My cunt clenched so hard I almost moaned. I pressed my thighs together, trying to hide how wet I already was.

“You’re sick,” I whispered.

“Yeah.” He reached out, dragged one finger along my inner thigh—slow, feather-light, stopping just before my soaked panties. “And you’re soaked thinking about it. So what’s it gonna be, sis? Shake on it, or should I send this to Dad right now?”

I stared at his hand. At the way his knuckles were scarred from boxing, at the veins running up his forearm. At the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric like it was trying to escape.

I hated him.

I wanted...