My Forbidden Touch

I never thought I'd cross that line, but damn, it happened, and now it's all I can think about. It was with my second cousin, all grown at 19, her hormones raging like a storm I couldn't resist. I was the one who pushed it, whispering just the right words that made her eyes light up with that wild hunger. The air was thick with tension, her skin flushed and begging for touch, and I gave in completely. We ended up tangled in sheets, her body arching against mine in ways that felt electric, forbidden, utterly intoxicating. Every kiss, every thrust, amplified the thrill of knowing we were family, that secret bond twisting into something raw and primal. Her moans echoed in my ears, her nails digging into my back as we rode that wave of lust, her hormones making her so damn responsive, like fire meeting gasoline. I felt powerful, alive, even as guilt nipped at the edges later. But in the moment, nothing else existed—just the heat, the sweat, the pure, unfiltered ecstasy of it all. It's messed up, I know, but confessing this feels like releasing a pressure valve, admitting how that taboo pull still haunts my dreams, making me crave that dangerous edge again. No regrets, just the messy truth of desire unchecked.