick—that part? That was worth every second.

He kept going, couldn’t help himself. "Why do you always make it sexual talking to me? Spanking adults seems... I don’t know, kinda kinky."

That was it. She launched at him, no warning. He hit the floor with a grunt. He didn’t even get a chance to sit up—she was already on top of him. She dug her knees into his sides and held him there. No hesitation, no warning. She didn’t speak. Just sat on him like she’d done it a hundred times before.

He shifted under her, more surprised than anything. He was six feet tall, strong enough to toss her off if he wanted to—but her skin was slick, and she was pressed up against him, her belly sliding against his bare chest as they both tried not to slip. Her weight pinned him just enough. He could move her, but doing that meant grabbing her. And he really didn’t want to grab her sweaty, half-naked body right now. That thought alone had his hands frozen.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “God, you’re sweaty. Gross.”

Her stomach slid again against his skin, and despite the heat, her body cooled him in patches. Her skin was soft and wet and somehow still smelled good. Raspberry.

She grinned. “Oh no,” she whispered, pinning his arms higher. “Don’t like a little sweat, little brother?”

He struggled, laughing as she tried to reach his sides. “You’re a grown woman, Ivy. Stop trying to tickle me.”

She rubbed against him harder, her palm sliding up his cheek. “Not liking it now? Huh? That’s funny. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure your pervy ass was staring at this sweaty body for the last half hour.”

“I wasn’t,” he muttered, face red, trying not to look at her.

Then she moved. Just a bit. Her thigh pressed up between his legs before he could react.

She felt it. They both did.

She paused. Then moved again. Slower. Just to be sure.

Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Yeah. As if I don’t have proof of your perviness right here.”

She leaned back a little and looked down. Her eyes flicked to the bulge in his shorts, then back up to him. Her face didn’t have that usual smirk. Just quiet.

Kyle didn’t wait. He shoved forward and rolled her over. She hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Little shit,” she muttered, out of breath.

He grabbed both her wrists and pinned them above her head. Their arms were sweaty, but he kept his grip. She tried to squirm out, but he had her. His bare chest dropped onto her. Her boobs pushed up into him through the damp fabric of her bra.

She moved again, slower. Her chest rubbed against him more this time. He didn’t back off. His dick was hard now, pressed right into her thigh. His shorts weren’t hiding anything. Every shift made it worse. She felt it. No way she didn’t.

She struggled again, frustrated, but she was getting tired. His weight held her down. Her legs came up around his sides, like she was trying to throw him off, but they stayed there.

Their eyes met. It was weird. Close. Like something neither of them planned but couldn’t stop.

“You’re gross,” she said, just to say something.

Her belly was right under his face, slick and warm. He wiped the sweat off his face on her stomach.

“Ew,” she groaned. “You’re dead, asshole.” She twisted hard under him.

He slid back up until they were face to face.

She stopped moving. Her eyes dropped to his mouth. No grin. No smartass comment.

He saw it. And it threw him off. What the hell was that? Did she want—

She looked at him again. Still nothing.

So he kissed her. Just once. Light, nothing too much. Her lips were warm. She didn’t kiss back. Didn’t stop him either.

His hand loosened on her wrists, fingers brushing the inside of her palm without thinking. Her skin twitched under him. Her chest rose into his, nipples brushing lightly against his skin through the fabric.

She was breathing shallow now. But still didn’t move.

She jerked her head back. “I’m your sister, you…idiot!”

Her face was flushed. She looked pissed. But there was something else—like she didn’t know what to do with any of it. Her body didn’t move. She just lay there, staring at him.

Kyle clenched his jaw. He leaned down and kissed her again. Rough this time. Short. He didn’t care how it came off. She’d been all over him a minute ago, and now she wanted to act shocked?

She shoved at his chest, but it was half-assed. Weak. Like she wanted to act mad but not actually stop him.

He kissed her again. Then once more. Just to get under her skin.

She stared up at him, eyes sharp, mouth tight. Her glare could’ve cut glass. He thought she might hit him.

She didn’t.

She grabbed his face and kissed him hard. No warning. Just heat and pressure and teeth.

Their mouths crashed. Sloppy, hot, fast. No rhythm. Just noise and breath and grabbing whatever skin was in reach. She bit his lip—hard—and then pulled back just enough to say, "Who the fuck taught you to kiss?"

He didn’t answer. He let go of her wrists without thinking. She didn’t give him time. Her tongue shoved into his mouth like it belonged there. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked, guiding his head where she wanted it.

He groaned. She was stronger than she looked. And meaner. Her nails scratched the back of his neck, then ran down his ribs. Their chests kept slamming into each other, sweat slick between them.

“Open your mouth,” she snapped against his lips. “Stop being so stiff.”

He tried. She still took over. Her thigh was up between his legs, grinding slow and on purpose. His hips twitched. She smiled against his mouth.

She pulled back just long enough to breathe and mutter, “God, you suck at this.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Shut up,” she said, pulling him back in. Her tongue shoved past his again. Her hips pushed up hard. She grabbed his sides and pulled him lower, where she wanted him.

He kissed her jaw, her neck, trying to keep up.

She met his kisses with her open mouth. It wasn’t pretty—wet, loud, clumsy—but neither of them slowed down. Just heat and grabbing and open mouths bumping like they were trying to fight and kiss at the same time.

His hands were everywhere, unsure. Waist, ribs, up and down again, like he didn’t know where to land. Trying to be careful but completely out of his depth. She let him fumble for a few seconds, lips too soft, hands too unsure, then pulled her head back with a look—half bored, half annoyed—her mouth still wet from him.

"No one hears about this," she said under her breath. "Ever. Or you’re fucking dead."

Kyle nodded, too quick.

She leaned in again, this time slower. Less heat, more control. "Just follow me," she said, close to his mouth.

She kissed him again and kept his mouth moving with hers. Her hands stayed in his hair. She liked the feel of it—soft, a little damp. She tugged when he got too slow, scratched his scalp with her nails when he sped up again.

His hands moved down her sides, not sure where to stay. She didn’t stop him. He touched her under her bra strap, slid lower to her waist, grabbed her hip. Not smooth, but not bad.

She pressed her chest into him. He could feel her hard nipples even through the bra. His fingers brushed her ribs. She tensed but didn’t move away.

Ivy tugged his hair and pulled him closer. "Good. Keep going."

His mouth dropped to her jaw, then lower. She let her head tilt. His lips hit her neck, warm and careful.

Her fingers dragged down his back, slow, not thinking.

He touched her stomach. Just the skin there. His hand moved light, unsure. Her belly jumped under it, but she didn’t say anything.

She pulled him back in and kissed him again. Slower this time. Her lips moved over his, a little firmer. "You’re not totally useless," she muttered, not smiling.

He kissed her back with more pressure.

His hand slid up and touched the side of her chest. She gasped into his mouth and bit his lip—not playful.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself," she said, fingers pulling his hair harder.

Both of them breathing hard. Their bodies pressed close, nothing calm about it.

Then his hand slipped down. Into her shorts. His hand slipped lower, fingers pressing over her panties, right where she was warm. She jerked under him, her thighs tensing like she’d been caught off guard.

Her eyes snapped open. That was a line. One she hadn’t planned on crossing. But she didn’t say anything. Just stared at him.

He started to rub. Slow, clumsy at first, but not totally off. Either he’d done this before or watched enough to fake it. Then he found her clit through the fabric, and her breath hitched. She made a quiet sound, not even meaning to.

She grabbed his wrist, fast. He froze.

She didn’t push him away. Didn’t move his hand. Just held it. Staring.

He rubbed again. Just a little. Just enough.

His voice dropped low. "Easy. You're a good girl, Ivy."

It sounded dumb. He knew it. She knew it. But somehow that made it worse. Her stomach turned. Not in a bad way.

His voice wasn’t deep, but it had that low, warm edge. She closed her eyes for a second, tried to forget whose face it was. Just heard the sound.

She shifted, sitting up more. Her legs opened just a little. Her head tilted back. Eyes closed.

"Just shut up," she whispered.

Her breath caught. Then his hand moved.

He slid his fingers past the waistband of her panties. Found her. Wet. A lot more than he thought she'd be. He hesitated for half a second, then kept going. Two fingers moved, slow at first, then faster, rubbing right over where she needed it. She bit her lip. Then let out a sound she didn’t mean to—a soft, breathy meow from the back of her throat.

His mouth was at her neck. She felt his teeth. Not soft. Not too hard either. Just enough to leave a mark if he stayed there too long.

“Such a wet, needy pussy,” he said into her skin.

She should’ve hit him for that. But he was right. She didn’t even try to argue. His fingers were soaked with her juices already.

“Like that,” she breathed.

His fingers caught on her clit, rubbed the way she showed him. Her hips jumped.

He kept going. Her hand stayed over his, forcing the rhythm.

Faster now. She was grinding against it without thinking. Her legs tightening, stomach pulling in. She sucked in air and let out a soft curse.

“Right there—don’t stop—don’t—”

Her whole body jerked.

She clamped her thighs tight around his hand. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth open but no sound came out at first. Then it did—a choked moan, quiet and sharp.

She came hard. And messy.

She dropped flat, chest going up and down fast, legs still shaky. Her arms were spread out, fingers twitching here and there. Sweat was all over her, soaking into the back of her bra. She looked wiped out—messy, flushed, totally gone.

He slid his hand out of her shorts, fingers shiny with it. He just stared, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

She peeked through one eye and saw him staring. Her lashes were clumped from sweat, face still soft, like she hadn’t fully come back to herself yet.

He stared at his fingers, still wet. Didn’t move at first. Then, like it just made sense, he brought them to his mouth. Licked one. Paused. Then did the next. He didn’t say anything, just kept going slow. Not trying to be sexy, just doing it like it felt right. She watched the whole thing. Her face lit up red, full flush, lips parted. She looked mad about how much she liked it.

Her cheeks turned red as hell. Her face looked hot, guilty, flushed. Like the moment finally hit her all at once.

She sat up quick and wiped her mouth with the back of her...