Once I couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore and I was certain she was safely back in her room, I collapsed against the door.
I’d messed up before. I’d cheated. I’d lied. I’d stolen. I wasn’t a good man by any stretch of the imagination.
But never, ever had I fucked up this badly.
I fucked the wrong girl.
I fucked the wrong sister.
I let my needy imagination, my horny fucking dick take over my mind, and I didn’t doubt it for one second. I was so fucking sure Kendall had written that letter, because she was the girl my cock wanted. She was the girl I wanted to taste. The girl I wanted so fucking badly. The thought that it might’ve been Amanda never crossed my mind once. But it was so fucking obvious when I looked at it from a distance.
Amanda was the promiscuous twin.
Amanda was the one who loved teasing.
Who loved older men.
The one who had all those rumors surrounding her.
Amanda was the one who wanted Daddy.
The one who had fucking teased me for years… And I was totally blind to it.
Because I wanted Kendall.
Sweet, inexperienced, virginal Kendall.
And I’d just made a woman out of the wrong fucking girl.
I’d just fucked my stepdaughter.
And now I was in deep.
Because even though I now knew that Amanda had written the letter…
I still wanted her sister.6KendallI woke up with a wet, dripping ache between my legs.
I moaned as I came to, my hand dipping between my thighs to touch the swollen lips of my pussy. “Daddy,” I muttered, still half asleep.
And then something hit me on the head and I sprang up in bed, my eyes fluttering open and feeling disoriented as heck.
“Wake up, loser!”
My sister was standing in the doorway. Her robe was hanging open, flashing me a view of her tits.
“Ew, cover up,” I groaned, throwing the teddy bear she’d aimed at my head right back.
Instead of doing that, she cupped her tits and stuck her tongue out at me like a slut. I rolled my eyes and pulled the covers higher up around me. The memories of last night came in like a freight train, and I covered myself up to my nose, so fucking scared Amanda would see me blushing.
“Get downstairs,” Amanda said, waltzing into the room and checking out her reflection in my vanity.
It had been years since we’d last shared a room, but she still treated our old bedroom like her property. She strolled in like she owned the place, and I muttered something under my breath when she grabbed a bottle of my perfume and sprayed it between her tits.
We looked identical, everyone told us so. And we didn’t even fight it.
Some twins at our high school did everything in their power to look different, so nobody could mistake them. Amanda and I didn’t even bother. Even when we tried, there was inevitably a person who would get us mixed up. We were both tall and willowy, with small waists and small tits but a big butt which I hated, and Mandy loved. She used it to her advantage, and I despaired about its size daily. We had long brown hair, thick and full. Brown eyes, exact same shade, the same sprinkles of amber surrounding our irises.
Once, when we were home alone, we’d gotten drunk on our mother’s bottle of Bailey’s, and almost fell over laughing when we discovered we shared a mole on our right butt cheeks, too. That was a fun night. But the times we whispered secrets to each other over stolen Bailey’s and cigarettes seemed like a long time ago.
These days, Mandy was more interested in the opposite sex than her twin sister, and I felt miserable because of it. I was so attached to her. I was popular because she was. I got attention because I looked like her. Everyone thought I was the more innocent, kinder version of Amanda, and I was totally fine living that way. But lately, it felt like she’d been pushing me away.
And I knew, of course, that she was Mom’s favorite. It wasn’t hard to notice that. Not only did they have the same demeanor – confident and well aware of their outer beauty – they loved spending time together, even when I wasn’t involved. I’d caught them giggling over things too many times to count, and every single time it happened, it hurt more.
I was never close to my mother. And now it felt like my sister had replaced me with Mom as her confidante. I’d never felt lonelier than in those months before Levi came to live with us.
The connection I’d formed with my mother’s husband was strange, but instant.
He was a reader, like me. He used to bring me books upon books from his personal collection, when most of it was still packed up in cardboard boxes when he moved in. He spent hours upon hours helping Amanda and me when we had trouble in math class. He was so attentive, so sweet. I think, on some level, I had a crush even way back then.