My professor's voice fades to white noise the moment my phone vibrates against my thigh. The sudden buzz feels like an electric shock, jolting me from the coma-inducing lecture on post-war economic policies. I know it's Kayla before I even check. My body has developed a sixth sense for her messages, like a divining rod that only points toward my sister.
The minute hand crawls toward noon as Professor Harrington drones on about Marshall Plans and economic recovery. I can't tear my eyes from the clock, watching each excruciating second tick by. When she finally dismisses us, I'm already halfway out of my seat, backpack slung over one shoulder.
The hallway is packed with students moving between classes, but I barely register their existence as I fish my phone from my pocket. One new message from Kayla. My heart does that stupid little flip it always does when I see her name on my screen.
I'm already nearly drooling before I open it, my thumb hovering over her message like I'm savoring the anticipation. When I finally tap it, the words make my pulse quicken: "Hey, come meet me in class 315 in Meyer."
My fingers fly across the keyboard: "Do you want me to pick us up lunch?"
Her response comes almost instantly: "No. I have lunch for you here."
Something about the way she phrases that sends a shiver down my spine.
I cut through the quad, dodging a frisbee that sails past my head. Meyer Hall looms ahead, all red brick and ivy, looking more like a mausoleum than an academic building. My pace quickens as I approach, my mind racing with possibilities of what Kayla might have in store.
Room 315 is on the third floor, tucked away in a quieter wing that houses mostly faculty offices and smaller seminar rooms. The hallway is eerily silent as I climb the stairs, my footsteps echoing against the worn marble steps. Most students are either in class or at lunch, leaving this section of the building practically deserted.
I pause outside the door, my hand hovering over the knob. Through the frosted glass, I can make out a shadowy figure moving inside. My mouth goes dry as I turn the handle, pushing the door open with a soft click that seems impossibly loud in the quiet hallway.
Kayla's hand shoots out from the darkened room, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. Before I can react, she yanks me inside and slams the door shut in one fluid motion. My back hits the wall with a soft thud, knocking the breath from my lungs as she presses against me, her body radiating heat through our clothes.
"What took you so long?" she growls, her voice husky and impatient. Her green eyes are dark with need, pupils dilated as she stares up at me.
I try to form words, but my brain short-circuits at her proximity. The scent of her body fills my senses. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she presses closer, her breath hot against my neck.
"I... class... just got out," I stammer, my hands instinctively finding her waist.
The classroom is empty except for us, desks neatly arranged in rows facing a whiteboard covered in faded marker stains. Sunlight filters through half-drawn blinds, casting striped shadows across Kayla's face as she leans in, her lips brushing against my ear.
"I've been thinking about you all morning," she whispers, her teeth grazing my earlobe. "Couldn't focus on anything else."
My heart hammers against my ribs so loudly I'm sure she can hear it. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
"Someone could walk in," I manage to say, though my body is already responding to her touch.
"I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you?" Kayla whispers, her voice carrying a harsh edge that contradicts the tender look in her eyes. Despite her commanding tone, those green eyes are overflowing with affection, a depth of love that makes my knees weak.
She backs away from me, maintaining eye contact as her fingers move to her waistband. With deliberate slowness, she unbuttons her pants and slides them down along with her underwear, the fabric pooling around her ankles. The sudden vulnerability of the gesture, contrasted with her confident expression, leaves me breathless.
Kayla lowers herself into one of the classroom chairs, legs parting as she beckons me closer with a single crook of her finger. My feet move of their own accord, drawn to her like a magnet. When I'm standing between her knees, she places her hands on my shoulders and applies gentle pressure.
"Come on, brother," she breathes, guiding me down. "You're hungry, right? Eat your lunch."
I sink to my knees without resistance, my hands finding purchase on her thighs. The classroom fades away, the rows of empty desks, the whiteboard, the possibility of discovery, all of it disappears until there's nothing but Kayla. The scent of her fills my lungs as I lean forward, my tongue making first contact with her already slick center.
She hisses through her teeth, one hand tangling in my hair to hold me in place. "That's it," she encourages, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Just like that."
I lose myself in the taste of her, in the way her thighs tense around my head when I find that perfect spot. Her fingers tighten in my hair when my tongue circles her clit, the slight pain only spurring me on. I glance up to see her head thrown back, lips parted in silent pleasure, the column of her throat exposed and vulnerable in a way she rarely allows herself to be.
The door remains unlocked. Anyone could walk in, a professor, a student, a janitor, but the danger only heightens every sensation. Each muffled moan that escapes her lips sends electricity racing down my spine. I'm painfully hard in my jeans, but my own need is secondary to hers.
"Travis," she gasps, her hips rolling against my mouth. "Fuck, you're getting too good at this."
Her essence floods my mouth, tangy and sweet, the most intoxicating flavor I've ever known. I drink her in greedily, my tongue delving deeper to capture every drop. Nothing has ever tasted this perfect, this right. If I could, I'd subsist entirely on her, make every meal just this, kneeling before her in worship three times daily, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with her fingers tangled in my hair and her thighs quivering against my cheeks.
"God, the way you look at me when you're down there," Kayla breathes, her voice breaking slightly as my tongue flicks rapidly over her sensitive bud. "Like I'm your whole world."
I hum against her in response, the vibration making her gasp and arch her back. She is my world, my sun, my moon, my everything. Each tremor that runs through her body is a victory, each moan a symphony composed just for me.
Her breathing becomes more erratic, her thighs tensing around my head as I increase my pace. I seal my lips around her clit and suck gently, knowing exactly what drives her over the edge.
"Travis, I'm…" she cuts herself off with a strangled gasp, her body going rigid as pleasure crashes through her. Her hand clamps over her own mouth to muffle the cry that threatens to escape as she rides out her orgasm against my eager tongue.
I stay with her through every aftershock, gentling my movements as she becomes oversensitive. When she finally pushes my head away, I look up to find her staring down at me with hooded eyes, her cheeks flushed and hair slightly disheveled.
"Come here," she commands softly, tugging me up by my shirt collar.
I rise on shaky legs, my own arousal almost painful now, straining against my jeans. Kayla pulls me down for a deep kiss, tasting herself on my lips.
"You're getting dangerously good at that," she murmurs against my mouth. "Almost makes me think you've been practicing elsewhere."
I shake my head vehemently. "Never."
"Well, I think It's time I had my lunch too."
*****
[Gina's POV]
I didn't mean to follow him.
Okay, that's a lie. I totally meant to follow Travis. I've been doing it for days now, always keeping a safe distance, always making sure he doesn't notice me. It's not stalking, at least that's what I tell myself. It's just... admiration from afar.
The way he moved across the quad had me mesmerized, the sunlight catching in his jet-black hair as he dodged that frisbee with casual grace. Something about the urgency in his steps made my curiosity peak. Where was he rushing off to in the middle of lunch hour?
So I followed him to Meyer Hall, keeping back just far enough that he wouldn't spot me. I watched him climb the stairs. When he disappeared around the corner to the third floor, I hesitated. This was definitely crossing a line, but I couldn't help myself.
I gave him a minute head start before creeping up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs. The third floor was eerily quiet, most of the classrooms empty during lunch. I peeked around the corner just in time to see Travis slip into room 315.
Now I'm standing outside, peering through the narrow gap in the blinds where they don't quite meet the windowsill. My breath fogs the glass, and I quickly wipe it away with my sleeve.
Holy shit.
Travis is on his knees between a girl's legs, his face buried between her thighs while she writhes in the chair. My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, but I can't look away. I should leave. This is private. This is…
The girl throws her head back, and I get my first clear look at her face.
My blood turns to ice water in my veins.
It's Kayla Stone. His sister.
I recognize her instantly from high school. The same jet-black hair, those striking green eyes that run in the family. There's no mistaking it. Travis is performing oral sex on his own sister.
My hand flies to my mouth to stifle a gasp. My mind races to make sense of what I'm seeing, to find some innocent explanation, but there isn't one. Not when she's half-naked in a classroom, not when her fingers are tangled in his hair like that, not when she's looking at him with such naked desire.
I should run. I should report this. I should do something, anything other than stand here watching.
But I remain frozen, unable to tear my eyes away as Kayla pulls Travis to his feet. She kisses him deeply.
EW HIS LIPS WERE JUST ON HER VAGINA!
My trembling fingers fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it in my haste. I swipe to unlock it, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The camera app opens with a tap, and I aim it through the gap in the blinds, hitting the record button.
The red dot pulses in the corner of my screen as I capture everything, Travis on his knees, Kayla's hands in his hair, their lips meeting in that disgusting kiss. My stomach churns with revulsion, but I keep recording.
He told me he had a girlfriend. He rejected me because he was "serious about his relationship." And this is what he meant? His own sister?
The realization hits me like a physical blow. This isn't just wrong. It's illegal. It's sick. It's...
It's leverage.
The thought forms in my mind before I can stop it, blooming like a dark flower. With this video, I could make Travis do anything. Be with me. Love me. Choose me.
Or I could destroy them both with a single email to the college administration. To their mother. To the police.
I zoom in slightly, making sure their faces are clearly visible. The evidence needs to be irrefutable. My hand shakes slightly as Kayla drops to her knees in front of Travis, her fingers working at his belt.
"This is so messed up," I whisper to myself, even as I continue recording. "So, so messed up."
My hand trembles as I keep filming, unable to tear my eyes away from the perverse scene unfolding before me. Kayla yanks Travis's jeans down. His boxers follow, and I can't help the small gasp that escapes my lips when she takes him in her hand.
It's not what I expected, average, normal even, but the way she looks at it, you'd think she's discovered buried treasure. Her eyes gleam with a hunger that makes my skin crawl.
Without hesitation, she engulfs him in her mouth, her head bobbing with an almost desperate rhythm. The wet, obscene sounds carry faintly through the door as she takes him deeper than seems possible, her throat working as she gags slightly before pushing even further.
Travis's eyes go half-lidded, his expression one of complete bliss. His fingers tangled in her short black hair, not guiding but simply holding on like he might float away without that anchor.
"I love you so much, sis," he whimpers, his voice breaking on the last word. "God, Kayla, I love you so much."
The raw emotion in his voice makes my stomach twist painfully. This isn't just some twisted physical thing, there's genuine love there, corrupted and wrong as it is. Somehow, that makes it worse.
Kayla pulls back just enough to look up at him, her lips glistening. "I know you do. I love you too, Travis," she purrs before diving back down with renewed vigor.
I zoom in further, making sure to capture the way his legs shake, the absolute surrender in his posture. The evidence needs to be perfect. Irrefutable.
I've seen enough. My hand is shaking so badly I nearly drop my phone as I fumble to stop the recording. The file saves with a silent notification, and I quickly pocket the device, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
I back away from the door on trembling legs, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste. The hallway suddenly feels too exposed, too bright, like a spotlight is shining directly on me and my newfound terrible knowledge. My breath comes in short, panicked gasps as I hurry toward the stairwell, my shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
I push through the stairwell door and practically fly down the steps. The weight of my phone in my pocket feels heavier than it should, loaded with forbidden footage that could ruin two lives completely.
Or give me exactly what I want.