Fuck.Me.
She jumps down, takes the helmet from my hand, and walks through the garden.
I roll my eyes, still bent over, still holding my balls. I can’t yell that she is going the wrong way, so I grab a small pebble and throw it at her.
It hits the back of her head. She spins around, clutching it like I just shot her.
I lift a finger and point to the right, toward the garage. She curses under her breath and walks back toward me.
I head right, legs spread as wide as possible, letting the cold air reach my blue balls before I get on a bike. I already know I will feel every bump on the road.
As I approach the garage, she notices and also stops. I text Nico for the location, and once I receive it, I continue walking.
The garage is open, which isn’t unusual since I am the only one who uses it anyway.
I exhale and step inside, walking toward my new baby—the Kawasaki Ninja H2.Matte black bodywork broken by sharp lines of exposed carbon fiber, toxic green threading through the frame like veins. Behind it sits my first baby, the one Dad got me for my birthday.A Yamaha YZF R6.Blue fairings with white accents, clean, smaller than a liter bike, yet still powerful.
She steps closer to theKawasakiand runs her hand over the seat.
“Shall we ride this one?”
I raise a brow.
She has good taste.
I exhale and walk closer. I pop the seat, pull out the balaclava and gloves, and shove my wallet into the small compartment underneath.
I pull it over my head and look at her. Our eyes met for a moment, and I got lost in the shades of blue staring back at me.
Not just blue. There is gray in them that catches the garage light, sharp at the edges, framed by long, curved black lashes.
Beautiful.
I drop my gaze to the helmet and pull it over my head. She does the same. I point to the two metal pedals, then guide her foot toward one.
“Got it,” she says.
I swing my leg over the bike and sit down, pulling on my gloves while I wait for her.
She places her foot on the pedal and lifts herself up, holding onto me. As she settles behind me, she hesitates, unsure where to put her hands. I grab them and pull them against my chest.
I turn the bike on. The engine growls, and her grip tightens instantly. I roll forward, stopping just long enough to press the button on the key and close the garage door behind.
She leans into me as we ride out, her helmet resting against my shoulder. There is only silence and the sound of the engine. Lights blur as speed takes over, and the faster I go, the tighter she clings to me.
Riding with someone suddenly feels lighter, like a missing piece I didn’t know I was missing. Broken people attract broken people. We understand without words. We know that behind smiles, something is falling apart. Behind our eyes, tears are waiting to fall. We are souls fighting demons, and all we can do is ride with them through the night.
My heart pounds. She can probably feel it beneath her palm. It doesn’t race because of the speed. It races because I finally feel something after a long time, and I can’t name it.
They say every second, someone finds someone. They never know if that person will stay or leave. But I know I didn’t find someone. She foundme.And she has no idea how dangerous that is.
They also say salt and sugar look the same. I can’t predict if she will be the sugar in my life or the salt in another wound that leaves a permanent scar.
But I can feel she’s been through hell, just like I have. The Harringtons brought us together, hoping to make it a home, a family. Instead, they built a wall we can’t break through. Because my mind,my fucking mind, wants too many things.
And every single one of them is a sin.
Forgive me, Father, my cock is getting harder just thinking of how tight my little sister is holding me.
