Two days later, the house felt like it was holding its breath.
Dad was still gone, and the tension between Susan and me had grown thick enough to choke on. We barely talked about normal things anymore. Every glance, every brush of skin in the kitchen, every time she bent over to pick something up — it all felt like foreplay.
That night I was in my room, trying to watch videos on my phone, when there was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said, sitting up.
Susan stepped inside wearing nothing but a short silk robe, deep red like her bikini. The belt was tied loosely, and as she closed the door behind her, the robe slipped open just enough to show the inner curves of her heavy breasts and a hint of her trimmed p***y.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispered, green eyes locked on mine. Her voi
