[Travis's POV]
The moment we get home, Kayla grabs my wrist and practically drags me upstairs. Her grip is firm but gentle, her fingers encircling my wrist completely as she leads me toward her bedroom.
"Someone's eager," I tease, but my heart is racing with anticipation.
She doesn't respond, just pulls me into her room and kicks the door shut behind us. Before I can say another word, she pushes me against the wall, her body pressing against mine as she captures my lips in a hungry kiss.
Her hands are everywhere, in my hair, on my chest, sliding under my shirt with urgent need. I melt into her touch, surrendering completely as she takes control.
"Bed," she commands against my lips, already steering me backward until my knees hit the mattress. I fall onto her comforter, and she follows immediately, straddling my hips with sisterly ease.
She grabs the hem of my shirt, yanking it up and over my head in one fluid motion. Her eyes darken as she stares down at my exposed chest, something primal flickering in those green depths.
"You're so beautiful," she whispers, trailing her fingers across my collarbone. "And everyone needs to know you're taken."
Before I can process her words, she leans down, her lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. The gentle press of her mouth quickly transforms into a sharp sting as she sucks hard against my skin.
"Kayla!" I gasp, arching beneath her. The pain blooms into pleasure as she continues, her teeth grazing my flesh before her tongue soothes the sting.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes gleam with satisfaction as she examines the mark she's left behind. "Perfect," she murmurs, her thumb brushing over the tender spot.
She moves to another location, just above my collarbone, and repeats the process. This time, I'm ready for it, tilting my head to give her better access as I moan softly. Each suck, each gentle bite sends waves of pleasure-pain radiating through my body.
"Everyone will see," I whisper, imagining the dark marks blooming across my skin like a possessive constellation.
"That's the point," she growls, moving to a spot high on my neck, impossible to hide unless I wear a turtleneck. This one she makes particularly intense, drawing a louder moan from my lips as I clutch at her back.
She works with deliberate precision, each mark carefully placed for maximum visibility. The one high on my neck throbs pleasantly as she moves to create another just below my ear, a spot that will be impossible to conceal no matter how I style my hair.
"Everyone who sees you will know," she whispers against my skin before latching on again, sucking hard enough to make me whimper. "They'll know you're claimed."
I squirm beneath her, my body begging for more than just these marks. My hips buck upward instinctively, seeking friction, but Kayla shifts her weight to pin me more firmly to the mattress.
"Please," I gasp as she creates another hickey at the hollow of my throat. "I need you to touch me."
She ignores my pleas, moving methodically to another spot on my collarbone. The gentle scrape of her teeth followed by the hot suction of her mouth has me writhing, desperate sounds escaping my throat that I barely recognize as my own. I'm whimpering pathetically, my body trembling with need as she continues her single-minded task.
"Kayla," I moan, my voice breaking. "Please fuck me. I can't take it."
She pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, her expression fierce with possession. "Not yet. I'm not done marking what's mine." Her fingers trace the bruises already forming on my skin, her touch feather-light against the tender spots.
I let out a sound that's half frustration, half surrender, a needy whine that would embarrass me if I had any pride left. My hands clutch at her back, trying to pull her closer to create any kind of friction against my aching hardness, but she remains maddeningly in control.
"You sound like you're in heat," she murmurs against my ear before sucking the lobe between her teeth. "My little brother, so desperate to be fucked."
I'm not even trying to maintain any dignity now. I'm completely at her mercy, begging with my body since she won't listen to my words.
She moves to the other side of my neck, creating a matching mark there. Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging my head to the side to expose more skin for her artwork. Each new hickey is placed with careful consideration, ensuring that no matter what shirt I wear, at least some of her marks will be visible.
"Everyone at school will see these," she says, her voice low and possessive as she admires her handiwork. "They'll know exactly what happened to you."
"Yup," I agree breathlessly, hoping the acknowledgment might finally convince her to give me what I need.
Her phone buzzes loudly on the nightstand, breaking the moment. Kayla groans against my neck but reaches for it, her eyes widening as she reads the message.
"Shit," she hisses, immediately climbing off me. "Mom says she'll be home in a couple minutes. Family meeting."
"Fuck!" I bolt upright, my hand flying to my neck, where I can feel the fresh marks throbbing under my fingertips. "What about the hickeys?"
Kayla's eyes widen as she finally takes in her handiwork properly. My neck and chest are a disaster zone of purple and red marks, some already darkening to an impressive bruise.
"Oh god," she mutters, grabbing the corner of her shirt and frantically trying to rub away the worst of the excess saliva still glistening on my skin. Her thumb presses painfully against a particularly dark mark as if she could somehow wipe it away.
"Yeah, I fucked up," she says, tilting my chin to assess the damage better. "I forgot about Mom."
Despite her words, there's no actual regret in her expression. If anything, she looks almost proud as her eyes trace the marks she's left on me. Her lips twitch upward at the corners, betraying her satisfaction at seeing me so thoroughly branded.
I sigh heavily, my fingers still touching the tender spots on my neck. "What are we going to say? These are impossible to hide."
"Don't even worry about it," Kayla says, tossing me my shirt with a surprising confidence. "I bet Mom won't even care."
"Uhh, okay," I reply skeptically, pulling my shirt over my head with a wince as the fabric brushes against the sensitive marks.
Kayla kneels in front of me, straightening my collar in a futile attempt to hide at least some of the evidence. "Just relax. Trust me."
"Alright," I agree, though my stomach knots with anxiety.
We barely make it downstairs before we hear Mom's key in the lock. Kayla's hand finds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze before she drops it and moves a respectable distance away. The front door swings open, and Mom steps inside, looking exhausted but oddly energized.
"Hey," she says, dropping her laptop bag by the door. Her eyes immediately lock onto my neck, widening slightly before her expression settles into something unreadable.
"Hey, Mom," I manage, resisting the urge to clap my hand over the most visible hickeys.
Mom's eyes narrow as she studies my neck more intently, her head tilting to one side. She crosses her arms.
"Travis, are you experimenting with men in college?" she asks bluntly.
"What the fuck? No!" I splutter, my hand instinctively flying to cover the hickeys on my neck.
Mom holds up her hands placatingly, her expression softening into something almost encouraging. "It's fine if you are, dear. Lots of guys do it in college. It's a great time to explore your sexuality."
I stand there with my mouth hanging open, unable to form a coherent response. Kayla makes a strangled noise beside me that might be a suppressed laugh.
Mom gestures toward the kitchen. "Come on, let's sit down and talk about this." She motions for the kitchen table, already walking in that direction. "I've always tried to create an environment where you both feel comfortable discussing these things."
I shoot a panicked glance at Kayla, who merely shrugs, her eyes dancing with barely contained amusement. She mouths "told you" before following Mom into the kitchen.
"Mom, seriously, I'm not experimenting with guys," I insist as I reluctantly trail after them. "These aren't... I mean, it wasn't..."
"Travis, honey," Mom says, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "You don't need to be embarrassed. I went through a whole women phase myself back in college before I got pregnant with Kayla."
"Oh my god," I groan, sinking into a chair across from her. "Can we please not have this conversation?"
Mom reaches across the table, her weathered hand grabbing mine with surprising tenderness. Her eyes soften around the edges as she gives my fingers a firm, supportive squeeze.
"Travis, I want you to know something," she says, her voice dropping to that earnest register she uses for rare moments of vulnerability. "No matter what your sexuality is, you'll always be my son. I love you exactly as you are."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It's a kind gesture, even if it's based on a completely wrong assumption. The irony that I'm being mistaken for gay when I'm actually in a forbidden relationship with my sister isn't lost on me.
"Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it, but I'm not gay," I say, trying to keep the annoyance from my voice. "These hickeys are from a girl."
Mom holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Okay, okay. I'll drop it." She releases my hand, leaning back in her chair. "Just know I'm here if you ever want to talk."
Kayla catches my eye from across the table, her expression clearly saying we should let this topic die. She gives me a subtle head shake, warning me not to push it further.
Mom clears her throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. She runs her fingers through her graying hair, a nervous habit she's had for as long as I can remember.
"Alright, kids," she says, then winces slightly at her own words. "I'm gonna be honest. I fucked up a little."
The abrupt shift in conversation catches me off guard. Kayla sits up straighter, her protective instincts visibly kicking in.
"What happened?" Kayla asks, her voice tight with concern.
Mom takes a deep breath, looking between us with nervous energy. "I've been seeing a man for about three years now. Someone I met at work."
My jaw drops. "Is that why you've been working late for so long?"
"Uhhh... yeahhh," Mom says, dragging out the word with a sheepish smile that makes her look younger than her forty-something years.
"Okay," Kayla says, her voice carefully neutral. Her tone has that edge to it like she's waiting for another shoe to drop. Her fingers have stilled on the table, tapping once before going completely still.
Mom shifts in her seat, suddenly looking more embarrassed than I've ever seen her.
"Well, we got engaged today," she finally blurts out.
The kitchen falls into absolute silence. I can hear the refrigerator humming in the background, the soft tick of the wall clock counting seconds of our stunned reaction.
"Engaged?" I repeat, the word feeling strange in my mouth. "Like, marriage engaged?"
Mom nods, a tentative smile spreading across her face. "His name is Robert. He's the head of the engineering department at my work. He's... he's a really good man."
I glance at Kayla, trying to gauge her reaction. Her face is a careful mask I cant figure out.
"When do we get to meet him?" Kayla asks, her voice surprisingly steady.
Mom's shoulders relax visibly, relief washing over her features. "Actually, that's part of why I wanted to talk to you both. He's coming over for dinner tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow?" I echo, my mind still struggling to process this bombshell. "That's... soon."
"I know it seems sudden," Mom says quickly, leaning forward. "But I've been waiting for the right time to introduce you, and now that we're engaged, it felt wrong to keep waiting."
Kayla's expression shifts into something more guarded. "Why didn't you tell us you were dating someone for three years?"
Mom's cheeks flush with genuine embarrassment. "I wasn't sure it would last at first. And then... I don't know." She looks down at her hands. "After your father left, I didn't think I'd ever want to be with anyone again. Robert was... unexpected."
"So we're getting a stepdad?" I ask.
Mom's face shifts from embarrassment to genuine discomfort, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.
"Uhhh, well, yes, and also a step-sister," she says, wincing slightly as the words leave her mouth. "She's a year younger than you, Kayla, and she goes to MIT, but she apparently works out a lot."
The kitchen falls into another stunned silence. I can practically hear the gears turning in Kayla's head as her expression darkens. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the table.
"A step-sister?" Kayla repeats, her voice dangerously calm. "So this Robert has a daughter."
Mom nods, relief washing over her face at our relatively measured response. "Her name is Megan. She's very academic, brilliant, really, but Robert says she's also quite athletic. Swimming team captain, I believe."
"Athletic and brilliant," Kayla mutters, her jaw tightening as she looks me in the eyes possessively. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."