The bell above the diner door jingles as we enter, the scent of grease and coffee enveloping us immediately. It's nearly empty at this odd hour between breakfast and lunch, just a couple of truckers at the counter and an elderly woman reading a newspaper in the corner booth.
"Two, please," Kayla says to the waitress, who nods and leads us to a booth by the window.
Instead of sitting across from me like she normally would, Kayla slides in right beside me, her thigh pressing against mine under the table. The casual possessiveness of the gesture makes my heart race.
"What?" she asks, noticing my surprise. "I want to sit next to my boyfriend."
The word 'boyfriend' sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. I lean into her, savoring the warmth of her body against mine.
The waitress drops off menus with a tired smile before retreating to the kitchen. I open mine, trying to focus on the food options, but my mind keeps wandering back to this morning, Kayla above me, around me, claiming me completely.
"See anything you like?" Kayla asks, her voice low and teasing.
I glance up to find her watching me, those green eyes dancing with mischief. She's not talking about the menu.
"Everything," I reply honestly.
Her lips curl into a smirk as she slides her hand under the table, resting it on my knee before slowly moving upward. Heat blooms beneath her touch, spreading through my body like wildfire.
The waitress returns, pad ready. "What can I get you two?"
"I'll have the club sandwich with fries," Kayla says, then turns to me. "And my boyfriend will have..." She doesn't even consult me, just orders. "The BLT with extra bacon and a chocolate milkshake."
"You got it," the waitress says, collecting our menus.
When she walks away, I raise an eyebrow at Kayla. "Ordering for me now?"
"Get used to it," she says, her fingers trailing higher up my thigh under the table. "I know what you like better than you do."
She's right. It's exactly what I would have ordered. The fact that she knows me so well, that she's been paying attention all these years, makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
Our food arrives quickly, steam rising from the plates as the waitress sets them down. Kayla immediately steals one of my fries, popping it into her mouth with a smirk.
I try to focus on my sandwich, but my eyes keep drifting to Kayla. The way she licks a spot of mayo from her thumb. The slight furrow between her brows as she concentrates on her food.
She catches me staring and sets down her fork. Her lips curve into that predatory smile that makes my stomach flip.
"Can't stop thinking about fucking your sister?" she whispers, leaning close enough that her breath tickles my ear.
I nearly choke on my milkshake, heat rushing to my face. "Kayla!" I glance around nervously, but no one's paying attention to us.
"Relax," she murmurs, her hand finding mine under the table. "To everyone here, we're just a normal couple." Her thumb traces circles on my palm. "But I know what you're thinking about. How you felt inside me this morning. How I held you down."
My sandwich sits forgotten as my entire body responds to her words. The memory of her weight on top of me, her hands around my throat, floods back with vivid intensity.
"Eat up, baby bro," Kayla says, nudging my plate closer to me. "I don't need you ending up as skin and bones." Her gaze intensifies, something possessive flashing behind those green eyes. "I like having something to grab onto."
I'm about to respond when her phone buzzes on the table. She glances down, swiping to read the message.
"Mom's going to be late again," she sighs, setting the phone down with a clatter. "Says she won't be home until after midnight."
I take a bite of my BLT, savoring the extra bacon she ordered for me. "What's with Mom? She's been coming home late for months, hasn't she?"
Kayla's lips curl into a smirk as she leans in. "Mom's probably got a boyfriend she's not telling us about. Maybe she's getting laid while we're playing house."
"Gross," I laugh, but my mind is already racing with the possibilities of having the house to ourselves all night.
"I wonder what she's really doing, though." I muse, taking another bite of my sandwich.
Kayla's eyes darken as she slides her hand higher up my thigh under the table. "I don't know, but it gives me more time to make you whimper like the little puppy you are."
I nearly choke on my food, heat rushing to my face. The casual way she says it, right here in public, sends electricity down my spine. I recover quickly, putting on my best innocent expression as I smile at her.
"Oh no, please don't undo me, sis. That would be so upsetting," I reply, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Her fingers dig into my thigh, the pressure just short of painful. "Keep being a brat and see what happens," she whispers, her voice low and dangerous. "I'll have you begging for real before the night's over."
The waitress passes by our table, completely oblivious to the tension crackling between us. "Everything taste okay?"
"Perfect," Kayla answers without taking her eyes off me. "My boyfriend's enjoying every bite, aren't you, Travis?"
I nod, not trusting my voice, as her hand inches higher.
"Good to hear," the waitress says, dropping our check on the table before moving on.
As the waitress walks away, a thought suddenly hits me. "Oh shit," I exclaim, sitting up straighter, "now when we play Super Smash Sisters, we can have much higher stake bets!"
Kayla laughs, the sound rich and warm as she steals another of my fries. "But you suck at that game, Travis."
"That's because I let you win," I respond with a confident smirk, knowing full well it's a complete lie. She's destroyed me in every match we've ever played since we were kids.
"Sure you do," she says, rolling her eyes. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my thigh under the table. "Well, what do you want if you win? Not that you will, but hypothetically."
I pause, caught off guard by the question. The possibilities seem suddenly endless, but nothing specific comes to mind. "Honestly, I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."
Kayla's eyes darken, that predatory look returning as she leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear. "Well, if I win, which we both know I will, I want to do something that really pushes your comfort zone."
"Like what?"
Kayla's eyes gleam with mischief, a slow smile spreading across her face. "I want you to wear a skirt for me, Travis."
I nearly spit out my milkshake. "A skirt? Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," she says, her fingers walking up my thigh under the table. "Something short. Short short. Maybe pleated. You'd look absolutely fucking edible in it."
My face burns hot with embarrassment. Even though I know skirts are completely normal for guys here, I've stubbornly refused to wear one since waking up in this world. It's one gender norm from my old reality I've never been able to shake.
"Come on," I groan, leaning closer to her. "Why can't you want something normal? Like me eating you out under the table at a restaurant or something?"
Kayla's eyebrows shoot up, her cheeks flushing slightly at the suggestion. For a moment, I think I've distracted her, but then she shakes her head firmly.
"Nice try, but no. I want the skirt." Her voice drops to a seductive whisper. "I've seen how your legs look in those tight jeans. Imagine how they'd look with a little breeze between them."
"That's exactly what I don't want to imagine," I mutter, stabbing a fry into my ketchup with unnecessary force. "You know how I feel about that."
Her expression softens slightly, her hand finding mine under the table. "I do know. That's why it's perfect for pushing your comfort zone." She squeezes my fingers gently. "It's just clothing, Travis."
She leans in closer, her lips brushing against my ear as her hand slides even higher up my thigh. My breath catches when her fingers graze dangerously close to where I'm already getting hard.
"We could do so much if you wore a skirt," she whispers. "Easy access, you know? And since you're my property, you're not allowed to wear underwear when it's just us."
Her teeth graze my earlobe, sending electricity shooting down my spine.
"Maybe a nice little collar, too. With a leash so I can lead you around."
My cock strains painfully against my jeans as she paints this picture, this fantasy of complete submission. I can almost feel the cool air on my bare thighs, the leather against my throat, her fingers tugging the leash whenever I get bratty.
I shift in my seat, trying to hide my obvious arousal. "You'll have to beat me first," I challenge, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
"Easy."