Of all the questionable shit I’ve done, kissing my little brother like my life depends on it, while he withers on top of me, somehow ranks higher than testifying against my own father in open court. In my defense, Nicolo kissed me first, and if the hard length pressing against mine through our basketball shorts is any indication, he’s willing to do a lot more than kiss. How much more is the only real question. “Sebastian.” Nicolo’s fingers dig into my chest as he pulls his mouth away from mine and pants against my cheek. His breath is hot, and…
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