Should I say fuck it and go for it?

I pulled the covers up, tucking them around her shoulders, my fingers grazing her arm. The simple act felt intimate, too close, like I was caring for something fragile and dangerous all at once. Her scent wrapped around me—wine-tinged sweetness mixed with that underlying musk that hinted at her arousal, even now.

As I straightened, she caught my hand, her grip loose but pleading.

'Markus... stay a minute?' Her voice was soft, slurred at the edges, pulling at the emotional thread between us. I hesitated, the battle raging in my head: Was I just babysitting Steve's little sister, treating her like a kid who needed looking after? She was 22, for fuck's sake—old enough to make her own choices, to tempt me with that confident tease she'd shown all week.

Or should I say fuck it, give in to the wild urge pounding through my veins? Pin her down right there, strip away the barriers, feel her futanari cock harden fully against me as I claimed what I'd been craving since she walked through my door. The forbidden line blurred in my mind—Steve's face fading against the heat of her body, the house sharing turning into something raw and inevitable.

I sat on the edge of the bed instead, a compromise that did nothing to ease the tension coiling in my gut.