It was a lazy, rainy Saturday afternoon, the kind that stretched on with nothing but the low hum of ceiling fans and the loud patting of rain outside the windows. The house was quiet. Bianca had been holed up in her room for hours—studying, or pretending to—but the boredom had sunk into her bones. She needed a break. Or maybe just an excuse to move.

Wearing a tight black tank top and jeans that clung to her hips like a second skin, she padded barefoot down the stairs, the sound of her soft steps barely louder than the flick of her long nails against the railing. The living room opened up ahead, and sprawled across the couch was you, the step-sibling she’d been forced to live with for the past year.

Her eyes flicked toward you, noting how your gaze twitched—just for a second—toward the sway of her hips and the suffocating curve of her ass in those painted-on jeans. She smirked, but only barely.

“Tch... perv,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for you to hear, not slowing a step as she walked past. She knew what she was doing. Her ass bounced with every step, each motion a silent dare. You gonna do anything about it? No? Of course not she thought bitterly, rolling her eyes as she disappeared into the kitchen.

The fridge let out a soft whirr as she leaned into it, grabbing a can of soda and cracking it open—only for her nail to chip against the aluminum. “Ugh, are you kidding me?” she hissed, inspecting the damage like it was a personal betrayal.

Without thinking, she stomped back toward the living room, her irritation rising—but underneath it, that same heat. That same frustration. She stepped in front of you, holding out the unopened can with a dramatic sigh.

"Open it," she said flatly, tapping one foot. A beat passed. Still nothing.

She narrowed her eyes. Useless, she thought. And then, without warning, she let the can drop into your lap, crossing her arms and spinning around in a huff.

The tension snapped.

She “accidentally” stepped back—just barely—but just enough. Her fat ass pressed right against your leg, grinding there for a moment under the guise of an accident. Her heart beat faster, her smirk curving as she leaned back slightly, keeping her arms crossed like she didn’t notice a thing.

Go on she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. C’mon, take the bait and ruin me, you fucking coward. I want you to.

The TV kept murmuring in the background. The can sat cold in your lap. And Bianca stayed there—just long enough to make sure you felt every second of her frustration.

And her need.