Family Stealing System: your wife, mother, sister, all mine now!
Chapter 26: Good Morning

Chapter 26: Good Morning

Mia’s eyes opened first.

The grey light of early morning pressed against the window screens. She blinked twice, slow, the dream-fog still clinging to her thoughts, and the first thing she registered was warmth—too much warmth, a furnace-heat against her front.

A familiar body. Her face was pressed into Kian’s chest, her nose flattened against the fabric of his robe, and one of his arms was locked around her waist with a thoughtless possessiveness.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She didn’t move.

Then, she noticed her sister.

Across the tangle of blankets, Jia was still asleep, her back pressed against Kian’s other side.

Mia’s eyes widened.

She saw the way Jia hugged his face in her sleep, the way Kian’s hand disappeared under the bunched hem of Jia’s shirt, the fabric pulled taut around her ass.

Jia’s mouth was slightly open.

She looked, Mia thought, like a cat who’d stolen an entire fish and fallen asleep inside the evidence.

She just watched the scene in anticipation.

Kian pulled her closer in his sleep and she acquiesced, hugging him.

But her eyes never left Jia.

A few minutes later, Jia stirred. Her eyelids fluttered and she made a small noise—half yawn, half complaint—and her hips shifted backward into Kian’s palm before her brain caught up with her body.

Her eyes snapped open.

"Hmm," Kian said, his hand moving more possessively.

Shocked, Jia turned her head and found Mia staring at her over Kian’s shoulder, and the two sisters locked gazes in the watery grey light.

Jia’s face went through three expressions in under a second: confusion, then the slow-dawning horror of someone realizing they are done for, and then a furious crimson blush that started at her collarbones and climbed all the way to her hairline.

"Mia," she hissed. "When did he sneak in—"

"I don’t know," Mia whispered back. "Is his hand moving?"

"I don’t think so?"

It was.

Oh god it was.

And it was moving to the front.

"You don’t think so?"

"I just woke up."

Jia’s eyes dropped to where Kian’s arm vanished under her shirt, then snapped back to Mia’s face.

She did not, Mia noticed, actually move to remove the hand.

"How long have you been awake?" Jia asked.

"Long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

Mia’s lips twitched. "Long enough to see you drooling."

Jia’s hand shot to her mouth, smearing the wet trail across her cheek, and the movement jostled the mattress.

Kian’s arm tightened around Mia’s waist—a reflexive squeeze—and both sisters went rigid.

He didn’t wake. His breathing stayed even, deep and slow.

"He’s out cold," Mia breathed. "What did he do last night? He looks like someone drained him with a spoon."

Jia risked a glance at his face. "Was he always this handsome?"

"Yeah? He looks exhausted though."

The shadows under his eyes were deep enough to hold water, and his skin had the waxy pallor of someone who’d pushed past exhaustion into a place where exhaustion stopped being a feeling and became a physical weight.

"I think he broke through yesterday," Mia said, quieter now. "I felt it in the middle of the night. The Qi pulse woke me up for a second but I was too tired to move."

"What stage?"

"How would I know? I can’t sense Qi."

"Then how do you know he broke through?"

"Noises."

"I see."

"Want me to help take out his hand?"

"Yuck, I don’t want you touching so close to that place. That’s disgusting."

Mia had to agree that the thought was annoying. Still, she used the chance to tease her sister: "Aww, don’t say that, let this sister give you a hand."

Jia nodded. "That’s absolutely disgusting. When did you become a lesbian?"

"It is," Mia agreed, then, she slowly tried to unravel herself from Kian’s arms. "Anyway, I am going to wake up and drink some tea."

Jia hesitated. Then, said: "I am still sleepy."

Mia gave her a knowing look. But just as she tried to leave, he tightened his hug and pulled her back.

"Hahaha!" Jia laughed softly.

A long silence passed.

The light in the window screens brightened from grey to pale gold, and somewhere outside a bird made a sound like a rusty hinge.

Then Jia said, "We should probably get up before he wakes."

"Probably," Mia said.

Neither of them moved.

Kian’s hand, still tucked inside Jia’s panties, twitched once—an unconscious adjustment—and Jia made a noise like a squeezed mouse, her entire body going stiff.

"On second thought," she managed, "I can’t move until he moves his hand."

"You could just take it out."

"I’m not touching his hand while it’s in there."

"Why not?"

"Because that’s weird."

"Jia, his hand is literally in your—"

"Don’t say it!

"—panties."

"I said don’t say it."

Mia stifled a laugh with the back of her wrist, the sound coming out as a snort that made Jia’s blush darken two shades. "You’re blushing. You had sex with him yesterday and you’re blushing about this."

"Yesterday was different. Yesterday...I kind of expected it."

"Prepared."

"Mentally."

"Uh-huh."

"Shut up."

Kian’s breathing changed—a deeper inhale, the kind that precedes waking—and both sisters froze.

His fingers curled once, a lazy flex against warm skin, and Jia bit down on her lower lip hard enough to leave marks.

Mia watched her sister’s face go from crimson to something more complicated, something that had embarrassment and indignation and a third thing she didn’t want to name all wrestling for control of her expression.

Then Kian’s eyes opened.

He looked at the ceiling for a moment, unblinking, then down at Mia’s face still pressed to his chest, then over his shoulder at Jia’s horrified expression.

His hand was still in her panties.

He didn’t remove it.

"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep.

Jia stared at him. "Your hand."

"I’m aware."

"Move it."

"In a minute."

Jia’s jaw worked like she was trying to chew through a leather strap. "In a minute," she repeated, the words flat and incredulous. "He says ’in a minute.’ Fuck you mean a minute?"

"Sixty seconds, I think," Mia said, her voice still thick with sleep, but her eyes had become amused.

She didn’t pull away from Kian’s chest. Instead she propped herself up on one elbow, her unbound hair sliding off her shoulder, and looked down at the tableau with the clinical interest of a spectator at a particularly interesting duel.

"How’s the weather down there?"

"Warm," Kian said.

Jia made a strangled sound. "You are not helping."

"I wasn’t trying to," Mia said.

His thumb moved—a slow, idle circle—and Jia’s hips jerked against his palm before she could stop them, a betraying little buck that made the mattress creak.

Mia watched the whole thing happen and her lips parted slightly.

Kian turned his head on the pillow to face her. "You’re staring."

"You’re performing," Mia said. "What else do u expect?"

"Then get closer. Front-row seats."

Mia hesitated—a heartbeat, two—and then she did, shifting her weight until her hip pressed against his side and her chin rested on his shoulder, close enough that her breath stirred the fine hairs at his temple.

From this angle she could see everything: the way Jia’s thighs tensed under the bunched shirt, the slow flex of Kian’s forearm under the fabric, the wet gleam on his middle finger when it withdrew just far enough to catch the grey light before sliding home again.

Jia’s breath hitched audibly.

"Oh," Mia said, soft, like she’d just solved a difficult equation. "That’s what you meant."

"You were missing out."

Jia, whose face was now the exact shade of a boiled crab, managed to find her voice somewhere under the indignation. "Could you two stop talking about me like I’m a display case?"

"When you didn’t remove my hand," Kian said, and his index finger joined the thumb in a slow scissor-motion that made Jia’s complaint dissolve into a noise that was half hiss and half moan.

"Kian, do it to her as well!" Jia said through a huff.

He gave Mia a look.

She whispered in his ears: "Later."

He smiled.

Mia leaned closer to Jia, her eyelashes brushing his jaw, and reached across his chest to tuck a strand of Jia’s hair behind her ear with a tenderness that was completely at odds with the situation.

"You’re almost there Jia," she observed, not cruel, just factual. "It’s okay, just enjoy it."

Jia turned her face into the pillow and screamed—a muffled, cotton-stuffed sound that held no real distress—and Kian used the distraction to twist onto Jia’s side, pulling her with him in a tangle of limbs and sheets until he was in the perfect position to mastrubate her.

"Damn you," Jia said into his neck.

Mia watched from the side.

Kian’s thumb found a particular spot, the one he’d mapped the previous afternoon, and her whole body shuddered.

Mia felt the vibration through Kian’s frame and pressed closer, her breasts flattening against his back, her own breathing going uneven.

"Fine," Jia panted. "Fine. Kian, I want to watch you take her virginity right now or I cannot be satisfied!"

"What would you do in return?"

"Anything!"

Kian gave a kiss to the top of Jia’s head.

His fingers learned a new rhythm, a trick very deep inside her, and Jia could only cover her mouth and moan into it.

The sound she made into her palm was wet and desperate, a half-swallowed moan that buzzed against her fingers.

Kian watched her face—the way her eyebrows drew together as he touched her, not in pain but in clear pleasure.

Her hips rolled against his hand now, no longer passive, her thighs clamping around his wrist with a grip that would leave bruises.

He crooked his fingers inside her and pressed up, hard, and her back arched towards him.

"There," he said.

His thumb stayed where it was, circling that one spot with the kind of relentless patience that made her want to kill him and kiss him in equal measure.

Mia said, "Jia, you are so wet!"

"Damn you!"

Nghh!

Jia’s whole body seized—thighs, stomach, the muscles in her neck cording tight as she threw her head back—and the pillow swallowed most of the sound but not all of it.

He withdrew his hand slowly, licking it an unceremonious look, and Jia let out a laugh that was mostly exhale.

"Now your promise! I’ll spread her legs for you?"

Kian wiped his fingers on the sheet—Jia’s sheet, not his, which made her swat weakly at his shoulder—and looked across the tangle of blankets to where Mia sat.

"It’s a promise," he said. "What do you say?"

Mia’s throat moved as she swallowed. "I know. But, let’s ignore it?"

"Okay."

"What the hell, Kian? This is so unfair! I hate you!" Jia hit his chest again and again. "I am never sleeping with you again. Do it! What the hel--"

At the end of the day, Mia left the room with a smile as Jia once again found herself in a tangle of limbs.

She didn’t know when she started moaning and when he entered her again. But by the time she was finished, she was just kissing him in anger.

"It’s morning and I am so sleepy," she said.

"Me too. Let’s sleep for a while longer."

"Take your thing out first."

"Let it rest there, babygirl."

She bit his shoulder.

He patted her head. "Can I do it once more?"

"What the fuck is your stamina?!"

"Or say I love you and I’ll let it be."

"...Nevah!"

Kian chuckled. "Then, come on."