Desires in the Family Shadows – incest Stories

“God, we can’t— we can’t keep doing this.” His breath was hot against my lips, a forbidden promise that made my knees weak.

My name is Elara, and the voice belongs to my brother, Liam. We are both adults, long past the days of shared toys and childish squabbles. The empty house, a familiar character in our story, hummed around us, holding its breath. It was a Tuesday. Our parents, workaholics to their cores, were miles away, swallowed by the city’s skyline until well past dusk. The silence they left behind wasn’t empty; it was charged, a live wire strung between Liam and me in every room.

It started an hour ago, mundanely enough. I was in the kitchen, trying to pry the lid off a new jar of peanut butter, my frustration mounting with each failed attempt.

“Need a hand with that?” His voice came from the doorway, smooth and deep. He leaned against the frame, all six-foot-two of him, having just gotten home from his construction job. A fine layer of dust coated his boots, and his grey t-shirt was stretched taut across his shoulders.

I rolled my eyes, putting on a show of annoyance. “I’ve got it.”

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that did something funny to my stomach, and pushed off the doorframe. “Sure you do.” In two strides, he was behind me, his chest not quite touching my back. He reached around, his calloused hands covering mine on the stubborn lid. His scent enveloped me—sawdust, summer air, and the clean sweat of a hard day’s work. My breath hitched.

The lid gave way with a soft pop.

But he didn’t let go of my hands. He didn’t move away. The air in the kitchen thickened, the hum of the refrigerator morphing into a dull roar in my ears. I could feel the solid warmth of him, a wall of muscle and heat at my back. My heart began a frantic, percussive beat against my ribs.

“See?” he murmured, his mouth close to my ear. “All it takes is a little strength in the right place.”

I turned slowly in the cage of his arms, the jar forgotten on the counter. Our eyes met, and the unspoken thing that had been growing between us for months, maybe years, crackled to life. It was in the way his gaze dropped to my lips. It was in the way my skin tingled where his fingers still loosely held my wrists.

“Liam…” I whispered, a question and an answer.

That’s all it took. The last thread of restraint snapped.

His mouth crashed down on mine, not with practiced finesse, but with a raw, desperate hunger that stole the air from my lungs. It wasn’t our first kiss—those fumbling, experimental moments stolen in dark hallways as teenagers—but it was the first that felt like a confession. His lips moved against mine with a certainty that left me dizzy, one hand tangling in my hair, the other splayed against the small of my back, pressing me into him.

I melted into the kiss, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the powerful muscles there tense under my touch. The world narrowed to the taste of him, the feel of his stubble grazing my cheek, the low groan that vibrated from his chest into mine. This was the electric current I’d fantasized about, the shared secret that was ours and ours alone.

He walked me back until the edge of the cold, granite kitchen table pressed against my thighs. He broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily, foreheads resting together. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with a desire I knew mirrored my own.

“I think about this,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “All day. I’m hauling lumber or pouring concrete and all I can see is you. Right here. Like this.”

His words were a match to gasoline. I arched into him, my fingers fisting in his shirt. “What else?” I dared to ask, my voice barely a whisper. “What else do you think about?”

A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. He leaned in, his mouth finding the sensitive skin just below my ear. “I think about how you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” he whispered, his teeth grazing my lobe, making me gasp. “I think about the sound you make when you’re trying to be quiet.” His hands slid down, gripping my hips, lifting me to sit on the edge of the table. The cereal box beside us wobbled precariously.

His lips trailed down my neck, a searing path that left my skin buzzing. He was worshiping and claiming me all at once. My head fell back as my fingers threaded through his dark, unruly hair. The neighbors, if they saw anything through the window, would see two siblings messing around, a brother teasing his sister. They didn’t know. They couldn’t possibly understand that this thrill, this need, stretched far beyond any blood tie.

His hands wandered under the hem of my thin sweater, his rough, work-roughened palms a shocking contrast against the soft skin of my stomach. I flinched at the contact, a jolt of pure sensation shooting through me.

He paused, looking up at me, his gaze intense. “Tell me to stop,” he demanded, his voice a low growl, though his eyes pleaded with me to do no such thing.

I shook my head, my own desire a wildfire he had expertly stoked. “Don’t you dare stop.”

A rumble of approval echoed in his chest. His fingers found the clasp of my jeans, the sound of the zipper coming down obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and panties, and with a slow, deliberate tug, he began to slide them down over my hips, his eyes locked on mine, watching every flicker of reaction on my face. The cool air kissed my newly exposed skin, and a shudder of anticipation raced through me. This was the line we were crossing today, a new frontier in our private affair.

He leaned forward, his lips finding mine again in a kiss that was softer now, more devastating in its tenderness. “You have no idea,” he whispered against my mouth, his hands gently pushing the denim further down my thighs, “how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

His touch was agonizingly slow, his intent clear. He was going to explore every inch of me, and the promise of it, the sheer waiting, was its own exquisite torture. My whole world was reduced to the feeling of his calloused hands on my skin and the whispered confessions he breathed into the space between us.