Its Just For Tonight

Part 1

Tim Hutchins had always been bad at sharing. As the only child of a single parent, he had come to see a distinct line between "yours," and "mine." My room, my clothes, my stuff; with just a little wiggle room for communal items. Plates and toilet paper, and the like. Maybe it had been his dad's way of making up for his mom leaving or their cramped accommodations, but they had always respected that demarcation at home. Obviously, that couldn't be enforced everywhere, and growing up it had caused plenty of problems having to learn to share with others. But his home had been a sanctuary where everyone knew where things belonged and who they belonged to.

"Will you turn that damn thing off? I'm trying to sleep here."

Maybe that was why getting along with his step-sister was proving so hard. Or maybe she was just a bitch.

Tim rolled over as best he could amidst the suitcases and cardboard boxes that had besieged his sleeping bag. The apartment bedroom was cramped enough on its own, but with all her shit shoved in with his, he felt like he was suffocating.

"It's just for tonight," his dad had promised. That had been two nights ago and Amelia had spent every second of it complaining about how uncomfortable the couch was and how she needed a real bed. Until that evening, when Tim's father had looked his way and pleaded, "It's just for tonight."

"Gawd, I can't wait to get out of this cave," Amelia whined, swiping through her phone, its screen turned up even brighter than his tablet. Sprawled out on his mattress. Wrapped in his blanket. Propped on his pillows.

"So sorry we couldn't afford a nicer place till your mom came along," Tim growled. "Not everyone can be a top corporate accountant or whatever."

"They work in the same division, dumbass. Your dad's just cheap," the bitch snapped back. "Mom might be higher up the food chain, but their salaries aren't that different. I'll bet he could afford for you to live on campus, he just doesn't want to shell out the cash."

"Says the full-ride honor student living with her mom."

"That is a personal choice," she sniffed prissily, sticking her beak into the air like some

Pride and Prejudice

poseur. Tim rolled his eyes and returned to his tablet, but he had barely finished a sentence before she demanded, "What are you writing, anyway?"

Miss Overachiever must hate being ignored, Tim thought, but out loud he just said, "A play."

The old bedframe creaked as Amelia sat up straight. "Really? I mean, that's cool, I guess. What's it about?"

He gave her a suspicious look and tried to sit up himself. No one had ever been interested in hearing about his writing before. But his foot found its way into a stack of textbooks (not his), and any sincere answer he might have given fled in a stream of cursing.

"Fucking ow! It's about a guy whose step-sister is an insufferable know-it-all and how he has to deal with her invading his personal space."

"Oh, go fuck yourself. I was trying to be nice."

"If that's so, then give me back my bed."

"Fuck that," she sneered. "You lost at rock-paper-scissors, so it's mine till moving day."

"But it's my bed!"

"It's just for tonight, so deal with it."

Tim scowled into the darkness but chose not to press. His tablet showed twelve in the morning already and he would never reach his word count if he kept wasting energy with Amelia the harpy. He tried to press on, but his eyelids soon grew too heavy. Tim yawned. He just needed to rest his eyes a minute and he would be able to reach his goal. But when he opened them again, the screen had been overrun with a horde of endlessly spawning letters. Jerking awake, his foot went straight into the corner of the same plastic box, recoiled, and rolled into another pile of overfull containers.

"Fuck! That's it!"

Amelia shot up with hair in her mouth. "Huh? Whuzza? Ptth. What's going on?"

"Scoot over, I'm getting in."

"What? No, you're not."

"Amelia," he said, patience fracturing. "This floor is a minefield. I'm hurt. I'm pissed. That is

my

bed. And if you don't roll that perfect ass over in about three seconds, I'm gonna sit on it."

She moved. Growling and snarling the whole time, but she did it. Tim tossed his comforter down before she could change her mind and wrapped himself tight.

"Sure, climb on in," she muttered, putting her back to him. "Get all up in my personal space on this twin-sized sardine can. Oh and look at that: a wall. Nothing says a good night's sleep like a little claustrophobia."

"It's just for tonight," he said, matching her syrupy tone.

"Fine, whatever." Amelia cocooned herself within her own blanket. "Just remember: If you touch me anywhere weird, for any reason, you're a dead man."

"Wasn't planning on it," he growled back. "Your big, flabby tits aren't worth getting pulped by your knuckle-dragging boyfriend anyway."

"My tits are exquisite," she shot back, slapping his shoulder.

Tim stifled a snigger with his hand, noting how she hadn't denied that AlphaChad McDouchebag was a Neanderthal. She must have heard him, because she gave another of those prim little sniffs and said, "Chad writes poetry, you know."

"Heh. I can almost see that. 'Roses are red, daisies are blue. I'm pretty great, and you sorta are too.'"

She hit him again. "What is your problem with me anyway?"

"Because you're a walking cliché: Hot cheerleader dating the star quarterback, mocks geeks for fun. You're smart enough to set your own standards, but you're still pushing that shit in college. It's pathetic."

Cool air assaulted him as his blanket was torn away. Amelia threw herself onto his stomach, driving the wind out of him while she grabbed his head and forced him to look into her eyes. Her brown eyes shone in the near dark, reflecting the streetlamps trickling through the curtains into a cutting edge.

"One," she said, jabbing her nose against his. "Do not even insinuate that I'm some empty-headed bimbo just because I'm involved in sports. I work hard to get good grades. So what I do for fun or to stay fit is none of your goddamned business. And second, I don't make fun of your idiot friends because they're geeks. I make fun of them because they're a bunch of sad little incels who harass

my

friends for not being interested in them. Have you even seen what they've posted about Trish's beach photos?"

"I've told them to knock that shit off," he said, scrambling for a retort.

"Then get better friends."

"Get a boyfriend who doesn't call me 'Tiny Tim.'"

They stared each other down through the gloom. Their bodies flush against one another, her firm thighs locked around his trunk. The swell of full breasts mashed against his chest. His head swam with the smell of eucalyptus toothpaste and strawberry shampoo. Things that were taking up space in

his

bathroom, he reminded himself. Tim faked a cough, yielding the stare off, and felt her muscles relax. As soon as she was off of him, he rolled to face the other side, hoping she couldn't see him adjusting his boxers.

"Can't believe I used to think you were hot," Tim grumbled.

"Please," she laughed. "I saw you looking down my tank top just now."

"So what? Boobs are boobs. Hard not to look when they're just hanging out there for the whole world to see."

"Glory be! A low-cut top for jammies! Consider my pearls clutched, Reverend."

He almost didn't smirk. "You normally go around without a bra?"

"Sometimes," she purred, and it was all he could do not to yelp when Amelia's hands snaked around his chest and mashed her tits against his back. "Aww, what's the matter? Are you embarrassed by your big sister's big, bouncy boobies? But all I want is to give my baby brother a great big hug."

"Will you cut it out with the baby voice?" He wriggled out of her grip. "Seriously, it's creeping me out. Besides, my birthday is in March."

"Yeah, but we're the same age eleven months out of the year. Or are you saying you'd prefer to get felt up by your little sister? Would you be more comfortable with that?"

"Step-sister, and no! That's way fucking worse."

"I understand," she said, suddenly as solemn as a tomb. Just before wrapping her arms around him and making kissy faces. "Pwease big bwudda! Let your baby sister give you a squeeze. I wuv you so much, onii-sa~an!"

"Cut it out, whore!"

"Pot meet kettle," she grinned. "You're hard, aren't you?"

"No!"

"Oh yeah. I bet you're so turned on right now. Big ol' virgin with the hottest girl on campus in your bed. Rubbing herself all over you. And there's nothing you can do it about, cause you're related to these tiddies now.'

"Oh, shut up."

"You shut up!"

A sharp knock at the door cut them off.

"Lights out kids," his father said in a strained voice. "I don't know what you're fighting about, but get to sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us."

"Kay, Dad. Goodnight."

"Good night Mr. Hutch--um, I mean, good night Daddy!"

"Suck up," Tim hissed. He waited till he heard the adjoining bedroom door shut. "This isn't over."

"Sure, whatever you say perv," Amelia yawned, rolling back to the wall with a creak. "Oh, and by the way. If you feel the need to jack off to me, do it in the bathroom. I don't want any of your nasty virgin fluids staining

my

bed."

"Bitch."

"Loser."

Part 2

Sleep was a long time coming. Time stumbled along at a drunken crawl, and Tim had no outlet for the nervous energy. He couldn't toss, turn, or take out his tablet or phone. For all he knew, Amelia would wake at a pinprick and any of his normal habits for battling insomnia might end with them fighting all night. The most he was willing to risk was to throw his covers aside and slip his shirt off when the bed grew too stifling with their shared body heat, which did nothing for that stomach-twisting sense of restriction. Trapped between the Charybdis of a debris-strewn floor and the Scylla that was Amelia: a psychopath who was liable to cut his balls off if he so much as brushed against her.

"It's just for tonight," he whispered, concentrating on the words to make himself lay perfectly still. "Tomorrow you'll have a room all to yourself again. No one to share it with. No one touching your stuff, no tripping over anyone else's. Let's just make it through tonight."

He maintained the mantra until his eyelids grew heavy. Over and over again until the words slurred into gibberish. Finally, he was beginning to stagger over the boundaries of consciousness. Sound coalesced out of some vast distance into voices, recognizable but muffled by an omnipresent wall of mist.

"No, Jonathan, we can't," the voice of his step-mother came from the dream mist.

"Relax, Connie," said what was probably his dream-father. "They've been asleep for hours, by now. And we'll be too tired all the rest of the week; driving and unpacking. When are we going to find another time?"

"Once we're settled in, maybe? I get christening the new house, Jon, but why is doing it in the old one so important?"

"Because this has been mine and Tim's home for most of a decade. All by ourselves, Con. I just want to make one more good memory here with the woman I love."

Silence.

"It's because the landlord screwed you on the cleaning deposit, isn't it?"

"And his room is just beneath ours," the male voice said shamelessly. "Now get that nighty off and let's cause some noise complaints."

"But won't we wake the--oh! Ooh, that's nice."

"There's soundproofing between the bedrooms," the voice Tim desperately hoped was only his dream father chuckled low in his throat. "I've tested it myself."

"Ooh. Then put those handcuffs on, Officer. I think I feel like resisting arrest."

"Oh, gawd," came a mortified whisper. Tim's spine went ridged as he realized he had wound himself around something soft, squishy, and not his pillow.

"Amelia?" he squeaked. "What are you doing?"

"Same thing as you, dumbass," she answered in a harsh whisper. "Being forced to listen to our parents get it on. What do you think

you're

doing?"

"So I'm used to sleeping with a body pillow, big deal," he sniffed indignantly. "The real question is why you've pinned my hands to your tits."

"Oh. Chad likes to spoon after sex. Guess I'm just used to the sleep-groping."

"Right," Tim answered. He had no idea how to respond to that, and the awkward silence only deepened as the bed on the other side of the wall began to squeak.

"Oh, Jon! That feels so good!"

"Guess the wall isn't really soundproof, huh?" Amelia asked through a nervous giggle. "Or do you think our parents are just that into each other?"

"The landlord lied," Tim answered with forced calm, grateful she couldn't see how red his face was. Why the hell wasn't she letting go of him? "Dad wanted to make sure I could have privacy. Or maybe to give himself privacy. The first time he brought a girlfriend over he--well, it was kind of..."

"Hot?"

"Awkward. Let's go with awkward."

"Heh. And you've never said anything about it to him?"

"I didn't want to embarrass him," he protested.

"Pffft, whatever. You totally whacked off while eavesdropping."

"I have a couple sets of noise-canceling headphones in one of those boxes," he whispered brusquely.

"Knew it."

"Or we can keep listening to my dad fucking your mom."

"Okay, okay. Learn to take a joke already."

Tim let out a sigh as she released his hands. He pulled away gingerly, trying not to touch her any more than he had to. Tearing his eyes away from that body was a challenge all its own. Regardless of what he had said, Amelia was still as beautiful as he'd ever found her, with her long legs and tight body. Draped in the shadows somehow made her more alluring. Toned muscles rippled under her gorgeously bronzed skin. Her tanktop was dangerously lowcut for someone with her proportions; even more so with the obvious lack of a bra. The flannel pants she'd put on after her shower were nowhere to be found, letting the boycut panties emphasize every motion of her luscious thighs. Waves of red-blond hair had been caught into a braid that trailed along her midback, glistening like buried treasure. She could have been an Artemis or a Persephone basking in the moonlight.

"What's taking so long?" Amelia stirred, radiant hazel eyes boring into his. Tim's foot slipped off the bed and through a cardboard box. Plastic snapped and burrowed into his foot.

"Shit!"

The squeaking from the next room stopped, and Tim bit down a hundred more curses as he rolled back under the covers.

"Jon? Did you hear something?" came his stepmother's voice.

"Don't think so."

"Could you check anyway?"

"But we were--fine. Sure, sure."

The step-siblings held still as statues, ears straining to the creaks and groans as his father shuffled through the apartment. Hardly daring to breathe until they heard the click of the door.

"Must have been the neighbors."

They sighed in unison.

"What happened back there?" Amelia hissed.

"Good news," he said through a mouthful of strawberry-scented hair, "I found the headphones."

"Let me guess, you broke them."

"Bad news, I found the LEGOs too."

She snickered into her pillow. "You are such a dork. But I used to like that about you."

"Thanks," he drawled, yanking the comforter back over himself.

"No, really. You can be pretty funny when you're not being an asshole. Chad is, well, he has good qualities, but he still thinks farts and "your mom," jokes are the height of humor. Seriously, have you ever sat through a two-hour movie pretending to laugh at every moronic joke because you don't want to hurt your date's feelings?"

"Sounds like a

Jackass

kinda guy," he said, rolling his eyes. "Or maybe "My Balls" is more his speed

."

"Heh, yeah. Wait. You know

Idiocracy

?"

"Sure. It's only my favorite movie-slash-documentary."

"Right? But I prefer

Young Frankenstein

for sheer quotability."

"'What knockers!'"

"'Vy zank you, Doktor,'" she giggled in a fake German accent. She glanced over her shoulder and smirked. "See? You have one or two good qualities."

He grinned. "I guess you have a couple too. Hey, once we're moved in, do you want to watch--"

"Mmmmm!"

"Umm," he stammered. "I was thinking more like hanging out."

"Shut up!" she hissed as something crashed against the wall.

"Oh yeah! Give it to me baby! Give it to me hard~!"

"Shit, I thought they were done."

"Shh!"

Their parents' headboard banged a heedless rhythm against the wall for what felt like hours. Bed springs pled for mercy with tortured squeaks that were gradually drowned out by his step-mother's increasingly vocal demands.

"No, officer! I'll never tell you where my husband stashed the loot. No matter how hard you smash me with your massive weapon! Give me everything you've got, my tight little pussy can handle any stick. I'll never tell you! Never! No! Oh, gawd, no! Oooh!"

"Oh my god, Mom. Have a little class."

"At least they're having fun?" Tim offered lamely. It was the best he could contribute while trying to focus on baseball statistics. Nope, he had no interest in carnal matters whatsoever. No sir.

"What the fuck, dude?" she gasped. "Are you hard again?"

"Only because you keep grinding your ass against me."

"Y-yeah right. You're the one who's grinding on me, you little perv."

"Stop calling me little. I'm bigger than you are."

"Pfft. With your stringy physique? Please."

"Big enough to do this." He grabbed her hips, and before smarter brain cells could stop him, he ground his girth against her skimpy shorts. He pushed himself into her with all his pent-up aggression, pinning her against the wall. "And this!" Hands slid under her loose shirt, grasping handfuls of soft, firm breasts. He pinched and rolled the pert nubs of her nipples between his thumbs, while his step-mother moaned wantonly from the other side.

Amelia clapped a hand over her mouth, writhing against his touch. His stomach rolled into sour knots as it occurred that he might have just done something unforgivable. As if reading his thoughts, she peeked over her shoulder and pinned him with a manic grin.

"Don't stop. Keep going."

"Huh?"

"Don't be dumb. I'm horny. You're horny. Your high school crush is giving you permission to fuck her. You're a nerd, you do the math."

"But they'll hear us."

"Then do me quietly." She shivered, her body writhing against his. "Seriously dude, hurry up. I'm so fucking horny right it hurts. I'll show you what to do. Start with my nipples, they're really sensitive--whoah, yeah! Like that. Ow, okay, not that hard. Start by gently massaging them. Yeah~, that's real nice."

Tim felt like he was floating through some surreal dream. How could it be anything else? There was just no damn way that stuck-up Amelia Harper was curled up against him in his bed, allowing him to feel her up while grinding her ass against his rock-hard cock. No way that she would guide his hands under her tanktop, allowing him to roam across the downy softness of her body. Eliciting lustful coos from her cupid's bow lips while he massaged her nipples, traced the adorable pudge of her belly and cupped her sex. For all his protests, Tim knew he was not the sort of person who could ever make a woman as smart and beautiful as her fall for him. Another woman, maybe. He hoped. But this woman? The one he had dreamed of being with more than any other? Impossible. Tim was a nobody, a loser. Not someone the head cheerleader would get so hot for that she would dry hump his cock until both their shorts were wet with her desire. The class valedictorian should have her pick of guys to drive wild with the scent of her arousal, to leave their cocks straining and in pain. He certainly shouldn't be listening in as his step-mother begged for his father's cock in the next room over, loud enough to hide the sound of their own fornication.