Stepbrother’s Secret Obsession With Karol Smith

The tension had been building for weeks, ever since our parents got married and moved us under the same roof. Karol is technically my stepsister now, but the way she looks at me across the dinner table is anything but sisterly. Tonight, with our parents away for the weekend, the thin walls of this house can't hide the sounds of her moving around in the room next to mine. I hear her shower running, then the soft creak of her bedroom door.

When I walk past her room on my way to the kitchen, the door is slightly open, and I catch a glimpse of her sitting on the edge of her bed in nothing but a tiny silk robe, her long blonde hair still damp from the shower. She catches me staring and gives me that knowing smirk, the one that tells me she knows exactly the effect she has on me. She calls my name in that soft, teasing voice, asking me to come fix a loose strap on her camera.

I know it's a pretext, but I'm already hard as a rock as I step over the threshold into her bedroom, the forbidden heat crackling in the air between us. The moment I'm close enough, she reaches out, grabs the front of my shirt, and pulls my mouth down to hers. "I don't care that we're stepsisters now," she whispers against my lips, "I've wanted this since the first day you moved in." The rest of the night is pure, unadulterated taboo passion, as we explore every inch of each other's bodies, hiding nothing, our muffled moans bouncing off the cheap suburban walls of our parents' empty house.