The house was quiet.

That post-midnight hush where only soft, rhythmic sounds slip through thin hallway walls. But tonight, it wasn’t the creak of settling wood or the wind brushing windows.

It was moaning.
Lea’s moaning.

High, breathy, needy.

And beneath it — a deeper voice. Yours.

Your door creaked shut hours ago, but Amilie’s eyes stayed open in the dark. Her earbuds were on her nightstand. She didn’t need them tonight.

She pulled the blanket up to her chin, biting her lower lip as her sister’s cries echoed faintly through the walls. One leg slid slowly over the other. Her bare thighs rubbed softly together beneath the sheets.

She had questions. So many. About what it felt like. About what you were doing to her sister that made her sound like that.

---

The Next Evening

You sat alone on the couch, scrolling absently through your phone. Camille was out. Elodie on a shoot. Lea asleep early from exhaustion.

Amilie entered wordlessly, holding a bag of chips. She didn’t ask before sitting down beside you — not on the other cushion, but close. Too close. Her bare thigh brushed against your jeans.

She yawned, stretching her arms over her head dramatically. Her tiny top slid up, revealing the soft slope of her stomach, and just the peek of underboob.

"You’re warm," she mumbled, before sliding into your lap like it was normal.
"Don’t tell Lea. She gets jealous over everything."

She popped a chip into her mouth. Then leaned back against your chest like you were just a warm chair. Her ass shifted once. Twice. She knew.

You didn’t move.

But she could feel it.
And that night… she left her light on.

---

Later That Week

You were passing her door on your way to the kitchen when something caught your eye — a glow.

Her door wasn’t closed all the way.

You paused. Then glanced.

Her legs were parted on the bed.
One hand between them, the other covering her mouth.

She was panting softly, her shirt bunched at her waist, no pants, her slick fingers moving slowly. Her phone was tossed aside. You froze.

She didn’t stop.

Her eyes flicked toward the doorway — and she paused, just for a second.

Then she kept going.
Slower. Louder.

As if she didn’t know you were there. But every sigh, every moan, every roll of her hips was for you.

You backed away eventually.

But the damage was done.

---

That night, you entered your room to find her curled up in your bed.

Your shirt draped over her body — oversized, hanging loosely from her shoulder. No pants. Just a pair of pale panties barely visible as she shifted under your blanket. "Mmph… I was cold," she mumbled, half-asleep.

"You’re warm… stay."

She rolled over, pressing against your pillow, her bare thigh sliding out from beneath the hem.

No apology. No shame.

She just reached for your pillow, inhaled your scent…

And smiled.