Best Friends Sister Erotic Story – More Than a Kiss

Best Friend’s Sister Erotic Story

I hadn’t been to the lake house in years. Not since Ethan and I were twenty-one and thought beer and bad music could fix anything. Now we were older. Twenty-six. Real jobs. Real problems. Same old dock, same old creaking boards. Same smell of pine and water and hot wood in the sun.

He texted me the week before.
Come up Friday. Grill, fix a few things, swim. Easy weekend.
He didn’t mention Maya. He never needed to. Any time the lake came up, I thought of her anyway.

In my head she was still nineteen and off-limits. In reality she was twenty-four and didn’t look like a little sister to anyone anymore.

I parked under the tall pines and killed the engine. The afternoon was thick with heat. Across the yard I saw Ethan messing with the grill. A second later, a door opened, and there she was on the porch steps, carrying a basket of towels on her hip.

I forgot the rest of the world for two seconds.

Maya had the kind of body you don’t forget. Soft and strong in the right places. Dark hair in a loose knot. A white tank that hugged her chest and a pair of soft gray shorts that clung to her hips and the under-curve of her ass when she walked down the steps. Bare feet. Anklet. A small gold pendant above the line of her collarbone. Sun on her shoulders. A few freckles that had no business being that sexy.

She looked up and saw me. Her smile came slow. Not surprised. Like she’d been waiting and I’d finally done the right thing.

“Hey,” she said, voice warm. “About time.”

“Traffic,” I lied. My heart had been doing the real slowing.

Ethan called out something about burgers and the propane tank, then hugged me, dragged me to the deck, and started talking about everything and nothing. I answered, nodded, laughed. But I kept finding her with my eyes the way a hand finds a familiar scar. The sway of her hips when she crossed the yard. The way the tank stretched across her chest when she reached for plates. The line of her waist I used to imagine grabbing and pulling close. I had thought those thoughts a hundred times and never once said them out loud.

She knew. She had to. The way her eyes caught mine and held one beat too long. The way her mouth did that tiny lift at one corner like she enjoyed the game.

We ate. Music played low. The lake glittered like broken glass. A breeze came, died, came again. And then the heat pushed the afternoon into a heavy stillness. Clouds stacked on the horizon, dark and close. Summer storm weather.

“The boathouse window is sticking again,” Maya said, wiping her hands on a towel. “It swells when the air gets wet. Can you help me with it before the rain?”

She said you, not you guys. Her eyes flicked to Ethan and back to me. It was nothing. It was everything.

“Sure,” I said.

We took the narrow path to the boathouse. Boards creaked. Reeds brushed our legs. The air smelled like oil and rope and lake water. Inside, light came in soft through dust and spiderweb corners. A wooden workbench along the left wall. Oars. Coiled lines. The old canoe in its rack.

She put her hands on the window frame and pushed up. It didn’t budge.

“Stuck,” she said, breathing out. Her tank lifted a little with her effort and I got the curve of her ribs and the hint of a black bra through white cotton. My chest went tight.

“Here,” I said, stepping behind her. “Let me try.”

I pressed my palms beside hers. The wood was dry and warm and stubborn. I pushed. She pushed with me. We moved together for a second without thinking. My forearms brushed her shoulders. Her hair touched my cheek. The smell of jasmine and sun-warmed skin hit me so hard my jaw clenched. We both put a little more into it and the window jumped free with a groan.

We held it there. Didn’t move.

The lake hissed. Wind came up and ran a hand over the roof. I looked down and saw a tiny pulse beat under the soft skin at her throat. She felt me looking. She turned her head and met my eyes. Her mouth was so close I could feel the heat of it when she breathed out.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

I let the window rest and stepped back. She turned around fully. The boathouse was suddenly smaller. Her tank had slid a little when she strained. It rested high and tight across her chest now, the fabric stretched just enough to outline the shape of her. Her shorts sat low on her hips. A line of soft skin showed above the waistband, drawing my eyes down like gravity.

“You used to look at me like that,” she said. No accusation. No shyness. Just truth.

“I used to pretend I wasn’t,” I said.

“You were terrible at pretending.”

“Still am.”

She smiled, small and sharp. She took a step in. Close enough that I could count the tiny gold flecks in her brown eyes. Close enough that I could hear her breathing change. Close enough that I had to decide if I was going to be a coward again.

There was a set of rules for best friends and sisters. I knew them all. I also knew the way I used to lie on a hot mattress upstairs in this same house and think about the girl down the hall. The way I used to wake up hard from dreams I couldn’t tell anyone about. The way I’d promised myself I’d never touch her.

“I’m not nineteen anymore,” she said. “Neither are you.”

“I know.”

Her gaze dropped to my mouth and back up. “Then stop acting like you need permission from a ghost.”

Her words went through me like warm electricity. I moved. One hand went to the small of her back and one found her jaw. She met me halfway. The first kiss didn’t feel like a first kiss. It felt like a dam breaking. Like our mouths had learned each other in some other life and finally got to do it again.

She kissed like she meant it. No testing. No safe distance. Her lips parted with a soft sound and her tongue touched mine and a sound rumbled out of my chest before I could stop it. Her hands slid up my shirt and flattened against my stomach, then climbed my ribs, heat on heat. I felt every inch like a line drawn with fire.

When we broke, she stayed close. Our noses brushed. Her breath was quick. Her eyes were dark and steady.

“I want more than a kiss,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said. “I do too.”

Wind smacked the side of the boathouse. The door shuddered in its frame. The latch was loose. I reached back without looking and slid it down. The click was small and loud at once.

We didn’t rush. We didn’t waste time.

I kissed her again, slower. My hands found her waist. She arched into me with a small sigh that hit straight between my legs. I dragged my fingers under the edge of her tank and felt skin. Warm. Smooth. Goosebumps blooming under my touch like a yes. She put her hands on my shoulders and held on while I drew the tank up and over her head. Black bra. Simple. Perfect on her. Her hair fell out of the knot in a dark spill down her back. I gathered it in one hand and kissed the side of her neck. Her head tipped back, throat long and offered up.

“You’ve thought about this,” she said, voice thin with breath.

“I used to picture your mouth,” I said into her skin. “Your waist in my hands. Your ass in those shorts. Every summer. Every night I stayed here.”

“Good,” she said. “I did too.”

She pulled my shirt off. Her fingers ran over my chest and then down, tracing the line of my stomach. I was already hard, pushing against my jeans. She curled her hand over me through the denim and smiled when my breath jerked.

“You always looked so cocksure,” she said. “I want to see if the rest of you matches.”

“It does,” I said, and she laughed, low and dirty, and kissed me again.

I got my hands on the button of her shorts, popped it, slid the zipper down. The sound was obscene in the quiet. I hooked my thumbs under the waistband and pushed, slow, wanting to watch every inch of new skin. The shorts slid over the curve of her ass and down her thighs. Black panties to match the bra. A soft triangle that showed just enough. She stepped out and stood there in the half light with the storm turning the world gray around her.

“Turn around,” I said.

She did without asking why. I put my hands on her hips and pulled her back into me. The thickness of me nudged against the heat of her through the cotton. She made a sound I felt in my bones.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I said.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Not unless I say so.”

I kissed her shoulder. Then the next inch. And the next. My thumbs traced circles on the points of her hips. She rolled them a little, pressing back, testing the pressure. I slid one hand to the front of her panties and cupped her. Heat. Wet. The kind that makes your throat dry and your brain go blank.

“God, Maya,” I said.

“I know,” she whispered. “I’ve been wet since you got out of the car.”

I pushed the fabric aside and ran two fingers through her, up and down, just to feel it, just to paint my skin with her. She shivered all the way up. When I circled her clit, she braced her hands on the workbench and said my name in a way that was half prayer and half warning.

I could’ve stayed there forever, working her slow, pressing circles until she came bowed over my hand. But she turned around and kissed me hard, reached for my belt, and popped it in one move like she’d been thinking about this too. My zipper came down. My jeans hit my ankles. She slid her hand into my briefs and wrapped her fingers around me proper. Warm. Tight. Possessive.

“Matches,” she said with a little smile that made my knees weak.

She sank to her knees on the old boards. The image of her there hit me stupid. Maya on her knees in the boathouse with storm light on her shoulders and the lake behind her, looking up at me like I was the only thing that mattered. She pulled my briefs down and I sprang free. Her eyes went heavy and hungry. She stroked me with both hands, slow and sure, then leaned in and licked the head like a taste test.

My head went back. My hand found her hair without thinking. Not to push. To hold. To anchor myself while she took me in her mouth.

She was warm and wet and focused. She used her hand and mouth together, twisting, sinking down, pulling back with a soft pop, then going again deeper. She looked up while she did it, eyes locked on mine, and that ruined me more than anything. She liked the effect she had.

She knew exactly what she was doing. The same girl who used to tie her hair on the porch steps and read for hours was now swallowing me like she had all the time in the world to make me beg.

I lasted longer than I thought I would. Not long. When my thighs tightened and my voice went rough, she squeezed my base with one hand and slowed her mouth to a lazy drag that made me swear.

“Condom,” I managed. “In my wallet. Back pocket.”

She stood in one slow, graceful line, kissed me, tasted like me, fished the wallet out, and tore the wrapper with her teeth. She stroked me once more and rolled it on with a competence that sent heat down my spine.

“Where do you want me?” she asked, voice low.

“Here,” I said, turning her toward the workbench. “Hands there.”

She put her palms down. Arched her back. The curve of her ass rose up, round and perfect, the black strip of her panties cutting across it in a way that made my chest hurt. I hooked my fingers in the sides and tugged them down. She stepped out.

I ran both hands over her bare skin. Soft and firm under my palms. She looked over her shoulder and smiled like she knew I’d been dreaming of this exact view since I was old enough to know what wanting was.

I lined myself up and pushed in slow. She was tight and hot and open for me. The first inch made my eyes close. The second made me grip her hips like handles. I stopped when I was halfway in and put one hand flat on her lower back.

“You okay?” I said, because I needed to hear her say it.

“Yes,” she said, voice shaky. “More.”

I eased in the rest of the way and felt her around me, pulsing, gripping. We both groaned. For a few seconds I did nothing but breathe and feel her adjust to me and let the storm sound fill up the space around us. Rain hit the roof in sheets. The lake turned to moving metal. The boathouse smelled like cedar and skin and sex.

I pulled back and pushed in again. She met me, rocking back, finding the rhythm instantly. I set my hands at her waist and watched the way her ass bounced against me. The sight of it made me dizzy. The slap of skin. The drag of friction. The wet slide. Her sounds. Mine.

“Harder,” she said. “Please.”

I gave her what she asked for. Harder. Deeper. I changed angle and felt her gasp like I’d hit a switch.

“There,” she said, breathless. “God, there.”

I stayed there. Thrust, grind, pull, push. Her fingers curled against the wood. Her head went down. She moaned my name like she didn’t care who heard. I reached under and found her clit with two fingers and circled. She jerked and clamped around me and I almost lost it then. I held my jaw tight and breathed through it, focused on her, worked her while I stroked.

“I’m close,” she said, voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. The way her body started to rock out of rhythm told me she was going. Her sounds went higher. Her hips pushed back in short, helpless snaps. Then she came with a rough cry, clenching hard, shaking, riding it and me with it. I kept moving through her release until she sagged forward on her elbows in a sweet, messed-up sprawl that would have rewired any man’s brain.

I pulled out and turned her, lifted her onto the workbench, kissed her while she caught her breath. Her mouth tasted like heat and rain. Her hands framed my face and dragged me back when I tried to move away.

“Again,” she said, smiling small and wicked. “I’m not done with you.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m not close to done.”

I kissed down her throat, across her collarbone, down to the edge of the bra. I slid a finger under the strap and looked at her. She nodded. I unclasped it. Her breasts spilled free, full and perfect in my hands. I put my mouth on one and then the other, sucked, licked, teased. Her back arched. She slid her fingers into my hair and held me there like she didn’t want to forget the feel.

She pushed me down her stomach with both hands, slow and bossy, and I liked it more than I should. I knelt and spread her knees with my palms, put her legs over my shoulders, and looked. Wet and swollen and pretty. I dragged my tongue up her, slow, and felt her jump.

I licked again, wetter, then circled her clit with the flat of my tongue until she grabbed the edge of the bench and swore. I slid two fingers inside her and found that same spot from behind and rubbed it while I licked her. She came again, quicker this time, with a deep, surprised sound that made me want to wreck the whole boathouse and build a shrine.

I stood and kissed her while she was still shaking. She reached down and took me in her hand and stroked me like she was proud of the mess she’d made me. I was right on the edge. She could feel it.

“Where?” she asked.

“Turn around,” I said, voice rough. “Face me. Wrap your legs.”

She slid down and I caught her hips and lifted her. She was light with that adrenaline lightness you get when everything is sex and the room goes small and hot. I pushed into her again. She clung to my shoulders. Her legs locked around my waist. We hit the wall and the workbench and the wall again, kissing like we wanted to swallow each other. The storm banged on the roof like a drum. The smell of her was everywhere.

I drove into her deep and steady, and she took all of it, lifting her hips to meet me, whispering yes and yes and I wanted you and don’t stop. I felt the climb and didn’t fight it. I put my forehead to hers and watched her face while I let it take me. The pull, the burn, the snap. I groaned into her mouth and came hard, everything going white, her tight around me, her nails digging into my shoulders, her breath hot against my cheek.

We stood there a long second not moving. Then we both laughed for no reason except relief.

I kissed her slow. I eased out. I tied off and tossed the condom in the trash bin under the bench. She found her tank and slipped it on without the bra, the soft fabric clinging to the points of her in a way that made it hard to remember how to breathe. I pulled my jeans up but left them open, put my hands on her hips again like I couldn’t stand not to.

“We should probably go back up before he sends a search party,” she said, biting her lip to hide a smile.

“Probably.”

We didn’t move.

Outside, the rain was still heavy, but softer now. The world looked washed. The boathouse felt like a secret even though it was only twenty yards from the deck.

“I don’t want this to be a secret,” I said. The words surprised me a little, but they were true the second they were out.

“Me neither,” she said. “But we don’t have to do everything today. We can tell him. We can handle it if he’s weird for a minute.” Her hand slid up my chest and rested at my throat in a way that stole my breath all over again. “I won’t hide from my own life to make anyone else comfortable.”

“That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said,” I told her, and she laughed and kissed me again.

We walked back when the rain thinned to a mist. The air was cooler. The deck boards were wet. Ethan was inside grabbing plates. We looked at each other at the door and something quiet passed between us – we’ll pick our moment – we won’t pretend this didn’t happen.

Dinner was easy. Burgers, chips, cold beer. Maya brushed past me in the kitchen and pressed her body into my back for one breath while she reached for a bowl on the shelf. It was nothing. It was enough to make my knees feel wrong.

After we ate, Ethan put on a movie and stretched on the couch. He was out in ten minutes. Maya caught my eye and tilted her head toward the hallway. She led me to the guest room and closed the door without locking it. Bold. Fun. Dangerous. I loved her for it.

We didn’t talk much. Clothes went wherever. She climbed onto the bed and reached for me with both hands and the heat rushed back so fast it felt like falling. I kissed her everywhere. Took my time. Learned what made her breath stop and start.

She learned me the same way. Short nails on my back. Teeth on my shoulder. Fingers around me, squeezing in a way that made my eyes roll back. She rode me slow with her palms on my chest and her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing in time with every roll of her hips. Then she leaned down and kissed me while she rocked and I held her ass in both hands and pulled her down harder until she broke apart with a soft cry and collapsed on my chest, laughing breathlessly at nothing.

We slept a little. Woke when thunder rolled again. Did it all over with the lights off and the window open and the rain cool on our hot skin. She came on my fingers with my hand over her mouth, shaking and trying not to make noise. I came with her name in my throat.

Morning was clear and new. Sun through wet leaves. The lake was flat and silver. I woke to her watching me, hair messy, eyes heavy, wearing my T-shirt and nothing else. She looked like trouble and home at the same time.

“Coffee?” she said.

“Please. And then we tell him.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Before lunch.”

We did. We sat on the deck with mugs. Ethan squinted at us over the rim of his cup like he was trying to read a small label.

“So,” I said. “We need to talk to you.”

His eyebrows went up. He looked at Maya. He looked at me. He looked at the boathouse. He looked back at us and sighed like a man who had known a thing for a long time and was just waiting for us to say it.

“I’m not stupid,” he said. “I was going to threaten you, but honestly I like seeing her smile like that.” He pointed at me. “If you hurt her, I will break your car and your face, in that order.”

“Fair,” I said.

Maya rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good brother,” she said, and he made a show of grunting and went to poke the grill.

The rest of the day was easy. Sun on skin. Cold water. Maya’s legs around my waist in the lake when Ethan went to town for ice. Her whisper in my ear – I want you later – and the bite of her teeth on my neck when she swam away laughing.

We didn’t hide. We didn’t flaunt it. We were just us, finally, with the volume turned up.

That night, when the house went quiet, I found her on the dock in a thin dress with nothing under it, feet in the water, hair down. The moon turned the lake into liquid silver. She looked over her shoulder when I stepped onto the boards and smiled in a way that I felt in my knees.

“I wanted you to find me,” she said.

“You always knew I would.”

I sat behind her and pulled her back between my legs. She leaned against my chest and I slipped my hands under the hem of her dress and found her warm and ready like she’d been thinking about me since dinner. We kissed slow while the water knocked against the posts.

I slid into her there on the dock with the night around us and the sky open and the whole world reduced to the sound of her breath and the soft slap of our bodies and the quiet words we whispered that didn’t need to be clever. It wasn’t wild. It was deep. It felt like a promise.

After, she lay on me and traced circles on my chest and told me about the book she was reading and the job she was thinking of taking in the city in the fall. I told her I could work from anywhere. I told her I wanted to be where she was. She looked at me like I had said the right thing at last.

“You know this is real,” she said.

“I do,” I said. “I knew when you said you wanted more than a kiss.”

She laughed, soft and smug. “Good. Because I still do.”

“Then come take it,” I said, and she did. On the dock. In the guest room. On the kitchen counter when the coffee was brewing the next morning and Ethan went for a run. She took as much as she wanted and gave back more, and I kept up like my life depended on it. Maybe it did.

By the time I packed to go on Sunday, nothing felt like a question anymore. We kissed at the car like people who didn’t care who saw. Ethan groaned and told us to break it up. Maya ignored him and pulled me back for one more, tongue slow, a promise pressed into the back of my teeth.

“Next weekend?” she said.

“Next weekend,” I said.

She slid her hands into my back pockets and squeezed in a way that made me close my eyes. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.”

I got in the car. I started the engine. She leaned in the window and kissed me one last time, slow and dirty, then bit my lower lip and smiled.

“Drive safe,” she said. “I need you in one piece.”

“I’ll be in several pieces if you keep kissing me like that.”

She laughed and stepped back. I pulled out slow. In the rearview I watched her on the gravel, tank top knotted up at her waist, shorts hanging loose on her hips, hair messing in the wind, smiling like she knew exactly what she’d done to me and would do it again.

I drove away with the window down and the lake smell fading and her taste still on my tongue. I had work on Monday. Meetings. Emails. Deadlines. None of it mattered as much as the message that buzzed my phone when I hit the highway.

Still wet. Thinking of your mouth. Be here Friday.

I smiled at the road and said out loud to no one, “Yes, ma’am.”

I’d spent years wanting my best friend’s sister. Now she wanted more than a kiss. She wanted everything. So did I. And for once, I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.