GELLER'S POV
I couldn't understand why I was so worked up over that kiss. I’ve kissed my fair share of women—confident, experienced women who knew exactly what they were doing. But Emory... Emory was different.
She was hesitant, uncertain, like a delicate flower unfolding, testing the world for the first time. And as our lips met, I realized she hadn’t been kissed before. She was vulnerable—too vulnerable, perhaps—and that made the moment both beautiful and dangerous.
Maybe that was it. The rawness of the experience. Knowing that I was her first. Or maybe it was the forbidden thrill of it all—my stepsister. That one simple fact alone made everything about that kiss so much more intoxicating.
But there was something else gnawing at me, like a whisper at the back of my mind. Had I cross
