Bad Blood: Taboo Sibling Bundle - Hot-Blooded, All-In-The-Family Erotica

Trouble in the Tent: A Taboo Brother Stealthy-Erotic Romance

This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events are imaginary, and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters are over the age of 18.

Why the hell is it so cold in spring? Especially on these damn mountains. Maybe the weather just hates me, because I already felt like an outcast on this trip—and now Mother Nature herself is broadening my horizons in the “masochism” department. She’s trying to freeze me out, too.

Freaking fantastic.

I stick like a popsicle to the sides of my dinky tent, rolling one way then the other, never content for more than a few seconds because the ground is as bumpy as my relationship with this family.

And, most importantly, because my blanket only covers eighty percent of my body at a time. There’s always a section of Trevor open to the raw night air, which has complete disregard for warm-blooded mammals.

Lips pressed together to stop my teeth chattering, I glance at my family in the distance, scattered around a super lush camp site.

There are other eclectic family units staying here, but mine takes the cake—and eats it, too.

My dad Bob is already snoring to my left inside an upgraded tent/swanky air fortress, alongside my mother, Deb.

Until he’s asleep, he alternates between asking me if I “remembered to hang up my wet clothes” and kissing my mother’s neck.

My own sweet mama congratulates me on remembering all my equipment (not that she can’t tell I’m freezing) and crows about me being “independent.”

Yes. So independent I’m going to lose a pinky toe by morning if I don’t get creative.

And yes. I forgot my sleeping bag at home like a moron.

In my defense, I was playing Call of Duty until the last possible minute. I overslept, my mother lurking over my shoulder with the pink duffel bag she’d bought for this trip—filled with toiletries, socks, snacks.

Everything a normal mother would include.

I was like a teenage girl being sent off to band camp for the first time and Buddy, my pet python, was coming along for the ride, too.

Of course, I left my freaking sleeping bag at home. Of all things.

Could have been my phone. Or deodorant (by the way, still have that and it’s marked down as a victory). Instead, I left the very item I needed to survive the outside world. The one thing I need to avoid dying.

Ten out of ten for effort, Trevor.

I’d like to say the cold is making me melodramatic, but I was born with the ability to exaggerate for dramatic and comedic effect.

My sister, Elena, is no stranger to my “I’m so uncomfortable” soliloquies. Lucky girl.

Elena rolls over in her tent like I’m the world’s most infuriating alarm clock, her eyes slits in the moonlight. She’s got her pillow on top of her head, but her visual daggers trigger me.

The fact that she thinks she’s a badass for serving me up dagger eyes only makes her more badass.

I can’t tell if she can even see me from her position, but she takes a glamorous hot girl exhale and takes off the pillow, anyway. Just in case I don’t get the message.

“Are you going to move all night?” she hisses under her breath, looking at the ceiling of her upgraded tent.

I’m so cold, it takes me a couple seconds to formulate a classic Trevor response. “Telling me to stop moving would be like telling me to…umm…I don’t know, stop breathing.”

She snorts so loud, I take solace in the fact that it’s got to be a little chilly in her tent. Even if she’s cozy in one of those futuristic sleeping bags. Self-satisfaction has no place in my current predicament. I’m still freezing my ass off.

I can make out the contours of Elena’s face, which is just plain unfair.

Out of all the “hot” (by my mother’s definition) sisters I could have inherited, I get Top Tier Hot. Hugely convenient, right?

I did a double take last night, good as naked in her booty shorts, clip-on shades on top of her head, carrying our father’s Yeti cooler while Dad was home working overtime.

Her dry wit could be weaponized—and apparently, the main objective of this trip is for us to become “best buds,” so she can share her success-driven philosophies with a real-world “underachiever” like myself.

I roll my eyes—which Elena can’t see, due to her blindfold/pillow situation.

“Maybe you should remember to pack your sleeping bag next time,” she whispers in a set-to-kill tone.

“I brought everything you need for a trip. You can check my packing list, which I stuffed in my phone case.”

“What was the first item?” Elena mumbles back.

There’s always a pillow-fort between us, so I gesture toward her with both hands, Will Ferrell style.

“Sleeping bag, yes.”

“Come on, you can do it.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Don’t keep up with our parents.”

“Low blow.”

“Go to sleep.” “Can’t…too cold.”

Her pillow compresses around her head, but I’m not laying off my older sibling for a second. I adjust my cold ass in the tent.

The movements seem to offend her deeply, because Elena’s patience dwindles. “Can’t you play dead or something so I can sleep?”

“I’m so cold, I’m not scoring any points for myself right now.”

Elena snorts into the pillow, which I’m interpreting as giggles. “I’m not surprised, Trev. Maybe you should try breathing through your nose.”

“How can I be expected to breathe through my nose when I could be painting myself as a tragic victim?”

“I don’t know. Yoga, probably.”

“Sounds like my spine hurts.”

A lull. I think Elena is rolling over to ignore me—or she’s thinking of ways to manifest my downfall.

I’m enjoying myself ripping my sister a new one (she started it). But I take pity on her and roll over on my side so I don’t lose feeling in my small intestine. That’s when I realize she can’t stop shivering, either.

Eyes closed, bug out of me. I don’t need to prove to anyone that I’m not the smart one in the family.

I try in vain to get into a comfortable, “No part of me is going to die or need to be replaced” position in my blanket and reach an epiphany.

If I want to avoid freezing and/or becoming part of an angry snowman situation, I’m going to need to do something I’ve never done before.

Give up.

I’m sifting through my options when Elena removes the pillow from her face. “Okay, you’re going to have to get in here with me.”

That’s right. I have to get inside my sister’s sleeping bag. Don’t get me wrong, being buried with Elena is definitely on my bucket list, but I wasn’t expecting it to be cocoon-style with five layers of material between us. Or within earshot of our parents.

It takes me a second to respond, mostly because my balls have retracted somewhere near my spleen. “What was that?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” she grinds out, zipping her bag open and squirming to the side. “You can get in here. You’re driving me crazy. I can’t listen to you whine.”

“I mean…if you want to get all cozy with me so bad, you only had to say so,” I tease, unwrapping myself and rolling in her direction, bringing my pillow.

“You’re going to freeze to death if you don’t,” she says, her sister glare pinning me down. “There’s plenty of room to breathe in my tent. I don’t need the news dissecting your Decomposing Trevor.”

I slide my cold ass into Elena’s tent, my breath shaking. There’s an engineering marvel of a sleeping bag laid out, inviting me inside. She’s on her side, glaring at the stars pricking through her tent’s mesh screen.

Drunken sunshine leaks around the zipper and I’m reminded how much I love the cold for making Elena prone to acts of kindness. Since being siblings is this volatile thing, we haven’t had a chance to do sibling stuff in awhile. I don’t remember having a pillow-fight or eating the coveted fourth pancake Sunday.

On the bright side, we get to do lots of arts and crafts. Like sharing body heat in the middle of the glamping woods.

“Get in,” she snaps.

I’d be a liar if I didn’t say it deserves a romantic song when I climb in. Hell, I’m going to write a song for this moment.

Maybe entitle it, “Get in Me, Trevor Dean.”

Elena’s long legs are partially covered with what looks like a tangle of cargo shorts. She’s wearing a blush pink tank top and nude panties under the cone of warmth. Her hair is a mess and she huffs a breath when I get in, but I see her affectionate glance.

I’ll take it.

I haven’t pulled out my cable-knit blanket and yoga pants, but Elena stops me with a snide head shake.

“You’re not getting in here in your grunge clothes. Put on your damn pajamas.”

“I only have boxers and a Nirvana t-shirt.”

“Good. We don’t need to be wrapped in filth.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You can thank me with legendary status in the morning.”

“Elena, you’re my hero.”

She snickers. “Don’t mention it.”

I dig through my duffel bag, which is now situated in the corner of the tent. Forgetting a sleeping bag has turned me into Amnesia McForgetful.

I quickly slip into shorts and my t-shirt and jump back into the sleeping bag. There’s enough room that we’re not completely on top of each other, but I can feel the heat coming off Elena’s luscious thighs, making my jokes even worse.

Damn, I’m sleeping with a badass.

With her long, honey-blonde hair,, everything about her screams “don’t mess with me.” Elena is strong and she’s taking care of me, her bum brother. I must find a way to express my gratitude. I’ll thank her…with hero worship.

We attempt to sleep back to back, but with our bodies nearly on top of each other, we’re trapped as hell. I can’t get my upper arm to stop pulsing, so I eventually flip over on my other side. Elena wakes up.

Gently, she reaches for me, pulling me into a spooning position. My arm lands on her taut stomach. I’m the big spoon.

Bright side? I’m surrounded by her va-va-voom booty. Downside? Enough heat radiates from her derriere to make me a boiled egg.

Trevor, don’t succumb to horniness.

I’m so close to my sister and our parents are sleeping on the other side of the tent.

Her smart ass and her slit-watching hips are pinned against me.

It’s j