Just One More

Because, you see, I’m a Walsh. My mom was a single mom to four girls – Jenna, Tina, Karina, and me. It was rough raising the four of us, I mean it’s never easy with that many kids, much less four girls who didn’t exactly get along. But I thought we were doing okay until the events of the last two years.

It turned out that Jenna wasn’t even really my sister, at least not biologically. She’d gone to NYC to be a model after dropping out of law school, and a huge scandal had ensued. Someone had discovered a video of my sister doing porn with two guys and released it, intent on wrecking her career.

But it wasn’t even Jenna in the film. Instead, it turns out my sister had been given away as a baby by her biological parents and it was actually an imposter named Violet in the video. Or more accurately, Violet was Jenna’s real twin, separated at birth but with the same beautiful face, blonde hair, and curvaceous bod. I had no idea how Jenna and Violet were getting along now because what could an A-list model and D-list porn star have in common? Maybe a lot, actually.

But the baggage didn’t stop there. Somehow, my family had gotten involved with the Manning brothers. It sounds perfect, right? Four Manning boys, four Walsh girls, we’d be one big happy family. And my mom was engaged to Harold Manning, the patriarch of the clan.

But everything just kept getting messed up. Jenna and Tina were in a spat because Tina allegedly stole Jake Manning from Jenna, breaking up their engagement. And Karina and the twin boys, Cade and Caden … don’t even get me started. Although there was nothing “official” going on, I suspected something – mainly that my sister was having sex with both Cade and Caden, banging the boys in their shared apartment near NYU. But it’s not my business and so long as they were in New York, they were far enough so that the fam could turn a blind eye.

So as you can tell, we Walsh girls are a piece of work. With the drama that’s surrounded us, things had gotten unbelievably complicated and I’d taken refuge with Chrissy and her family, the reassuringly normal Gordons. Of course, every family has its ups and downs, but compared with mine, the Gordons were practically the Partridges, picture perfect with smiling, golden children.

Out of a sense of loyalty, I opened the door, expecting to see some kids drinking, maybe making out on the bed, that kind of thing. It’d be gross but not unexpected, and at least it’d be easy to clean up.

But there was no one inside, the room silent.

“Come on,” said Blake, leading the way to the en suite. “I thought I heard some noise coming from in here.”

I followed tentatively behind him, trailing that masculine form. Blake seemed so sure of himself, stealthy and agile, like he knew exactly what he was doing while tracking an intruder.

But there was no one in the tiled master bath either, no half-opened window, no fluttering curtain indicating a quick escape. It was just a regular bathroom, the vanity clear, the tub and shower gleaming white.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” I said perplexed. “I never heard anything, maybe it was …”

I had been about to say “the wind,” but I never got to finish because Blake covered my mouth with his.

“Oh!” was my muffled cry as those firm lips descended on mine, gentle, roving, explorative. I’d kissed boys before but my sexual experience was far behind that of my sisters. In fact, I was practically a nun compared to them.

But it didn’t seem to deter Blake. His big arms came around me and I instinctively melted, enjoying the warmth, the feeling of security pressed against that massive chest. He was two inches taller than anyone I’d ever dated and much more athletic. I could feel the hardness of his pecs, the faint tracing of washboard abs … and something insistent, rising against my tummy, unmistakable in demand.

But before I could react, Blake had walked me backwards to the master bedroom, pressing the backs of my calves against the king-size bed until we toppled over, bouncing onto the floral bedspread.

I giggled a bit.

“Blake, we shouldn’t be doing this,” I whispered, scandalized. “This is Chrissy’s parents’ bedroom! It’s so wrong!”

“It’s no different from any other bed,” he growled, nuzzling my neck while tracing my décolletage with a finger. “In fact, it’s better, it’s bigger than the futon I have at our trailer.”

A futon? A trailer? He must have been living in temporary circumstances but I couldn’t think about that now, his hot mouth trailing closer to my nipples distracting me, making me focus on nothing else.

“But Blake,” I gasped. “We haven’t locked the door – anyone could come in.”