My Stepsister Moved Into the Guest Room at Thirty novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Seven in the Morning

Robin comes home from a night shift and Flora pulls her onto the couch; Robin comes in her scrubs and says it can never happen again.

I worked a twelve-hour shift on Monday night, and I did not think about the hallway once.

That is a lie.

I thought about it while I sutured a drunk man's chin at two in the morning.

I thought about it while I held a woman's hand through her third kidney stone.

By the time I walked into my apartment at seven forty, I had a headache and a plan to sleep for nine hours.

Flora was sitting on my couch with her feet tucked up and a mug of coffee in both hands.

She was wearing a gray T-shirt that stopped at the top of her thighs, and I could not see any shorts.

"Morning, Robin," she said.

"Morning."

I dropped my bag by the door and did not look at her legs.

I looked at her legs.

They were pale and freckled, and the T-shirt had ridden up so that I could see the edge of black cotton underwear.

"You didn't come home yesterday morning either," Flora said. "You went to the gym."

"I like the gym."

"You hid from me at the gym."

I opened my mouth to deny it and nothing came out.

Flora put her coffee on the table.

She stood and walked across the room in bare feet, slowly.

I was still in my scrubs, navy, a little blood on the cuff, my hair flat from the cap.

I smelled like hand sanitizer and hospital.

"You look exhausted," she said. "Sit."

"I should shower."

"Sit, Robin."

Nobody gives me orders.

I give the orders, in a trauma bay, to eight people at once.

I sat on the couch anyway.

Flora stood in front of me with her knees against mine, and then she lowered herself onto my lap, one thigh on either side.

Her weight settled on my legs, warm and solid, and I made a sound I had never made in front of another person.

"Tell me to get off," Flora said.

I put my hands on her hips instead.

The cotton of her shirt was thin, and under it she was soft and hot, and my fingers sank into her without asking me.

"That's what I thought," she said.

She kissed me.

Her mouth was warm and tasted like coffee and a little like cinnamon.

She kissed me slowly at first, a small press of lips, and then she opened her mouth and her tongue slid against mine.

I heard myself moan into her.

My hands tightened on her hips and pulled her down against me.

Flora gasped, and I felt her grind forward on my thigh, the damp heat of her through her underwear.

"There," she whispered against my lips. "That's the sound I've been waiting for."

She worked her fingers into my hair and tilted my head back.

She kissed my jaw, my neck, the sensitive place under my ear, and I shook.

"You're tense everywhere," she said. "I can feel it."

"I haven't done this in a long time."

"How long?"

"Fourteen months."

"Fourteen months," Flora said, and kissed my throat. "That's a crime."

She pulled the zip down on my scrub jacket and pushed it off my shoulders.

Under it I wore a plain gray sports bra, and she looked at it.

She dragged it up over my breasts and let them fall free.

Flora's mouth closed over my nipple and I arched off the couch.

"Oh God."

"Good," Flora murmured around me. "Louder."

She sucked until the nipple went tight and aching, and she switched to the other side and did it again.

Her hand went down my stomach to the drawstring of my scrub pants.

She tugged the knot loose.

"Look at me," she said.

I opened my eyes.

Her face was flushed, her lips wet and swollen, her hair falling around us.

"I'm going to touch you, Robin. I'm going to put my fingers inside you."

"Yes."

"Say it."

"Touch me. Please."

Her hand slid inside my pants and under my underwear.

I was soaked.

I knew it before she did, and she knew it a second later, and her whole face lit up.

"Oh, you've been thinking about me," Flora breathed.

She ran two fingers through the wet, from my entrance up to my clit, and I jerked against her palm.

"Flora."

"Say it again."

"Flora."

She circled my clit slowly, so slowly, with just the pads of her fingers.

Each pass sent heat up my spine.

I gripped her thighs hard enough to leave marks.

"You're so wet for me, sister," Flora said into my ear.

The word went through me like a live wire.

She felt me clench and laughed softly, delighted.

"You like that."

"Flora, please."

"Please what?"

"Inside me."

She pushed two fingers into me at once, deep, to the knuckle.

I cried out and my head fell back against the couch cushion.

My pussy squeezed around her, greedy, and she groaned.

"God, listen to you. You're so tight."

She curled her fingers up and found the spot on the first try.

I had not been touched by anyone else in over a year, and no one had ever found it that fast.

She stroked it with a steady, rolling rhythm that matched the roll of her hips against mine.

Her free hand cupped my face.

"Look at me," Flora said again. "I want to watch."

I looked.

Her green eyes were dark and glittering, fixed on my face, and I could not look away from them.

She fucked me with her fingers in long, slow strokes, and her thumb settled on my clit and rubbed in tight circles.

The pressure built low in my belly.

It built so fast I was frightened.

"I'm going to come," I said.

"Already?"

"It's been fourteen months."

"Then come for me, Robin. Come all over my hand."

She pressed her thumb down hard and curled her fingers.

I broke.

My whole body locked up, and a long, shuddering cry tore out of my chest.

My pussy clenched around her fingers again and again.

Flora kept her hand moving, drawing it out, murmuring praise against my mouth until the last pulse faded.

"Good girl," she whispered. "That's so good."

I sagged against the back of the couch, shaking, with my scrubs shoved down and my breasts bare in the morning light.

Flora slid her fingers out slowly.

She held them up between us, glistening.

Then she put them in her mouth and sucked them clean, and watched my face while she did it.

My stomach flipped over.

She climbed off my lap and picked up her coffee.

"That's one," she said.

I stared at her.

My heart was still slamming, and I could feel my own pulse between my legs.

I pulled my bra down and my jacket together with unsteady hands.

"Flora, we can't do this."

"We just did."

"I mean it can't happen again. Your father is married to my mother. We have Thanksgiving together."

"I know exactly who my father is married to."

"This is a mistake."

Flora leaned on the arm of the couch and looked down at me, calm and pink-cheeked.

She tilted her head.

"Okay," she said. "Say it again, like you mean it."

I opened my mouth.

I could still taste her on my lips.

I could not say it.

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