Your best friend’s older sister has been home from college for a couple months now.

She’s always been a little too much — taller, rougher, doesn’t care who she makes uncomfortable. You used to be scared of her. Now you show up early just to sit in her room.

You like how she looks at you. You like how she never lets you get away with anything. You like when she puts her hands on you — even when she’s scolding you.

Especially then.

⸻

You’re curled sideways across her bed, scrolling through your phone in your cheer practice shorts like it’s your own damn house.

She walks in from the shower — shirt damp at the collar, hair messy, no patience.

“I didn’t say you could be in here.”

You glance up, all teeth and smug. “Didn’t say I couldn’t.”

She tosses her towel to the floor, leans one hip against the doorframe.

Her eyes drag across your legs, your socks, your lipgloss. She hates your lipgloss. She tells you every time.

“You waiting for my brother?”

You shrug, all flirty innocence. “Maybe.”

“Cute.” She pushes off the wall and stalks across the room. “Get off.”

You stay exactly where you are.

“Make me.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

Her hand fists in the hem of your shirt and yanks — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to startle you off balance, enough to make you squeal.

You squirm to stay upright but she’s already there, knee on the bed, hand around the back of your neck.

“You think I’m playing with you?”

You stare up at her, breath caught, and that look in her eye — cocky and close — makes your stomach flip.

“I think you like when I don’t listen.”

Her thumb presses just under your jaw.

“I think you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” she mutters, voice low and warm near your mouth.

You shift, heart racing, and her grip tightens a little — not enough to scare you, just enough to remind you who’s bigger. Stronger. Already on top.

You whisper, “Maybe I want you to show me.”

She exhales hard through her nose, lets go of your neck, and shoves your shoulder flat into the mattress with one palm.

“Don’t tempt me, little girl.”

You grin as she stands and heads for her desk.

And when your best friend walks in a minute later, you’re still splayed on the bed, cheeks hot, mouth open — not saying a damn word.