Touch you | Winrina

4

Their parents – Karina cringes at the wording – their parents are still on a trip. The cruise ended a week ago, but they stumbled upon this picturesque little town in Europe and they are staying for however long it's needed to eat croissants and wander narrow paved streets.

Her father doesn't call her. Winter informs her of this after a short talk with her mother. It mostly consisted of Winter's occasional grunts and Karina's silent questioning as to why Winter is having this talk when Karina's trying to watch a documentary. She was also wondering why Winter was pretending to read next to her while she was watching the documentary. Maybe she should move the TV to her room. No, that wouldn't be fair, the living room is a neutral territory. She doesn't have the monopoly on it. Not anymore.

They haven't mentioned the kiss. Well. Verbally. Winter is everywhere, and she's stopped believing in the concept of pants, too.

She's very, very confusing. Karina catches her glances, dark and heavy. She can't tell if Winter wants to punch her or kiss her. Maybe, to Winter, those are one and the same. Karina's certain of one thing: after that unfortunate night their dynamic has shifted, and she has no idea where they stand now. She liked it a lot more when they were resentful, unwilling step-siblings. Now, the control is slipping away from her and Winter is much better at handling the situation than she is. Then again, Winter's the one to have put them in this situation.

A fabulous lie, Karina thinks, and pushes the memory of her own lips moving against Winter's to the back of her mind.

She's downstairs doing her homework when Winter starts to cry out and moan, coupled with another set of distinctively female sounds. A girl today. That's refreshing. The girl isn't as vocal about her pleasure as Winter. None of Winter's lovers are as far as Karina can tell from her unwilling observations.

The sounds she make are loud enough to penetrate the heavy oak door of her father's study. Karina grits her teeth and goes to turn up the volume, only to discover it's already on maximum. And yes, she doesn't hear Winter as clearly anymore, but now the music doesn't let her concentrate and the music doesn't erase the knowledge that Winter is getting her brains fucked out.

This is ridiculous.

She doesn't even think as she shoots to her feet and marches up the stairs. She really should have. The door to Winter's room is wide open, and she's treated to a lovely sight of Winter riding the unknown brunette.

(Does Winter even know her name? Sometimes, they don't know Winter's.)

Winter's hair is tangled up in her own fingers and her hips are moving with abandon. Karina tries, she really, really does, but her gaze still falls to the place where their hips are joined, and she quickly learns Winter doesn't mind toys in her bed. This is so not what she needs right now.

It all happens within a short space of time. No more than a second, really. Karina's gaze snaps up to meet Winter, and Winter, oh. She doesn't show even a tiny sign of stopping.

Instead, she looks Karina square in the eye, and her shapely thighs move with renewed vigor. Her pupils are wide, wider than they were when she caught Karina's lips with her own, wider than when she gripped the edge of the kitchen island, breathing harsh and cheeks rosy. It's clear as day that Winter's trying to get a rise out of her, though Karina has yet to find the reason. Maybe, this is the reason. The hot flash of something in her belly as she watches her step-sister ride some lowlife to a fake orgasm.