The rain didn't fall that night—it fucking attacked.
By 3 a.m. the downstairs looked like a cheap aquarium. Water sloshed against the baseboards, the couch bobbed halfway across the living room like a sad raft, and Sophia—my 39-year-old stepmom—stood in the doorway in nothing but an oversized sleep shirt, cursing like a sailor on shore leave.
"Four months," the insurance adjuster droned the next morning, clipboard dripping. "Minimum. We'll gut the ground floor, dry it out, refinish everything. You folks need temporary sleeping arrangements."
Dad didn't even blink. Already on his laptop, booking the next two-week business trip to Singapore. "Kids can share Alex's room upstairs," he announced, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Bunk beds. Easy fix. Crew drops them off tomorrow before I fly out."
Mia—my 24-year-old stepsister—leaned against the kitchen counter in tiny sleep shorts that barely covered the lower curve of her ass and shot me a wicked little smirk.
"Guess we're roomies, little bro," she purred, even though I was only a year younger. "Hope you don't snore. Or… do anything else loud."
I swallowed. Hard.
Alex. Twenty-three. College senior. Already half-hard just from the way she said "roomies."
This was going to be a problem.
The bunk beds arrived the next afternoon—cheap metal frames, thin twin mattresses, ladder on the side. Dad helped the delivery guys bolt them into my tiny bedroom while Mia watched from the doorway, arms crossed under her full tits, pushing them up like an offering. She'd changed into a white tank top so thin I could see the dark outline of her nipples every time she breathed.
"Top or bottom, Alex?" she asked sweetly, batting her lashes.
I took the top bunk. Obviously.
Dad left for the airport at 6 p.m. with a quick "Be good, don't kill each other" and a pat on my shoulder. Sophia hugged him at the door, then turned back to us with a soft, knowing smile that twisted something low in my stomach.
"Pizza for dinner?" she called. "I'll be in my room catching up on emails. You two… settle in."
We did. Sort of.
By 11 p.m. the house was quiet except for the distant hum of the dehumidifiers downstairs. I lay on the top bunk in nothing but loose basketball shorts, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about the fact that my stepsister was directly beneath me. One thin mattress. Six feet of air. Zero doors. Zero privacy.
Mia had climbed into the bottom bunk wearing that same tiny white tank top and a black thong that disappeared between her round ass cheeks the second she bent over to plug in her phone charger. She pulled the thin sheet up to her waist, but it did nothing to hide the way her tits strained against the fabric.
"Night, Alex," she said, voice syrupy sweet. "Sweet dreams."
I muttered something back and killed the lights.
For twenty minutes I listened to her breathing—slow, even, supposedly asleep.
Then the softest rustle of sheets. A tiny sigh.
I froze.
Another rustle—slower, deliberate. The unmistakable sound of a hand sliding under fabric.
Her breathing changed. Heavier. Shorter.
A wet little click reached my ears—two fingers parting slick folds.
My cock twitched so hard it slapped the front of my shorts like a goddamn flagpole.
Below me, Mia let out the tiniest whimper, barely louder than a breath.
"Fuck…" she whispered to herself.
I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just lay there, rock-hard, listening to my bratty stepsister finger herself in the bunk right under me on the very first night we were forced to share a room.
The renovation had barely started.
And I already knew four months of this was going to ruin me.
End Ch 01.