Delia

Delia stands in the half-lit hallway of the quiet house, heart hammering as her brother-in-law passes by, the thin fabric of her top clinging to the curve of her breasts and her skirt riding high enough to feel the cool air brush her thighs. The forbidden ache between her legs has been building all evening, and she lingers on purpose, pretending to search for something just so she can bend and stretch in ways she knows he’ll notice. Every stolen glance and every accidental brush of his hand leaves her wetter, guiltier, and more certain she will not be able to keep pretending much longer.