Content Advisory: The following narrative features characters who are all 18 years of age or older and involves consensual, fictional depictions of incestuous relationships, intended for an adult audience. Reader discretion is advised due to explicit content.
First person as Kailey, I normally use my name. But I am trying different way's to write my stories. Enjoy love you all 🖤
I stood at the living room window, leaning my hip against the armrest of the couch as I watched my parents' car disappear down the street. My hands played idly with the hem of my tank top--thin and snug enough to cling in all the right places. It was one of those tops that dipped just low enough to make my mom roll her eyes, but hey, she wasn't here, was she? Besides, what's so wrong with showing a little cleavage?
My denim shorts were short enough to make sitting feel like a strategic decision, but I wasn't planning on moving much today anyway. The house was mine for the whole weekend. No parents. No rules. No one telling me to be "appropriate" or to "cover up." Eighteen and free. It felt like heaven.
I flopped onto the couch, stretching my legs out, my bare toes brushing the soft cushions. My phone buzzed on the table, but I ignored it. The music blasting from the speaker was much more interesting--heavy on bass, the way I liked it. The beat thumped through the floorboards, rattling the glass doors on the cabinet by the TV.
I grinned to myself, imagining the next two days. Junk food, lazy movie marathons, maybe sneaking a beer or two from the stash Dad thought he'd hidden behind the flour canisters. I could do whatever I wanted. No one to nag me, no one to bother me. Absolute paradise.
Or so I thought.
The sound of a car engine pulling into the driveway snapped me out of my daydream. I frowned, reaching for the remote to mute the music, then peeked through the window. My stomach sank when I spotted the familiar outline of Carl's old truck.
My older brother.
What the hell was he doing here?
Before I could even process it, he was already at the front door. I yanked it open just as he raised his fist to knock.
"Carl? What the hell are you doing here?"
He leaned against the doorframe, a smirk spreading across his face. His jacket hung lazily over one shoulder, and he looked every bit as smug as ever. Dressed in worn jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched snug over his broad shoulders, he had that irritating air of casual confidence.
"Nice to see you too, Kailey," he said, his gaze flicking down briefly before he stepped inside uninvited.
I groaned, crossing my arms under my chest, which only made my cleavage more noticeable. "Seriously. Why are you here?"
"Mom and Dad asked me to check on you. Said they didn't trust you to survive 48 hours without burning the house down or throwing a rave." He kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the armchair like he owned the place.
"Oh my God, you've got to be kidding me," I said, throwing my head back in exasperation. "I'm not a kid anymore! I can handle being home alone."
He raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall as his eyes scanned the messy living room. "Yeah, I'm sure you think that. But you're not exactly known for making the best decisions, are you?"
"Wow," I said, rolling my eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Carl. Don't you have anything better to do?"
"Nope," he said, popping the 'p.' He wandered into the kitchen like he owned the place. I heard cabinets opening and closing as he rummaged around.
"Okay, you've checked up on me," I called after him. "Now you can leave!"
"Not so fast," he said, reappearing with a bag of crisps in hand. He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "I think I'll stick around for a bit."
I glared at him. "Why?"
"Because I'm bored, and your TV's better than mine," he said, like that was the most logical explanation in the world.
"Unbelievable," I muttered, collapsing onto the other end of the couch. I grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hugged it against me, glaring daggers at him.
"Relax," he said, smirking as he crunched on a crisp. "Tell you what--I'll even go to the shop and grab some proper snacks. You know, since I'm such a generous big brother."
"Generous?" I snorted. "Since when?"
"Since now," he said, grabbing his keys and standing up. "What do you want? Crisps? Chocolate? Maybe a beer or two for the responsible, totally mature adult in the house?"
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Fine. Surprise me."
While he was gone, I half-heartedly flipped through the stack of DVDs by the TV. I wasn't expecting him to be gone long, but when he finally came back, it was with enough snacks to feed a small army.
"Jesus, Carl," I said as he unloaded his haul onto the coffee table. Bags of crisps, bars of chocolate, a couple of pre-packed sandwiches, and--of course--a crate of beer. "Did you rob the shop?"
"You said you wanted snacks," he said, cracking open a beer and handing it to me.
"Cheers," I said, taking it from him. The cold fizz hit the back of my throat, and I sank deeper into the couch. "You're seriously staying, aren't you?"
"Yep," he said, popping the cap off his own beer. "Might as well make it a proper lazy day. Go grab your blanket or something--it's cold in here."
I hesitated for a second before sighing. "Fine. But I get to pick the movie."
"Deal," he said, settling back into the couch like he owned it.
When I came back downstairs, dragging my massive blanket with me, Carl had already commandeered the remote.
"Move," I said, nudging him with my knee.
"Bossy," he teased, shifting over to make room.
I spread the blanket over both of us, tucking it around my legs and letting the rest drape over Carl's lap. "Okay, put this one on," I said, handing him The Italian Job.
"Solid choice," he said, holding the DVD up to inspect it. "But let me guess--you're just here for Mark Wahlberg."
I smirked, taking another sip of my beer. "And you're here for Charlize Theron. Don't act like you're above it."
He chuckled, sliding the disc into the player. "You caught me. But the original Italian Job was better. Remakes never hold up."
As the opening credits rolled, he shifted under the blanket, making himself comfortable. The blanket was warm, and I couldn't help but notice how close we were, our legs brushing beneath the fabric.
