"You're not watching the movie," Tom observed. "I go to all this trouble to get everything set up..."
"Okay, okay. I'm watching. I'm sorry…sheesh."
"So ungrateful. You drink all my dad's expensive wine, you bail on me, you don't want to watch the movie I've picked..."
"Shut up! I'm watching it," she giggled and nudged him again, harder this time. Sasha readjusted herself on the couch and sat up next to him. At that moment Tom's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket to retrieve the message but dropped it on the floor instead.
"Texting one of your girlfriends?" she teased.
"You're a brat. And stop feeling me up."
She gave him another slap for good measure. He grabbed her hand and put it in her lap, leaning his body into hers as she squirmed in protest. She pushed him away with mock indignance.
"Keep your hands to yourself, mister!" She hit him again as soon as he let go. She squealed when he roughly grabbed her shoulders and began to push her down on the couch.
"All this touching and slapping has got me suspicious," he said. She squeaked when his body rolled onto hers, pinning her down. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you wanted to fuck me."
"What?" her voice was barely above a whisper.
"You heard me," Tom murmured. His hand briefly explored her, brushing against one of her breasts. Her chest started heaving. Was this really happening? She let him feel her for a few seconds. She almost felt more breathless than aroused. She pushed his hand away, weakly. She liked touching it.
"Stop," she breathed. He ignored her. She didn't mean it anyway. When his fingers touched her nipples, it sent a pulsing wave of pleasure down her body.
"Stop," she said again, as he felt her more forcefully, teasing her nipples to full attention. He kissed her on the lips, and she kissed him back, softly.
"I gotta get some water," he said, standing up. "Dehydrated from skiing all day."
"Okay," she said. She rolled over so her ass was in the air, waiting for him to come back. She felt like a hot mess. What if they had sex, like now? She hadn't pictured her first time being anything like this. A couple of hours ago she didn't even like him.
Tom walked back in, and Sasha made room for him on the couch. She lay down with her head on his thigh again. He played idly with her hair, his hands sometimes wandering to her neck and breasts as the sounds of explosions and screeching tires kept coming from the TV. 'What now?' she thought. She still felt aroused, but Tom seemed content to just sit there with her. Was he having second thoughts because she was his stepsister? Or was he deliberately teasing her, making her want him even more?
"I gotta get up early tomorrow," Tom said. "I'm going backcountry skiing again."
"Okay," Sasha replied, nuzzling him. He got up. She was disappointed.
"Night," he said.
****
Sasha woke up on the couch the next morning to bright daylight streaming in through the windows. She groped around for her phone, wondering how late it was. Dan and her mom were scheduled to arrive at nine. She got up and walked to the kitchen to make sure everything looked neat and tidy. Where was Tom? Probably out skiing or something, she thought, forgetting that Tom went to bed early last night just for that reason. She walked quietly to his room. The door was ajar, and she pushed it open. No sign of him. She stepped inside. His phone was laying on the bed. She glanced briefly at the designs on the fat, weirdly-curved powder skis leaning against the wall. Then she quietly laid down on his bed and turned on his phone to snoop. She held her breath in as she looked at all the names on his texts: Olivia, Stacy, Ashleigh, Katy, Jessica, Jessica 2, Jessica (library), Hippy Laura... her thumb flipped the page upwards...Kyleen, Kahea, etcetera. Lots of girls.
"What are you doing?"
Sasha almost jumped. Tom had caught her. He was in his boxers, pulling on a tight, long-sleeved blue undershirt.
Looking at your phone... she thought, shit.
"Sorry, I was just looking for you," she said, still holding his phone.
"I should know better than to leave that lying around." He held out his hand to take it back.
"I'm still looking at it," Sasha said, swinging away from him, "Who is Hippy Laura?"
"Give that back," Tom said, grabbing her ankle. She shrieked and slapped his hand away. He circled around the bed, and Sasha scooted away.
"Who's Trey?" he asked, when he had finally cornered her.
"What?" Sasha squeaked. Her face felt immediately hot and red.
Tom got on the bed, and on top of her. His body pressed hard into hers, pinning her to the mattress. She tried to push him away, but to no avail.
"Who's Trey," he repeated, reaching for his phone. Sasha waved it out of the way, but he grabbed her wrist, holding it down to the mattress.
His body was between her legs, and she realized, slowly, deliciously, that his hard cock was pressing into her heat. She melted into the mattress, moving her hips so she could feel him moving against her. She tried to push him off again.
"What did you do to Hippy Laura?"
"Bad things," he said, sitting up and wrenching down her pajama bottoms. She shrieked, her hands reaching out to stop him, but just a second too late. He peeled them off triumphantly and dropped them to the floor. Sasha's heart was racing harder than she thought it could. She was in front of her stepbrother in her red lace panties. He grabbed her ankles and dragged her to the edge of the bed. She waited to feel him on top of her, finally taking her. His hands touched the insides of her thighs, sending an ocean of chills washing through her. He was so close. His finger ran down the edge of the crotch of her panties, lifting it up, and in the process grazed her petals. Sasha heard a sound halfway between a moan and an impatient whine escape from her lips. Tom brushed her swollen clit with the tip of his middle finger, ever so gently. She jumped slightly, feeling the sensation flash through her like a bolt of lightning. He started to play with her, nudging her slick pearl this way and that. She closed her eyes, losing herself to the feeling. And then she felt him slowly plunge one finger inside her, millimeter by torturous millimeter. She wailed her anguish out loud. She couldn't help it. His fingertip touched the spot she always used to make herself cum, and then he started pressing against it, hard. He roughly jabbed two fingers inside her and started to work her spot. She convulsed every time they raked over it. She couldn't believe what he was doing to her, how wet she was. He kept touching her there, pressing up against it until she knew she was about to go over the edge.
"Stop," she said, pushing his arm away hard. She was seconds away from cumming. He pulled out of her, and she lay limp on the bed, heaving. He laid down on top of her, his bare thighs pressing against hers.
She could feel his thick cock, its hard tip ever-so-slightly touching her own throbbing wetness. Sasha inched downwards, until he started to part her outer petals. It was like teetering at the edge of a precipice, and only her own anxiety about the unknown was keeping her from taking the long, hot plunge.
"Wait--how many girls have you been with?" She had never heard her own voice straining with so much anguish.
"Ten," he whispered.
"Okay," she breathed. She couldn't decide if that was a lot. Just that she wanted him to take her, right now. He hesitated. The tip of his cock was pressed into her part way, resting between her outer petals, and the feeling sent waves of agony coursing up her body. 'Fuck me now!' she almost screamed out loud.
"What about you?"
"What?" Her voice came out less than a whisper, just a tiny rush of air.
"How many guys?" He kissed her eyelids.