Chapter 19: 🌶️ The Heat of the Last Day

I wake up slowly, still wrapped in the hazy remnants of last night’s memories. The soft golden light filtering through the curtains bathes the room in warmth. For a few disoriented seconds, I forget where I am—until reality catches up with me.

The spot beside me in the bed is empty, the sheets slightly rumpled, tracing where Emma had been.

I run a hand over the mattress, feeling the lingering warmth she left behind. My mind spirals instantly. I sit up, my eyes locking onto the pillow she used. Her scent still lingers in the air—a mix of freshness and that quiet, effortless softness she carries without even realizing it.

She’s probably gone for her morning run, her usual ritual. Nothing out of the ordinary. But to me, her absence leaves a hollow space, too vast to ignore.

I just sit there, unmoving, unable to shake the weight pressing down on me. My fingers drift over the sheets, tracing the fabric as if I could somehow pull a piece of her back to me.

I drop back onto the bed, throwing an arm over my eyes, trying to smother the wave of frustration and desire rising inside me. But the scent ... her scent. It’s still here, clinging to the sheets, seeping into every corner of this room.

I turn my head, burying my face into the pillow she used.

Her fragrance wraps around me—soft, intoxicating. My mind slips instantly. I picture her lying right next to me, her body pressed against mine, her steady breath mixing with my own. Heat coils in my stomach, slow but relentless.

I try to pull myself out of it, to break free from this spiral, but my hands move on their own. My mind fights, but my body has already made its decision.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for when I reach toward her suitcase, left open near the bed. A glimpse of fabric catches my eye, pulling me in like a magnet.

My breath stutters as my fingers close around a scrap of black lace. A pair of panties. Fine, delicate, almost weightless.

I freeze, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs. I should put it back. I should drop it and erase this thought before it takes hold. But it’s already too late.

I bring the fabric to my face, my fingers clutching the lace like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. Her scent is here—richer, deeper, more intimate than the one on the sheets.

And my mind ignites, bursting with a thousand forbidden images.

I lie back down, the panties clutched in one hand, my breathing already unsteady. I push my cotton shorts down, letting them slide to my thighs. My cock is already hard, the cool air against my bare skin sending a shiver through me. I grip the lace tighter, bringing it to my nose, inhaling deeply. Fuck ... it’s my sister’s. The thought hits me like a shockwave, echoing inside me. It makes everything feel even more forbidden, even more intense.

My hand moves over my length, firm, relentless. I don’t need to imagine anything. Just knowing where these panties have been, what they usually touch, what they hide, is enough to make me lose control. My breathing quickens, roughens, as Emma’s scent fills my lungs.

You little slut ... You wore these knowing it would drive me crazy, didn’t you? You’re doing it on purpose, huh? The words swirl in my head, getting louder, sharper. I start whispering them, my voice ragged between gasps:

“You’re just a little whore ... my little sister ... fuck.”

My hand moves faster, and I hear myself again:

“Slut ... you know exactly what you’re doing...”

And then, I lose it. My whole body tightens, the wave crashes over me—raw, overwhelming—leaving me breathless, the panties still clenched in my fist. Fuck...

Pleasure rips through me, brutal and all-consuming. Time seems to freeze for a moment, suspended in this forbidden act. I lie there, unmoving, gasping for air, my eyes locked on the ceiling. And then reality slams into me—hard—dragging guilt along with it.

Fuck, Brice. You’re so fucked.

I sit up fast, shoving the panties back where I found them. My hands tremble slightly, but I do my best to erase any trace of what just happened. Running a hand down my face, I try to pull myself together.

I stand up, fixing my clothes, but every step feels heavier than the last. Every movement is a reminder of what I just did—and how much it should never happen.

I finally head downstairs, after making sure everything in the room is back in order. My legs feel heavy, but I do my best not to show it. In the living room, everyone’s already there. Grandma is in the kitchen, busy preparing something, while my parents sit at the table, chatting peacefully. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of a pie baking in the oven.

Mom: “Ah, Brice! We were starting to think you wouldn’t come down. Slept well?” I nod, forcing a smile.

Me: “Yeah, yeah ... I’m good.” I step into the kitchen, sliding in next to Grandma to help her chop some vegetables. She gives me a gentle smile, the kind only she can, and silently hands me a knife. This kind of moment should feel comforting, but today, everything seems off. Every move I make reminds me of what happened upstairs.

And then she arrives.

Emma pushes open the front door, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the hem of her tank top. She’s still in her workout gear—tight black leggings and a top that clings perfectly to her curves. Her face is slightly flushed from exertion, a few strands of hair sticking to her neck.

I look away immediately, but it’s too late. Her silhouette is already burned into my mind, and then I catch her scent—a mix of sweat and something fresh. It’s too much.

Emma: “Hey, everyone!” she says, beaming, before walking past me and resting a light hand on my shoulder. The touch zaps through me, and I grip the knife a little too hard. The blade slices through the tomato, nearly slipping. She chuckles softly as she moves away, pouring herself a glass of water.

Emma: “Brice, you still look half-asleep. Come on, wake up a little!” She smiles, all innocent, like nothing happened. Meanwhile, I do everything I can not to look at her, focusing hard on this damn vegetable. But I can feel her—every movement she makes, every breath she takes.

And worst of all, that scent.

Fuck. Stop thinking about it.

After lunch, everyone starts getting ready for a long walk through the countryside. I’m still lingering in the kitchen, staring blankly at the table, with no desire to move. Dad pokes his head through the doorway.

Dad: “Brice, come on, let’s go!” I shake my head.

Me: “Nah, I’ll stay. Not in the mood for a three-hour walk.” Emma, sitting on a chair with an apple in her hand, raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

Emma: “Wow, lazy much? Seriously, is that how you are now? Since when do you say no to a family outing?” I shrug, playing it cool.

Me: “Since I grew up and do whatever I want.” She bursts out laughing, a genuine, carefree laugh, and takes another bite of her apple.

Emma: “More like you got old before your time.” I can’t help but smile, shaking my head. She has this way of teasing me effortlessly, and it works every damn time.

Mom: “Emma, are you coming?” Emma pauses for a second, glancing at me, then at the door.

Emma: “Nah, I’ll stay too. Don’t feel like exhausting myself even more after my run. And besides, someone’s gotta keep an eye on Brice—he might just pass out on the table.” She sticks her tongue out at me, and I fire back immediately:

Me: “Hilarious. What are you, five?” She chuckles, and our parents, clearly pleased to see us getting along, just shrug.

Mom: “Alright, we’ll leave you two then. But don’t just sit around all afternoon—go do something.” Right then, Grandma walks by with a tray, smiling as she adds:

Grandma: “Oh, you know what? The jacuzzi’s already ready. You can hop in if you feel like it.” Emma lights up instantly, setting her apple down on the table.

Emma: “The jacuzzi? Seriously? Oh, that’s awesome!” She turns to me, eyes gleaming. “Brice, come on, let’s go!” I try to hesitate, to act like I’m not interested.

Me: “Eh ... I don’t know.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh, playing up her frustration.

Emma: “Oh, come on. It’s not every day we get a jacuzzi all to ourselves. What else are you gonna do? Lie around and scroll through your phone?” I can’t help but chuckle. She knows exactly how to get me.

Me: “Alright, alright.” Emma: “Great! I’m gonna go change.” She jogs toward the stairs, and I stay there, frozen, watching her slender legs disappear upstairs. My smile slowly fades as a wave of forbidden thoughts crashes through my mind.

Brice ... get a grip.

I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. The distant sound of the jacuzzi bubbling outside reaches my ears, and I take a deep breath. I don’t know if this is a good idea—but at this point, it’s too late to back out.

I’m the first to reach the jacuzzi. The hot water, already bubbling, sends a light steam into the air. The sun is warm but gentle, making the spot even more inviting. I pull off my T-shirt and shorts, left in just my swim trunks, and step into the water. The heat wraps around me instantly, and I lean back against the edge, trying to relax.

But it’s not working. Not really. My heart is already pounding too fast, and I know exactly why. Emma. She’ll be here any second now, and just the thought of it makes my fists clench under the water.

Fuck, calm down. It’s just Emma.

The sound of a door opening snaps my head up. And there she is.

Emma steps onto the terrace in a bikini, a towel draped over her shoulders, her hair lazily tied up. She moves casually, carefree, like this is just any other day.

But for me, nothing about this is normal.

My gaze drops immediately to her body, devouring every detail. Her tight, perky tits fill out the bikini top perfectly, showing just enough to drive me insane. Her flat stomach, the subtle curve of her hips. And that bikini bottom—fuck—clinging to her ass like it was made just to torture me.

Look at that ass ... An ass I could grab, sink my teeth into, squeeze until she moans. She walks there, so damn unaware, not knowing that all I want is to pin her against the edge and fuck her until she screams.

The sound of a door opening makes me lift my head. And there she is. She steps out onto the terrace in a bikini, a towel draped over her shoulders, her hair lazily tied up. She moves so casually, so effortlessly, like this is nothing.