Step-siblings, one bed, no limits… after the first forbidden thrust

Chapter 1
The Practical Solution

The key stuck in the lock the first time Ethan tried it, because of course it did. The ancient brass knob was tarnished, the doorframe slightly warped from decades of Chicago winters. He gave it a hard twist and the deadbolt finally gave with a reluctant click.

“Welcome home, roomie,” he muttered, shoving the door open.

Lila slipped past him before he could even step inside, her duffel bag thumping against his shin. She smelled like vanilla body spray and the faint coffee grounds that always clung to her after a shift. “Holy shit, it’s smaller than the pictures.”

It was. One bedroom. One bathroom. One closet that looked like it had been designed for a single winter coat. The living room/kitchen combo was barely big enough for the sagging couch they’d hauled up three flights of stairs that afternoon, and the single window overlooked a narrow air shaft where someone was already playing trap music at 7:30 p.m.

Their parents had left an hour ago, Mom teary-eyed and proud, Dad slapping Ethan on the back like he’d just graduated basic training instead of signing a twelve-month lease. “You two are so mature,” Mom kept saying. “Practical. Smart. We’re so proud.”

Practical.

That word was going to haunt them.

Ethan dropped his own bag by the door and surveyed the space like he was looking for escape routes. “We can make it work. Bed in the bedroom, couch pulls out. We’ll rotate who gets the actual mattress.”

Lila was already in the tiny kitchen, opening the single cabinet above the sink. “Or we could just share the bed. Like adults. We’re not twelve anymore.”

She said it casually, like she was suggesting they split the electric bill fifty-fifty. But when she turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, the late-afternoon light caught the curve of her throat, the way her cropped hoodie rode up just enough to show a thin strip of soft skin above low-rise leggings. Ethan’s throat went dry.

He looked away. “Separate sleeping arrangements. That was the deal.”

“Was it?” She tilted her head, long chestnut waves spilling over one shoulder. “I don’t remember signing anything.”

“You agreed when Mom asked if we were ‘comfortable’ with the arrangement.”

“I smiled and nodded. That’s not the same thing.”

He exhaled through his…