Family Friction 1 - Brother's Helping Hand

Carolina swings through the front door, suitcase dragging behind her, and the old familiar walls greet her like an old dog. Smell of lemon cleaner still hangs in the air. Something else too, sharper and tight. Nathan sits on the bottom step, elbows on knees. When she asks how everybody’s doing he shrugs like the whole truth would break a rib. “Dee’s got her new massage gig, mom and dad haven’t said three friendly words to each other in months,” he mutters. Carolina leans in for the rest of it, but he waves the story away. Break is supposed to be easy. Instead he nods toward the couch. Her shoulders look braced for a punch. She flops down, still wearing the loose crop top from the bus. Nathan’s thumbs find knots the second they press in. Jesus, she’s carrying half the library in her neck. After a couple minutes she blushes so hard her ears catch fire and blurts out the embarrassing part—she hasn’t had a guy yet. School, deadlines, money shifts; every spare hour vanishing before she can even learn how not to screw it up. Nathan snorts a laugh, then catches himself. He means well. Always has. After a beat he says he can give the crash course, if she wants. No jokes, no audience. First thing, cock in her mouth. She wraps her lips tight, finds the rhythm when he tells her where her tongue should press. He tastes salt-slick and warm. Second thing, the rest of their clothes hit the floor. Nathan works the head past slick folds, careful at first, then Carolina nudges back, greedy, and everything clicks into place. She takes every inch like a secret she can’t believe is hers. When he finally fills her she forgets the knot in her stomach. Only the slick glide and the quiet creak of the couch matter. Later, breathing steady again, she already knows two things at once: one, lesson learned; two, the part where he’s her step-brother is going to catch up to her like a piano dropped from a third-story window.