The faded cotton of that old band tee was like a time machine. It swallowed us both whole, my brother's broad shoulders straining the seams, my tits pressed flat against his back. We were crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, the fabric a shared skin. Twenty years ago, this was our parents' punishment. Now, it was a torture of a different kind.

We’d been arguing over some stupid shit—a parking spot, our dead father’s watch—and the ghost of that childhood fix-it stuck in my head. I dug the shirt out of a drawer, the smell of him still on it after all these years. He didn’t even blink. He just stepped in, his body heat a furnace against my bare legs.

"This better work, sis," he grumbled, but his voice was thick. He could feel it too, the way my nipples peaked against his shoulder blades through the fabric. We were only in panties and his boxers under this thing, the soft cloth sliding over our bare skin with every little shift.

I tried to focus, tried to remember the argument. Then his hand moved—not to push me away, but to settle on my hip, possessive. His thumb traced the line of my hip bone, sending a shockwave straight to my clit. I sucked in a breath, feeling it rub against the hard ridge of his ass.

"Mom and Dad’s solution,” he whispered, his mouth so close to my ear I felt the heat of his words, "always made me crazy. You, all warm and soft against me… it was pure hell."

My mind flooded with memories—of him getting hard against my thigh during