Sleeping sister

The carpet muffled every step as I crept down the hallway, the fibers pressing softly under my bare feet. Her door was always slightly ajar—she liked the air to circulate, claimed the room got too stuffy otherwise. A sliver of golden light from the hallway cut across her bed, illuminating the curve of her hip under the thin blanket. She was turned away from me, one arm draped over the edge of the mattress, fingers dangling limply toward the floor. Asleep.

I didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. Just stood there in the dark, watching the slow rise and fall of her shoulders. The scent of her shampoo lingered in the air—something floral, something sweet. My fingers flexed at my sides, itching to touch, to slide over her skin the way they did in my dreams. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification. She didn’t stir. I edged closer, my shadow stretching long across the carpet, swallowing the light as I passed through the doorway. The floor didn’t creak here. I’d memorized every sound, every board that might betray me.

The closet door was half-open, her laundry basket tucked just inside. My pulse hammered in my throat as I crouched, fingertips brushing the fabric piled inside. Silk. Cotton. Lace. I didn’t have to look to know which ones were mine now, stolen over weeks, hidden beneath my own mattress where no one would think to check. The heat in my gut coiled tighter just thinking about them.

The waistband of her panties slipped between my fingers as I pulled them from the basket—black lace, still faintly warm from when she’d peeled them off before bed. I pressed them to my face, inhaling deeply. Her scent clung to the fabric, musky and intoxicating, and my knees nearly buckled under the weight of my own hunger. My free hand drifted to my cock, already hard, already straining against my sweatpants. I couldn’t stop myself from palming it through the fabric, biting back a groan as the pressure sent sparks up my spine.

She shifted in bed, the mattress creaking softly, and I froze. My breath hitched, fingers tightening around her underwear like a lifeline. But she didn’t wake. Just sighed in her sleep, rolling onto her back now, the blanket slipping low enough to expose the swell of her breasts beneath her thin tank top. Moonlight spilled over her collarbones, her parted lips, the curve of her throat where I’d imagined my teeth sinking in a hundred times. My phone was in my pocket—I didn’t even remember grabbing it—but my hands moved on their own, lifting it, zooming in on her face, her chest, the way her nipple peaked against the fabric. The shutter clicked silently in the dark.

Backing out of the closet, I kept my eyes locked on her, my pulse roaring in my ears. One wrong step, one misplaced breath, and she’d wake up. She’d see me. She’d know. But the risk only made my blood hotter, my cock twitching with every stolen glance. I crouched beside her bed, close enough to count her eyelashes, to see the flutter of her pulse at her wrist. My thumb hovered over the screen, capturing her like this—vulnerable, beautiful, mine in every way that mattered except the one I craved most.

Later, in my room with the door locked, I spread her panties over my pillow, my phone propped against the headboard. The pictures glowed in the dim light, her body frozen in perfect stillness while mine trembled with need. I didn’t bother being quiet—our parents’ room was too far downstairs to hear, and she never came to my room anyway. My fist moved faster, the lace rough against my knuckles, my hips jerking into my own touch. I imagined her waking up to find me like this, her eyes widening before she crawled into my lap, her fingers replacing mine. The fantasy burned brighter than the screen, sharper than the ache in my gut, and when I came, it was with her name choked between my teeth, her scent drowning me.

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