It started innocently, which just makes the rest of it sound more messed up. You’d think at 24, after you’ve survived college, first heartbreak, those weird years of not really being an adult, you’d have learned how to handle yourself. But I always had one weak spot—women who surprised me. And nothing surprised me more than Delilah.
Delilah has always been Ben’s little sister, at least in my mind. Ben and I have been inseparable since junior high—sleepovers, broken bones, bad decisions. I’d been at his family home in New Jersey more times than I can count, and Delilah was always that awkward, skinny girl running around in braces, stealing chips from us and trying to get in on our FIFA tournaments.
The last time I’d seen her—at Ben’s graduation three years ago—she was still just a teenager to me. Honestly, I barely even registered her besides the eyeroll she gave the whole celebration. All I knew was that she was some kind of troublemaker, going to college in Boston, always pushing her parents’ buttons.
When Ben invited me to his family’s beach house for Memorial Day weekend, I genuinely didn’t even ask who else would be there. I needed the break from work, needed the ocean, needed the laughter. I didn’t think twice.
But when Ben and I pulled up and got out of his car, I nearly tripped over my own feet. Delilah was on the porch, shades on, wearing a bikini top with a flannel shirt open over it, cutoff shorts, a paperback tossed across her knees. Her legs were long, tan, and in that moment, the air hit me a certain way. It was like I saw her for the first time—all confidence, curves, some kind of heat lingering in her eyes.
She looked up, caught my jaw basically hanging a little too low, and just smirked. “Nice to see you too, Jake.”
I didn’t even realize I was staring until Ben elbowed me. “Careful, man. You drool on her and Mom will kill you.”
My cheeks flared hot, and I sputtered. “Shut up. I—she just looks different.”
Delilah’s grin just got wider. “Grew up, Jake. Sorry to disappoint.” But her eyes didn’t match her words. There was a spark, and I felt my stomach twist.
For the rest of the day, I tried to shake it off. I told myself it was in my head. Ben’s family ordered pizza, someone started mixing drinks, and the five of us crammed onto the back deck for board games and dumb stories. But I kept catching myself watching Delilah laugh too loudly at dumb jokes, or the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, or the curve of her ass when she bent over to grab her cards.
I tried to be casual, but every time she looked at me, it was like she knew what was going on in my head.
When night came, everyone but Ben, Delilah, and me tapped out early. The three of us kept at it, sipping beers, music low in the background. Around midnight, Ben stretched. “Shit, I’m crashing. If you guys are up, just keep it down. Need to be up early.” He headed inside, and suddenly it was just me and her.
She’d switched to a big old hoodie, but her shorts were still on. She reached for another beer and offered me a sly look. “You’re quiet all night. Cat got your tongue?”
I laughed it off. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long week.”
She nudged my thigh with her foot. “You don’t remember anything about me, do you?”
“What’s to remember? You tortured me and Ben every summer.”
She sipped her beer, then licked a drop from the rim. “Maybe I’m different now.”
I stared at her, brain whirring, trying to figure out whether she was being suggestive or just fucking with me because she could. When we finally said goodnight, I lay awake in my bottom bunk, staring into the darkness, absolutely aware of every small sound from the next room, thinking about Delilah more than was healthy—or appropriate.
The next day was tougher. Ben dragged me to the water for an early swim, but my brain was sluggish from the late night, and being hungover didn’t help. When we got back, Delilah was brewing coffee, hair in a loose bun, wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung off her right shoulder, exposing tanned skin and the strap of a bra.
She poured a mug and handed it to me, her fingers brushing my hand. A zap—not electricity, but something—cracked between her skin and mine. She didn’t pull back right away; instead, she looked up, brown eyes locking with mine.
“Sleep okay?” she asked, voice lower, private.
“Not really,” I answered, barely above a whisper.
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “Restless, I guess.”
She smirked. “Well, there are worse places to be restless. Sun’s coming out. You wanna walk down the beach later? I could use some air.”
I almost said no—I should have said no. I could already feel the warning bells in my head, repeating: Ben’s sister, Ben’s sister. But I found myself nodding. “Sure. After lunch?”
She smiled, hair catching the sunlight. “It’s a date, Jake.”
After lunch, Delilah and I slipped away, the others still busy in the backyard. We walked side by side down the sand, waves breaking quietly, gulls calling. She was quiet at first, picking at her cuticles. I struggled with what felt like a million nerves firing at once.
“So why haven’t you dated anyone in two years?” she asked, glancing up at me sideways.
I groaned. “That’s your opening?”
She grinned. “Sorry. Curious.”
“Messy breakup. Took a minute to get my shit together. Now work gets in the way.”
“Hm.” She looked thoughtful, then smiled wryly. “You ever think about being with someone off-limits? Someone you shouldn’t want?”
Her words hit me straight in the chest. I tried to keep my face blank. “Depends,” I said. “That kind of drama worth it?”
“Sometimes the best things are the stupidest,” she said, and her fingers trailed into the sand, nearly touching mine.
I let the silence hang. I should have backed off, told her no, turned around and dragged us both home. But something reckless in me wanted to see how far she’d push before I broke.
When the walk was over and we were back on the porch, she lingered. As I started to head inside, she grabbed my wrist. “Jake—wait.”
I turned. Her breathing was faster, cheeks flushed.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she admitted, biting her lip. “I used to hate you. But right now…I kind of want you to kiss me.”
I stared. Her eyes—wide, hungry, bright—held me in place. My mind raced. Ben’s sister. Ben was right inside. This was a bad idea. But her hand was still around my wrist, her thumb softly stroking the inside.
“Delilah…I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“We’re adults,” she murmured. “I want this. Do you?”
I broke, finally. I set my beer on the porch railing, stepped close, and kissed her. Gentle at first—just lips, tentative. Then her fingers fisted in my shirt and she pulled me harder. Her lips were soft, her tongue hot and slick against mine. When our hips pressed together, my body instantly, embarrassingly, responded.
She tasted like beer and sun, smelled like coconut. Her nerves pressed into mine, breaths shallow as I pressed her against the porch wall, my hand cupping her thigh.
“I’ve wanted this,” she whispered in my ear, her nails dragging softly down my arm. “Since last night. Since before.”
I pulled back enough to look in her eyes, to make sure she was really sure, and I saw nothing but naked want.
“Ben can’t—“
She cut me off with another kiss, moaning quietly.
“Fuck him. I want you now.”
We hurried inside, up the stairs, as quietly as we could. My pulse thumped in my ears. In her bedroom, she turned and tugged off her shirt, exposing smooth skin and a black lace bra. My hands shook as I traced my fingers up her sides, then cupped her breasts, feeling her nipples harden through the fabric.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, lips at her throat.
“Show me,” she whispered back.
She unbuttoned my jeans, her hands moving with sudden urgency, and soon we were both naked, tangled together on her bed. I kissed my way down her body, my mouth trailing over her collarbone, down to her stomach, then lower. She gasped as my tongue found her, hips jerking, hands burying in my hair, nails scraping at my scalp.
She moaned, softer at first, then louder as I pressed inside her, slow and deep, our bodies moving together. The sounds she made, the words she whispered in my ear—dirty, desperate—sent me wild. We crashed together, bodies aching, sweat-slick, rushing toward that point I’d tried to resist and finally surrendered to.
After, her head on my chest, both of us struggling to catch our breath, the reality started to sink in.
“Was that—was that okay?” I asked. It came out almost like a confession.
She smiled lazily, leg slung across me. “Better than I imagined.”
I swallowed, nerves twisting again. “Ben—”
She pressed a finger to my lips. “Let’s not ruin it. Not tonight.”
I nodded, but I knew things had changed. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Delilah—her smirk, her mouth, the way she moaned my name. Off-limits never felt so fucking right, or so dangerously good.