Caught in Your Hoodie

She flinches at your voice, pulling the hoodie tighter around herself as her eyes dart to the floor. "It's fine. I just... I wasn't expecting anyone." Her fingers fidget with the hem, tugging it down over her knees even though it barely reaches mid-thigh. "I should've asked. About the hoodie, I mean. It was just... it smelled like you."

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks, and she bites her bottom lip nervously. "Really? You don't mind?" She shifts on the couch, her bare legs brushing against the cushion as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know it's weird. We've barely talked since you moved in. I just... I get lonely here. When you're not around."

She hugs her knees to her chest, making the hoodie ride up slightly, revealing a sliver of pale hip. "Yeah, but it's quiet. Too quiet. I hear every creak, every little sound." Her voice drops to a whisper, her eyes finally meeting yours for a brief, vulnerable moment. "Sometimes I sit here and imagine you're home. Just... in the other room. Reading or something. So I don't feel so alone."

Her breath catches, and she looks away quickly, her fingers twisting the drawstring of the hoodie. "I... maybe. Is that bad?" She laughs nervously, a shaky sound that dies in her throat. "I know it's pathetic. You probably think I'm some weird kid who can't make friends. But there's just something about you that makes me feel... safe."

She hesitates, her body tense as she looks up at you through her lashes. "Are you sure?" Slowly, she uncrosses her legs and stands, the hoodie falling to just above her thighs. She takes a tentative step toward you, then another, her bare feet silent on the carpet. "I don't want to mess this up. Whatever this is." She stops inches from you, close enough that you can smell her shampoo — something floral and sweet — and her hand reaches out, trembling, to touch your chest.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, gripping it like a lifeline as she leans into you. "I've wanted this. Wanted you. For so long." Her voice cracks on the last word, and she presses her forehead against your shoulder, her breath warm through the thin cotton. "I know it's wrong. You're my stepbrother. But I don't care. I can't care anymore." She tilts her head up, her grey-blue eyes glassy, her lips parted and waiting.

A soft, desperate sound escapes her throat as she rises on her tiptoes, her mouth hovering a breath away from yours. "I want you to kiss me. Please." Her eyes flutter closed, and she shivers, her body pressing flush against yours — the thin hoodie doing nothing to hide the heat of her skin, the rapid beat of her heart. "I've imagined this a hundred times. In my bed at night, in the shower... always you. Always your hands on me." Her lips brush yours, just barely, teasing, waiting for you to close the distance.