4. Soren
SOREN
The call’s important. Final numbers on a contract that could lock in the next two years of revenue for the company.
Even after the call ends and I go back to the guest room, the sweet, rich flavor of Selena’s milk still lingers on my tongue.
I rinse my mouth in the bathroom, take a quick shower, and still feel it.
The taste doesn’t wash away. Neither does the memory of the soft weight of her breast filling my palm, the way her body trembled when she came against my mouth, or the quiet, broken sounds she tried so hard to hold back.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her on that dusty mattress, thighs shaking, milk still leaking from the side I hadn’t emptied yet.
Addiction is already setting in.
I don’t sleep much. I lie on my back in the dark and turn the night over again and again. I keep thinking about the way she looked when she first came, the way she said my name, the way she didn’t push me away even when she should have.
By 4 a.m., the sheets feel too warm. I get up, pull on running clothes, and leave the house while the sky is still black.
The long run does nothing to clear my head. Every mile only makes the memory sharper. By the time I get back, shower again, and dress for the day, the taste is still there, ghosting across my tongue with every swallow.
Breakfast is worse.
I sit through it with Mom and Rick while Selena stays quiet across the table, arms folded carefully over her chest. She won’t look at me for long. Every time our eyes meet she drops her eyes to her plate within a second.
She’s wearing a loose cardigan even though the dining room isn’t cold.
Her shoulders are slightly hunched, and every few minutes she shifts in her seat like she’s trying to ease pressure that won’t go away.
She’s full again. I can tell by the careful way she holds herself, by the faint flush high on her cheeks, by the fact that she barely touches her food.
I force myself to answer Rick’s questions about the overseas deal. I nod even though I don’t understand some parts clearly, ‘cause my attention is divided.
I drink my coffee. And the entire time all I can think about is how she tasted last night and how much I already want another taste.
I catch her in the upstairs hallway after breakfast. She’s coming out of her room, and the second she sees me she stops.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
“About last night…” she starts, voice low, almost whispering. “It can’t happen again. We need to set some boundaries.”
I look at her steadily.
“That’s not what it looked like last night.”
Her cheeks color but she holds my gaze anyway.
“Doesn’t matter. You know we’re still stepsiblings. What happened… it has to stop here.”
I don’t move closer. I don’t raise my voice. I just keep looking at her.
“You came on my mouth last night,” I say, calm and flat. “And now you’re standing here telling me it can’t happen again.”
She flinches like I struck her. “That doesn’t change anything. It was a mistake.”
“A mistake, huh?”
“Yes.” Her tone tightens. “That’s all it was. Nothing more.”
I don’t argue anymore. I just let her pass.
She moves past me without another word, head down, arms still locked across her front. I watch her until she turns the corner and disappears.
Afterward, I end up standing in the doorway of the third floor room, looking at the dusty table and the old mattress, and the walls that still show faint outlines of my old movie and album posters.
The whole place has needed a renovation ever since I left.
But even when I come back here, I still have no time to deal with it because of busy work.
I go downstairs looking for a few cartons or empty boxes. I find Mom in the kitchen giving instructions to our new housekeeper.
“I’m gonna renovate the third floor room,” I tell her. “I’ll start by clearing some boxes.”
She glances up. “Why? Don’t you like the guest room?”
“No. I prefer my own space far from everybody.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Why not just hire someone? You’re busy enough.”
“I don’t want anyone messing with my personal things. I’ll handle the clean-out myself. I’ll hire someone for the interior later.”
She studies me for a second, then nods. “All right. Don’t overdo it. Once Rosa finishes in here, she can come up and help you carry the heavy boxes down.”
“I don’t need help. But if you insist.”
I’m on my way to the old room carrying some empty boxes. But when I pass Selena’s door, I hear a soft, frustrated sound coming from inside, followed by her frustrated voice.
“Come on… not the tube too. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I peek through the small gap of the opened door and see her grab the broken pump and throw it onto the bed in frustration.
I pause. I catch a glimpse of her standing in front of the mirror, cardigan halfway down her shoulders, trying to massage her own breasts. Her hands work carefully, squeezing and circling, but the tension in her shoulders stays tight.
“It’s not it. It’s not working.”
Wait. Is she trying to recreate what I did last night?
She lets out a frustrated sigh. I see it’s not enough. It isn't giving her the same relief.
Even frustrated, she looks soft and cute. Gorgeous in a way that hits me harder than it should.
I should walk away.
Watching her in secret like this is wrong. She’s my stepsister. Everything we did last night already crossed a line that could blow up this entire family if anyone found out. It was the best feeling I had ever since, but I know exactly how fucked up it is.
Still, what the hell am I supposed to do?
Every time I see her like this—full, hurting, leaking—it pulls me in. My cock hardens before I can stop it. The sight of her trying and failing to ease the pressure only makes the desire sharper.
But finally, only this time, I force myself to step back and keep walking.
A few steps down the hall, just before the staircase to the third floor, I hear her voice. It’s soft, almost muffled, but clear enough.
“Oh, Soren…”
I freeze mid-step.
For a second I tell myself I misheard it. Maybe she just exhaled. Maybe it was something else entirely. I should keep walking. I already saw more than I had any right to see.
But the sound stays in my head. I try to keep walking, but my feet won’t move forward.
My grip tightens on the boxes until the cardboard edges dig into my palms. My breathing goes shallow. I try one more time to make myself leave, but my body refuses.
Whatever is happening in that room, I need to see it.
I turn around slowly and walk a few steps.
I push the half-open door wider with my foot.
Selena is sitting on the edge of her bed, legs spread, facing the mirror. Her cardigan is on the floor. The tank top is still shoved up under her chin. One hand keeps massaging her swollen breast while the other rubs between her legs over her shorts.
In the mirror I see everything—her flushed face, her open mouth, the way her fingers press into her clit through the fabric.
She whispers my name again, softer this time, and my cock goes instantly hard.
“Soren…”
The empty boxes slip from my hands and hit the floor with a dull thud.
Her eyes snap up to the mirror. She sees me.
Embarrassment floods her face. She grabs the blanket and yanks it up over herself so fast she nearly falls off the bed.
I step inside and close the door behind me.
“Why do you always leave this door unlocked?” My voice’s confused but stays low. “Do you do it on purpose? Because walking in on you like this is driving me fucking crazy.”
I reach down and grip my hard cock through my sweatpants, trying to calm it down. Her eyes flick to the movement before she looks away.
“I—I wasn’t—” she starts, voice shaky. “The pump broke and I was just trying to… it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“There you go again.” I take one step closer. “Making up excuses when it’s clearly my name you just moaned earlier.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. She pulls the blanket higher, knuckles white around the fabric. The silence stretches. I can still see the flush high on her cheeks and the way her chest rises too fast under the covers.
I keep my distance.
“I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” she whispers.
“But I did.”
“I shouldn’t have… I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“Too late.”
I stay where I am. I don’t move closer. The space between us feels charged enough already.
“Stop fighting it.” My voice stays flat. “You already know what you want. Go upstairs to the third floor room. I’ll be waiting. Take as long as you need. If you show up… you stop pretending this isn’t happening.”
She doesn’t answer. The only sound is her uneven breathing. I walk towards the door. But before I leave, I glance back at her one more time.
She’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, blanket clutched to her chest, eyes wide and uncertain. I don’t give her anything softer. I just step out and close the door quietly behind me.
I step out of the door and make sure no one’s gonna interrupt us. I think of making an excuse.
From the second floor landing I shout down to the kitchen, “Mom! Selena volunteered to help me in clearing the boxes. Tell Rosa not to come upstairs anymore.”
I wait just long enough to hear Mom’s distant reply before I head up the stairs.
I take and carry the empty boxes the rest of the way up and set them near the wall inside the room. I sit on a dusty chair facing the door and then I wait.
Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty.
I start to think she’s decided not to come. That she talked herself out of it the same way she tried to set boundaries this morning.
But I know better.
She’s full. She’s hurting. And after what I just saw, she needs this more than she’s willing to admit.
The door finally opens.
Selena steps inside, cheeks still flushed. She doesn’t speak. She just looks down, then slowly closes the door behind her and locks it.
“Come here.”
I walk over.