Forbidden Pt. 02

Pushing against his chest, Heather planted her knees and rocked back on him, straddling him, sitting on his abdomen as she scowled down at him. He might have grown aroused if it weren't for the utter anger and pain reflecting in her eyes.

"We were so close Colt; you were my best friend and then I started high school and everything changed. It was like you suddenly stopped being happy to be around me and just begrudgingly tolerated my presence instead. I didn't understand! I still don't understand!" she lashed out, her volume growing the longer she talked, finally voicing the feelings of betrayal she'd suppressed for years.

"You say I'm the only thing that mattered to you, but you stopped talking to me, you used to tell me everything, and you just stopped! When I'd come to your room and sit on your bed and tell you all about my day, you'd just sit at your desk with your nose buried in a textbook. Like you couldn't even bare to look at me!"

"I felt so awful, like I'd done something to annoy you. I hated your indifference and I'd wonder what had happened to the big brother that used to close his book and ask me a million follow up questions. And then you dropped out of school and didn't tell me! You just confronted Dad at dinner and blindsided me! And then you left! You just LEFT and never called me! I'd sit by my phone, wanting to call you night after night, hoping you were okay but not wanting to annoy or upset you by bothering you. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? How alone I was? How sad I was without you? How often I cried myself to sleep wondering if I was part of the reason you left?"

Colt wore a pained expression as Heather continued to rant at him, he'd had no idea he'd hurt her so much. He knew exactly why he'd shut her out, but he couldn't tell her. The summer before she'd entered high school, she'd gotten a boyfriend, and everything had changed between them. She'd told him about her first kiss and his initial response had been jealously. He hadn't known what to do with his emotions. Heather had always been his, he didn't know how to share her, and he certainly didn't want to.

She'd never been a sister to him. Even when he was young, when his father and stepmother had brought her home from the hospital, he'd looked down at her cherub face and felt an instant connection. He'd taken on his role of 'big brother' seriously, doing all he could to help care for his little sister.

As a child, he'd declared she was his 'Sunshine', her adorable little toddler smile and perpetually sticky hands his source of happiness. Their parents had encouraged it, thinking it was cute how much he loved his baby sister. By the time he hit double digits, he'd wanted nothing but her secrets and the soft feel of her hand in his.

Upon entering high school, he'd realized they had an odd relationship. His friends found their younger siblings mildly annoying and often fought with them, shouting ugly words at each other. He would never treat Heather that way. He would never purposely make her cry or attempt to hurt her.

By the time he was finishing high school he'd realized what he felt for her was unnatural. Fucked up. Wrong. Beyond what a brother should feel for his sister. Other siblings weren't as close as they were, didn't share things like they did.

The day he'd turned eighteen, he'd symbolically tattooed her into his skin, his metaphorical sunshine breaking through grey clouds as he navigated a sea of shit; desperately needing to feel connected with her despite the physical distance he'd purposely kept between them.

Then she'd told him about how another boy had kissed her, excited her. He'd almost lost his shit. His feelings for her doubly wrong given their blood relation and the age gap between them. At nineteen he shouldn't want her, especially given she was his fucking sister, but god help him he did, and the idea of another man's hands on her made him physically ill. He couldn't bare to listen to her talk about it.

When he'd seen her naked at twenty-one, his first instinct had been to step into her bedroom with her and smooth her moisturizer all over her creamy skin. He wanted to worship her tight, lithe, little body, tell her how god damn beautiful she was to him. To confess he only ever fucked his girlfriends from behind so he could pretend it was her cunt milking him and not theirs.

She was right that she was part of the reason he'd fled. He'd known then, in that moment, after struggling to slam the door on her and bellow at her to put some fucking clothes on, he'd needed to leave, to get the hell away from her before he did something he'd regret.

And now, at twenty-six, as she straddled him and shouted at him and pounded her small fists against his chest for hurting her, all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her. To finally show her how he felt, to roll her under him and claim her the way only a man could posses a woman. So that she'd know how special she was to him, how much he regretted having to leave her.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, it wasn't my intention," he whispered instead, his hands balled into fists on the floor at his sides lest he give in to his desires.

"You broke my h-heart," she whispered back tearfully, an emotion he couldn't decipher laced through her sniffled confession.

Rearing up, Colton cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears as he pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. "I would never purposely hurt you," he swore vehemently, "forgive me." He whispered, regret rolling off every word. He inhaled sharply when her jaw slid against his thumbs and she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth gently.

She grasped at his neck as his eyes flew open, a question in his gaze as she held her lips a centimeter from his, their noses touching. "Heather -- I- " he began only to have her silence him with another gentle brush of her lips against his as she spoke, "I missed you so much."

Colton's eyes flared wide as he felt his cock hardening in response to her words and her nearness, the desire to close the last bit of distance between them nearly undoing him.

Cinching his hands around her waist, he lifted her off him effortlessly, her slight weight nothing to him as he set her down beside him gently and climbed to his feet. "I missed you too," he promised her, trying to be sensitive to her feelings as he reached down to help her to her feet, "lets have dinner and you can tell me about everything I've missed out on over the last few years." He offered, frantic to have the table between them again.

Frowning, pink dusting her cheeks, Heather accepted his hand, resuming her seat. "Sorry," she muttered, as he pulled out his chair, her eyes glued to her plate, missing the bulge straining against his pants.

"Don't. I'm sure it was an accident," he reassured, doing his best to dismiss the almost kiss between them.

Heather wanted to shriek. To tell him that her lips on his was the furthest thing from accidental, that she wanted nothing more than to taste him. Instead, she nodded numbly and finished her meal, exchanging pleasant, polite conversation while he dismissed her emotional outburst as though it hadn't happened.

The longer she watched him, the more it made her feel like she was back under her father's roof. She refused to allow Colton to turn into another cold, remote, paternal figure in her life, or to shut her out again the moment she made him uncomfortable.

Who was this man sitting with her? Where was her brother, the man that'd been emotional on the floor with her only minutes ago? He needed to be snapped out of this...whatever this placid mask was he was wearing and regain some of his wildness. The desire to do something wrong, to disrupt his perfect, respectable demeaner, festered within her like an infected wound the longer she thought about it.