Chapter 5: Sneaking Into Her Room

Night four arrived wrapped in the same heavy humidity that clung to the coast after dusk. Sarah had killed the second bottle of wine at dinner, her laughter turning sloppy before she pushed back from the table and announced she was turning in. The stairs creaked under her uneven steps, and soon the familiar rhythm of her snoring filtered through the thin walls of the master bedroom, steady as the tide outside the open windows. I lay beside her in the dark, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through nothing important while my mind replayed every second from the hot tub two nights earlier—the way Kayla had clenched around me, the confession still echoing like a pulse in my veins.

The screen lit up at eleven sharp.

Can’t sleep. Come to my room if you’re awake. Door’s unlocked.

My thumb hovered. Guilt slammed into me first, cold and familiar, the image of Sarah’s sleeping face right there beside me a living accusation. This was her sister. My wife’s little sister. I was thirty-four, supposed to be the steady one, the accountant who balanced the books and kept life tidy. Yet my body was already responding, heat pooling low as I pictured the short hallway separating us. The house felt alive tonight—every floorboard a potential traitor, the ocean’s roar through the screens just loud enough to mask a careful footstep if I was lucky.

I set the phone down, heart thudding against my ribs. For a long minute I listened to Sarah’s breathing, the fan spinning lazy circles overhead. Then I slipped out from under the sheet, boxers the only thing I wore, bare feet meeting cool hardwood. The hallway stretched dark and narrow, moonlight slicing through the guest-room door she’d left ajar. Each step felt like walking a tightrope. The wood groaned once under my weight; I froze, pulse roaring in my ears, waiting for Sarah to stir. Nothing. Just the waves outside and the faint creak of the house settling.

Kayla’s door swung inward without a sound. The bedside lamp glowed low, casting long shadows across the queen bed and turning the white walls a soft amber. She was already under the thin sheet, propped on one elbow, wearing nothing but a pale gray tank top that clung to the swell of her breasts and a pair of simple black panties. Her hair spilled loose over one shoulder, eyes catching the light when she saw me. No words. She simply lifted the sheet in invitation.