I’m aware of how easily this could go further if I let it. And that’s the problem. Because it’s not simply physical. That would be easier to ignore.
This is something deeper. Something I’ve refused to name.
And there’s relief in it. Like a part of me I’ve kept locked away from her has finally been seen.
I feel opened up by her in a way I don’t know how to handle. Like she’s reached straight into the one place I’ve kept off-limits and made it impossible to pretend it doesn’t exist.
I kiss her harder, and she meets me with the same intensity. Her fingers hold me there like she doesn’t want me to pull away. Whatever restraint I had left slips further out of reach.
The world narrows down to this—her mouth, her breath, the way she moves against me like she’s been holding this back as well.
Everything else fades. There’s just this—too much and not enough at the same time.
Finally, I pull back just enough to breathe, my forehead resting against hers. My lips still brush hers between breaths, like I don’t quite know how to stop.
Her breathing is uneven, and every small sound pulls me further in.
I’m not steady anymore. Or careful. I’m only one step away from losing whatever control I have left. Because something’s been set loose that we can’t put back.
If she kisses me again, I don’t know what’ll happen next.
“Charlotte.” My voice comes out rough.
She blinks up at me in the dim light. “Yes, Dane?”
I force myself to lean back a fraction more, putting space between us even though everything in me resists it.
“This isn’t right.”
Confusion flickers across her face immediately, her brow pulling together as she tries to understand.
“Was it a bad kiss? Did I do it wrong?”
Nothing’s ever felt like that before.
“No—the kiss…” I cut myself off before I can say too much, forcing it into something safer. “It was perfect.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to gather the right words.
“Us kissing,” I say finally. “That’s what’s wrong.”
She just looks at me. “Why?”
It’s a simple question. There’s no simple answer.
I don’t reply right away. Because the second I say it out loud, there’s no taking it back.
But I don’t have a choice.
“Because you’re my sister.”
Charlotte lets out a short laugh. “You’ve never called me that. Pretty sure you said I’dneverbe your sister.”
That hits harder than she knows.
She’s not wrong. I spent years treating her like she didn’t belong in the family. Back then, calling her my sister felt like giving in—like accepting something I didn’t want to be true.
