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I should have shut this down the second she turned on me after her dewy, drunk eyes met mine and she said she didn’t feel so good before asking me to help her to a bathroom. I shouldn’t have let her ignore the bathroom, push me into my room, or sit on my lap. I’m a big guy. There’s no way December would have gotten me anywhere without my compliance.

And, yet, here I am.

Hand on her cheek. Hand on her thigh. Taste of her in my mouth.

Mind in the gutter, toying with even more things I know I shouldn’t do

Stretching to kiss her soft neck, I close my eyes and murmur, “You’re a good, obedient girl.”

She melts, like snow, in my hands, and whispers, “For you, I would be.”

“I know it, Dece.”

“I’d do anything for you, Wynn.” Desperation tangles in her tone, and I feel it reflected in my chest, because desperation is exactly what I’ve felt for her every last time I have ever seen her. She continues, pleading, “Anything at all. I love you.” Her arms circle me, tightening. “I love you so much. And I want you. More than anything, I want you. I dream of you. I daydream of you. You’re in my head constantly. All the time. Always, always, always. August writes her stories; I live in mine. Pictures and ideas plague me every day, and they’re all about you.” A frail breath fills her, and she sniffles.

My heart lodges itself in my throat. “Why…haven’t you told me before?” Why haven’t you picked me over your demanding, commandeering, rotten, selfish, vain, terrible parents?

“I’m just a kid to you. Your little sister’s friend. There’s no chance here. But—” She swears, and her hands dig into my body. “—the things I want to do to you. The things I’d let you do to me. You’d forget completely… You’d see me as a woman.”

“Dece…I’ve never thought of you like that.”

She whispers, voice soft, “I know. But…you could.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “I’d be anything for you, Wynn.” Her fingers cover mine, then skate down my wrist, tugging the tattered sleeve of the gothic ensemble I’m in away from my racing pulse. Her lips cover my heartbeat, claiming me as her own. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what might change your mind.”

“No.” I push her back, grip her chin, watch a teardrop fall, and wince. “Dece, no. I mean.” I swallow, wet my raw lips. “I have never thought of you as a child or as another kid sister. Ever.”

Shock widens her damp eyes. “You…haven’t?”

“No.”

“Then…”

Pained, I draw myself to her tortured mouth, kiss, nip, groan. A swear leaves me. “Oh, Dece. What do you think we’re doing right now? You think I’d let someone I think of as a kid sister do this to me?”

“I…” Her lashes flutter. “I don’t know. Everything’s…very fuzzy.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I comb my fingers through her hair. “Have you ever had alcohol before?”

Her head turns, hitches, then shakes. “It hurt to swallow, but I was upset. Or something. I don’t know. So I forced my way through it.”

An act of rebellion. It makes enough sense. She managed to escape her parents’ cage for one night. Of course everything they’ve never let her near safely would become a bad decision now.

I might officially be the worst, taking advantage of a woman who has never once had the opportunity to learn what alcohol could do to her. And, yet, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to stop. If this woman’s weight leaves my lap even a minute sooner because I make it, I will kill myself.

This is where she belongs. This is where she’s always belonged. With me. With someone willing to give her choices and chances and handle the weight of whatever she decides. She belongs with someone who can protect her. She belongs with someone strong enough to let her live.

Even if it’s terrifying. Even if she might get herself pass-out drunk in her freedom. Even if…

It occurs to me that I met this woman when she was a sheltered fourteen-year-old. My chest tightens. “Dece, sweetheart,” I mumble, low.

Attentive, she leans in, close, love-struck and pliant. “Yes, Wynn?”

I trace my thumb along her jaw. “Have you ever kissed someone before?”

Heat fills her face, and she cuts her gaze away. Fiddling with the frayed edges of my dark cloak, she murmurs, “N-no. Not outside my dreams… C-could you really tell so easily?” Her shoulders bunch, and she sinks. “I was terrible, wasn’t I?”

Terrible? No. I had assumed the urgency was on account of the alcohol, though, not…just a sincere lack of practice. I cuss, long and low, and find it very hard to breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and tears trace down her cheeks. “I can learn. You can teach me. I’ll commit exactly what you like to my heart and soul. I’ll—”