Wrong
She gasped when she felt his hand touch hers, almost as if a spark of electricity jolted through them.
They glanced at each other, knowingly, and he continued running his long fingers across her skin.
It felt good, she thought to herself, tuning out the world around her; leaving them as the only two people in the room.
It was sinful, sinful as she found herself enjoying his touches, his whispers into her ear, his light kisses everywhere but her lips.
It was wrong, she knew, it was so wrong, yet it felt as if it was the most natural thing, right.
She pulled away from his unwillingly and felt his burning glaze in response.
Why did you pull away?
That unspoken questioned remained in the air she stared back at him, regretful, wanting.
It was wrong, she kept telling herself. He was her sister's lover, not hers.
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