I never expected the weekend at the lake house would end up like this. Looking back, maybe I should’ve seen it coming—but I guess I just didn’t want to admit to myself how much I wanted him. I’m Olivia, 26, from Boston—a little reserved, maybe a little too good at overthinking things. The trip was supposed to be simple: just me, Emily, my best friend from college, and her older brother, Jake. Emily and I have done this little tradition for years now—escaping the city chaos for quiet summer nights, cheap wine, and late-night swims. This year, it was different. Jake decided to join last minute, just after a breakup, Emily said. I still remember how she’d announced it, rolling her eyes. “Jake needs a change of scenery. Don’t worry, Liv, he’s harmless.”
I remembered Jake vaguely from college breaks. He was always the slightly aloof, broad-shouldered guy who joked more with beer in his hand than anyone else in the room. Still, I wasn’t prepared for how much he’d changed. I felt my cheeks flush the minute he got out of his car: tall, athletic in that lived-in way, gray t-shirt clinging to his chest, a messy brown beard, and eyes that could cut through any of my careful defenses. I tried not to stare—tried to focus on helping Emily with groceries, carrying bags, finding the lighter for the grill—but I kept glancing at him when I thought he wasn’t looking.
That first night, the three of us drank beers by the fire pit, the lake black and mirror-still behind us. Emily kept the conversation spinning loud and fast as usual, but there were moments when Jake and I met eyes across the flickering flames, his gaze sticking on me just a bit too long. Every time, I’d flick my eyes away, keep my voice casual, swallow down the heat that pooled in my chest. It’s not that I haven’t been with guys before—just, it never started like this, with this unspoken pressure, this twist of want in my stomach every time he smiled.
Emily went to bed early that night, leaving Jake and me alone with the fire and two more beers. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, the light catching on his crooked grin as he leaned back. He actually asked me about my work, not the easy sort of “So, what do you do?” but questions that meant he’d been listening all evening. I found myself relaxing for once, forgetting to be self-conscious.
He finally said, “You know, you surprise me, Olivia. You’ve got that ‘Boston professional’ armor, but I think there’s a wild side in there.”
I snorted, shaking my head, trying to look unbothered. “I think you’re projecting, Jake.”
He grinned again, holding my gaze, and for a second I felt my pulse in my throat. “We should go swimming tomorrow. Bet you won’t be the first one in.”
“Don’t bet on it,” I threw back, more bravado than truth. I was already wondering how I’d look, stripped to just my bathing suit, in front of him.
That night, I lay awake in my narrow bed, the glow of my phone screen lighting my bare legs. I kept replaying the way Jake’s eyes had stayed on mine, the way my body had ached with a stupid, dangerous curiosity. I could hear his laugh from down the hall. Ridiculous, I told myself. He’s Emily’s brother, he’s probably just flirting for fun. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him. I had to cross my legs just from the thought, feeling my own body betray me.
The next morning, we all had pancakes on the porch, sun sparkling across the water. Emily was hungover—complaining, refusing to swim. So when Jake said, “I’ll race you to the raft, Olivia,” it was just him and me in our suits, the thick, humid air buzzing with possibility. I tried not to notice how his swim trunks hung around his hips, the way water droplets clung to his arms. We cracked jokes on the dock, but my heart was thumping as I dove in and felt the cold wrap around me.
We swam hard, splashing, laughing, a little too close, and when we hauled ourselves up onto the raft in the middle of the lake, I struggled to catch my breath. He looked at me, gaze running down over my body, and suddenly the moment didn’t feel like a game. The silence wrapped tight around us. I wanted him to touch me, but I looked away, staring at the pines. I told myself it was just a fluke, just chemistry from too many summer drinks and sunny skin.
But all day, I kept catching myself watching him, making excuses to brush by him in the kitchen, to study the curve of his mouth as he sipped his coffee. He flirted openly, his hand on my back as I reached for a bowl, his knee bumping mine under the picnic table. Emily didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she just trusted us, or didn’t care. Each touch riled me up, made my nipples tingle, started a dull insistent ache between my legs that I tried to ignore. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and wondered how badly I really wanted to throw away all my careful restraint.
By early evening, Emily was texting a friend in town, half-joking about sneaking off to a bar. “You two entertain yourselves tonight. I need real civilization!” she announced, and just like that, Jake and I were alone in the house again.
The tension was sharper now, harder to ignore. I sat with my legs tucked under me on the couch, watching him queue up some old rock songs, pretending none of this fazed me.
He flopped down next to me, close enough that I could smell his skin—sun and something musky. I don’t even really remember what he said, but we were laughing, bodies angled in, knees touching. He paused, resting his hand on my thigh over my cutoff shorts.
“Liv,” he said, voice low, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but… I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I stared at his hand, not moving. My brain told me to back away, remind him he was Emily’s brother, but my body just stayed put. His thumb drew slow circles on my skin, burning through the denim.
“Jake,” I said, not quite sure what would come out next. I was half out of my body, my head buzzing. “This is—”
“I know,” he said, nodding, voice quieter. “We can pretend it doesn’t mean anything if you want. But I don’t want to pretend.”
For a second, the room shrank to just that—his hand, my thigh, the inches between our mouths. I searched his face, my heart going wild, every doubt and craving crashing into each other inside me. In that pause, everything could have gone back to normal. But I wanted him too much to lie.
I leaned in first, brushing my lips over his. The softness of his beard, the taste of beer on his tongue—suddenly, I was kissing him like I’d wanted to for days, rough and hungry. His fingers slid under my shorts, one palm curling around my ass. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, losing myself in his mouth.
He pulled me onto his lap, his cock rigid under my thigh through his shorts. The friction made me gasp, and I could feel how wet I was already. He pulled my shirt over my head, his mouth moving down to suck at my breasts, tongue tracing my nipples until I writhed underneath him. I heard myself moan, my hips bucking against his hand.
“God, Liv, you’re so fucking sexy,” he muttered, voice raw, hands everywhere now. His fingers found the waistband of my panties, pushing them down, and before I could think, he was touching me—two fingers sliding through the slick heat of my pussy, teasing at my clit. I shuddered, biting his shoulder, desperate for more. The last of my doubts burned away in the heat of his mouth, the roughness of his hands.
He pushed me back on the couch, spreading my legs, climbing down between them. He kissed my thighs, nipped at the sensitive skin, then started licking my pussy—slow at first, then fast, tongue flicking over my clit until I was grinding against his face, shaking, breathless. He looked up at me, eyes gleaming, and grinned—a wild, hungry thing.
“Please, Jake, fuck me,” I groaned.
He grabbed a condom from his wallet, tore it open, and rolled it on—a quick blur of hands and heat. I pulled him over me, legs hooked around his hips, feeling his cock press against my entrance. He slid in slowly, filling me inch by inch, his hands clenched tight on my hips.
The first stroke was heaven, every nerve in my body alight. I clung to him, panting, our bodies moving together hard and fast. He fucked me deep, deeper than anyone ever had, his mouth on my neck, his whispers filthy in my ear—how good I felt, how much he wanted me, how long he’d waited for this. I lost myself in the rising pleasure, coming undone around him, crying out as I came, his own orgasm not far behind, his hand tangled in my hair as he shuddered against me.
After, we lay tangled together, the room still humming with what we’d just done. I knew things would be complicated—knew Emily couldn’t find out, at least not yet. But I didn’t care. Not in that moment. All I wanted was him, again and again through that hot, endless summer night.
And if I’m being honest? That’s exactly what happened.