***

"Amelia, Darling!" Samantha called out sweetly. "Dinner's ready!"

Amelia groaned inwardly, her heart sinking at the prospect of enduring yet another obligatory holiday gathering.

She knew her mother meant well, but her own feelings associated with Christmas simply couldn't be erased. She just wasn’t a fan. She tried to muster a happy face for their sake as she made her way towards the dining room table. As the lingering scent of roasted turkey and mulled wine filled the air, Amelia found herself reluctantly drawn back into the embrace of her family's holiday festivities.

***

After finishing their meal the soft sounds of clinking plates and utensils lured her into the kitchen. "Alright, alright," she sighed, surveying the remnants of their feast. "Let me help you clean up." Oliver nodded enthusiastically, his green eyes twinkling brighter than ever. "Sure, Sis!" he replied. With a mischievous grin, he reached for the nearest plate, wiping it clean with a dishcloth.

"Well, since we're both here," he continued, glancing sideways at Amelia, "why don't we have a little friendly competition, huh? Let's see who’s the fastest doing those dishes! Loser has to do—"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Amelia had already jumped in, eager to prove just how quick she could be. The dishes were flying through the sink at record speed, soap bubbles swirling around them like a frenzied dance. Each time Amelia would glance triumphantly at her stepbrother, his smile grew wider.

As the contents of the last dish disappeared into the garbage bin, the kitchen gleamed spotlessly. A hushed silence fell upon the room.

"Ah, man!" Oliver groaned theatrically, throwing his arms up in mock defeat.

Stepping closer to Amelia, he conceded, "Let's switch things up a bit! This calls for a good game of truth or dare! Just you and me! For old times sake?" His eyes sparkled wickedly as he leaned towards her, whispering seductively, "Loser has to wear nothing but a Santa hat for the rest of the night!"

Amelia paused, her heart pounding against her chest like a caged bird. She cast a fleeting glance at Oliver, then quickly looked away, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. A smirk played on her plum lips as she felt her own excitement bubble up. The thought of wearing nothing but a Santa hat for the remainder of the evening was both scandalous and thrilling. And it was very much like Oliver.

With a wry smile, Amelia agreed. "Fine!" Crossing her arms defiantly, she said, "But you better watch yourself, Olie boy. You might find yourself caught in the same situation."

Oliver chuckled, his eyes locked onto hers. "Alright, Amelia," he teased, taking a step closer. "Game on!"

As they stood there, facing each other across the gleaming kitchen, neither sibling could deny the charged atmosphere that seemed to crackle between them. Their bodies swayed slightly, mirroring the nervous energy humming beneath their skin. The Santa hat sat perched on the countertop, looking innocently inviting yet dangerously enticing.

"Okay, so, um," Amelia stammered, her voice breaking slightly. "How do we start?" Amelia asked, shifting nervously.

"Truth or dare?"

For a brief moment, Oliver hesitated, his green eyes meeting Amelia's gaze dead-on. His lips formed a thin line, his mind buzzing with a whirlwind of emotions.

"Truth," he answered decisively, his voice firm yet strained.

Amelia took a deep breath, casting a sideways glance at her step-brother.

"If you insist..." Amelia searched frantically for a question to ask. "Ok, tell me…what is your best Christmas memory?"

Oliver squinted skeptically. "Sounds kinda lame," he scoffed, though his tone belied the intrigue that gnawed at his insides. "But okay, fine. Let's do this."

"Ok, ok. You are right. Let's spice things up then. Give me your most erotic Christmas memory. And I want all the details!" Amelia declared, her voice laced with excitement.

Oliver tilted his head, studying Amelia carefully. "Alright," he sighed, relenting. Amelia smirked, tossing a towel carelessly onto the counter. "Come on, spill. It’s easy. Tell me your dirtiest Christmas secret?"

"Uh, let's see." He pretended to think, tapping his chin lightly. "There was this one time when I—"

"Wait, wait," Amelia interrupted, shaking her head vigorously.

"No no no. Not that. No, I mean the one just when you got back from Europe where I got lucky under the mistletoe." Oliver's face reddened slightly, his green eyes darting nervously. "Oh," she gasped, her words barely audible. "That... That night." She knew damn well which encounter he was hinting at, yet she was surprised that he would bring it up.

Oliver nodded slowly, his flush deepening.

"Yeah, that night." He paused, biting his lip. "It was freezing cold, but we found ourselves heating up under the mistletoe."

Amelia swallowed thickly, trying to seem unfazed. "And, uh, what happened exactly?"

"It was intense," he whispered hoarsely, lost deep in memory. "His kisses tasted so special yet so forbidden. Every touch sent shivers down my spine."

"He was gentle, yet commanding, making me feel safe and excited at the same time."

Her own memory of that evening washed over her. Amelia shuddered, her senses overwhelmed by the vivid images conjured by Oliver's words. "Tell me more," she almost begged.

Oliver took a deep breath, his green eyes full of emotions. "We started slowly, savoring every touch," he recounted with a whisper.

"His hands moved skillfully, exploring my body through my clothes. The longer we stood there the more I felt the electricity between us grow stronger.

"Go on," she rasped urgently.

Oliver nodded, his green eyes gleaming. "I remember, I could feel his heart beating wildly against mine as he pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me," his voice trembling slightly. "Every nerve ending was on alert," Oliver recalled, with nostalgia dripping from every word. Amelia listened, her heart pounding in sync with Oliver's words. Words that painted a vivid picture in her mind, bringing back old memories and the same feelings she felt that night, watching them. She swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly dry. Her pussy was drenched by now.

"Then, he kissed me," Oliver whispered, his voice trembling. "A slow, sensual kiss that melted my resolve." Oliver's confession hung heavily in the air, the memory of watching that passionate encounter echoing in Amelia's mind. She remembered her mind and body reacting heavily to the erotic action happening in front of her. Her arousal was woven with this memory ever since.

"Wow," she murmured scarcely louder than a whisper. "I didn't expect that from you, Olie." Oliver flushed crimson, his gaze nervously darting back and forth between Amelia and the countertop.

"Sorry," he muttered sheepishly. "I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, it's all good," Amelia reassured him, offering a lopsided grin. "I guess it is my turn now?!" she asked quietly.

The air between them crackled with an electric charge, amplified by the dim light filtering through the frosted windows. Amelia noticed that Oliver's usually jovial demeanor had been replaced by a look of vulnerability, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

"Look, Amelia," he began, his voice cracking slightly. "I didn't mean to bring up something so personal. We can play another round, if you prefer."

Amelia shook her head, her grip tightening on the dish rag in her hands.

"No, no," she insisted softly. "I've heard enough of your dirty secrets. Now it's my turn."

Oliver's green eyes widened for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Are you sure?" he asked cautiously, his voice trembling slightly. "Because, you know, I can tell you another story if you'd rather—"

"Don't worry, you'll want to hear this one," Amelia assured him. "But before I share, you gotta promise not to flip out."

Oliver nodded eagerly, his eyes brimming with expectation. "Deal. Now, let’s hear it!"

Amelia took a deep breath, steeling herself for the revelation. "Mine took place the same night as yours...actually exactly at the very same time." Amelia said, her voice low and steady. "I…I watched you!"

"You did what?" Oliver spat, almost aggressively.

"I...I...", she took a cleansing breath. "I watched you being kissed under the mistletoe", she answered confidently now, never looking away from his piercing glare.

"I saw you being touched and caressed. I saw you kissing passionately. I heard you moan loud and clear. It was impossible not to notice. You were fucking hot and I was wet watching you. And the idea of seeing you get turned on was enough to turn me on too. Especially watching two men make out...such a turn on." Her words came thick and fast as she nervously played with the hem of her shirt.

Amelia noticed Oliver’s blush, his face turning a bright red. Her truth may be bold, but it needed to be told. “I saw you that night. I wanted you then. I imagined being there instead of him." She spoke softly, letting out a small sigh. Her confession caught Oliver completely off guard. "Watching your reactions, hearing your moans, and knowing how badly you wanted him...it drove me crazy." Oliver gaped at his sister, stunned beyond belief. Every ounce of his optimism and enthusiasm drained away, replaced by a torrent of confusion and disbelief.

"I...uh..." Oliver stuttered, searching desperately for the right words. "I can't believe it..."

Amelia took a deep breath, sensing the gravity of her confession beginning to take hold. "Olie, please understand," she implored, her voice filled with remorse. "I didn't plan anything, but seeing you like that... I couldn't help but feel incredibly aroused. Maybe it was wrong, but I couldn't stop thinking about it either. I couldn't resist imagining myself in his position, enjoying the same pleasures he felt that night."

Oliver's jaw dropped, his green eyes wide with shock. "Amelia," he croaked, finding his voice. "Are you telling me that—"

"Yes," Amelia cut him off, determined. "I confess: I've fantasized about you countless times since then."

Oliver recoiled, his face contorting into a mask of utter shock. But there was something else. Arousal, maybe proudness...or both? Or maybe even arousal because of that feeling? Oliver's eyes were glowing like neon signs, reflecting the intensity of Amelia's admission. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly as he looked down at the floor.

"O-Oliver?" Amelia ventured, her voice strained yet hopeful. "Can you look at me?"

As Oliver lifted his gaze, Amelia saw the storm brewing behind his emerald eyes.

The air between them was thick with tension. Time seemed to freeze, the only sound in the room being their labored breathing.

"I...I can't believe this," Oliver stammered, barely audible. "I never expected—"

"Neither did I," Amelia interjected, her voice quivering slightly. "It just happened."

Oliver shook his head, seemingly unable to process the information. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?" he demanded sharply.

"For how long did you spy on us that night?" Oliver stepped closer, his eyes boring into Amelia's soul.

Amelia couldn't process the sudden proximity. Her whole body shivered. Amelia blinked rapidly, her eyes welling up with tears. "I can't...I don't....," she whimpered.

"I...I just..."

"Just what?" Oliver snapped, his voice laced with anger and something else...desire maybe. "Just couldn't control your lust? Couldn't stay away from me?"

Amelia shook her head, her eyes pleading for understanding. "Please, Oliver," she implored, her words barely audible. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

Oliver regarded her coolly, his green eyes icy with contempt. "Harder?" he sneered, sarcastically.

"Did you enjoy the show?"

Amelia winced, a tear trickling down her cheek. "Please, Oliver," she begged, her voice trembling. "Give me a chance to explain."

Oliver folded his arms across his powerful chest, his eyes flashing with rage. "Oh, I am all ears!" he growled, his words cutting like a knife. "Since we are confessing here, I want every juicy detail!"

Amelia felt her cheeks redden, desire and embarrassment cursing through her. She looked down, her tears staining her shirt.

With a boring gaze and eyes shimmering with anger and lust, he asked, "Tell me, Amelia, do you still fantasize about me?" He asked in a low and dangerous tone.

Amelia swallowed, her throat constricting painfully. "Y-yes," she managed to choke out. "I do." Oliver stepped closer, his muscled chest brushing against Amelia's bare arm. Her nipples hardened instantly, aching for attention.

By now her panties were soaked and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest as if it was trying to break free. Amelia was achingly aware of his strong arms and broad shoulders.

"Do you want me, Amelia?" Oliver asked softer now, his voice filled with desire. "Do you crave my touch, just like you craved it that night?"

Amelia swallowed hard, her tongue darting out to moisten her parted lips.

"Yes," she managed to gasp. "Yes, I want you to touch me, Oliver."

Oliver's green eyes seemed to darken further as his presence radiated an undeniable intensity. "And what would happen if I were to touch you, Amelia?" he murmured seductively, his voice lowering to a husky whisper.

Amelia sucked in a sharp breath, her pulse throbbing erratically in her veins. "Would I find you all wet for me? Just as wet as you were that night? Did you touch yourself back then? In the hallway? You dirty girl?" she gasped at his insulting yet so exciting questions.

Intuitively he moved closer into her, leaving her no room to back away. She was caged in by his hard body, his strong arms sealing the deal on each side of her face. By now she felt his hardness against her lower belly too. That story didn't leave him untouched either.

"Answer me!" he demanded.

Still quivering under his intense stare, she tried to wiggle away. Those tiny movements had a totally different outcome whatsoever. Both of them suddenly became aware of their situation. The forbidden fruit, step-siblings fantasizing about each other, being seconds away from touching each other. But neither of them could turn away now.

The tension in the air grew headier with every passing second, their bodies practically humming with pent-up desire.

Amelia shivered beneath Oliver's imposing presence, her eyes darting nervously between his hardened form and the door leading outside.

"If...if you touch me," she whispered, barely audible, "then...then you might find me all wet, yes."

Oliver's eyes reached the shade of pitch black by now, his gaze penetrating Amelia's soul.

"Ok, Olie...Ahm...that was great fun! I don’t want to play anymore. We both heard our memories. Nobody wins!" Amelia whispered and tried to leave her cage.

But Oliver gripped her suddenly around her waist, preventing her escape. His erection pressed harder against her stomach, and she could feel his member pulsating. Her eyes widened in shock while her legs wobbled, her knees buckling underneath her.

Oliver's gaze burned with hunger, his eyes locked onto Amelia's flushed face. "So..if nobody wins...we are both losers...by the rules, we both have to shed our clothes except for that fucking hat, am I right?" he growled.

"I'll be the gentleman here...I'll start." With that he started to take off his sweater right before his vest followed. Even though she knew it was wrong, Amelia's hormones were raging, her heart drumming ferociously within her chest while she was ogling her stepbrother.

"So," Oliver purred, his voice rich and smooth, "what about you, remember the stakes?"

She knew what she had signed up for. After all, debts of honor were debts of honor. Plus, the prospect of losing her inhibitions and giving in to her deepest desires was extremely arousing.

"Strip, Amelia," Oliver commanded. "Let's see what you're hiding."

Amelia hesitated, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her gaze fixed on Oliver's unwavering eyes, she brushed the straps of her tank top aside with trembling hands, revealing her firm, taut breasts covered by a black lace bra. Oliver's eyes widened, his pupils dilating. Amelia's nipples ached, begging for release.

"Nice," Oliver commented, "Keep going."

Amelia complied, her hands shaking as she unbuttoned her jeans. She let them slide over her hips and was left standing there in only her black lace panties. Oliver followed her every movement with intense excitement.

"Very nice," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Now, remove your bra."

Amelia hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached behind her back, fumbling with the clasp. But she stopped midway.

"Aw now, Oliver, I believe it is your turn next. I want to see what is beneath those pants!" Amelia purred. "Show me what you've got."

"You want to see what's hiding underneath?" he teased. "Fine, why not give you a peek?” Oliver agreed cheekily. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging them down until they pooled around his ankles.

Amelia's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Oliver stood before her, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers adorned with a festive mistletoe pattern. The sight of his stiff penis pressing against the thin fabric made Amelia's heart beat faster.

"Like what you see?" Oliver taunted, his voice low and sultry.

***

Just the crack of the kitchen door opening broke their spell. Sam was standing in the door, carrying more dishes to wash.

"Oh hey, you two. What’s going on? Looks like…uh…fun!" she said cheerfully.

"Ah, hey Mom. Olie and I were just about to go into the hot tub."

"Oh, what a gorgeous idea. Have fun!" with that she was eyeing Oliver's package more closely while raising an eyebrow. Slowly, almost hesitantly she left the kitchen again.

***

"Ok, where were we," urged Oliver. "You promised to play fair."

Amelia hesitated, torn between her lingering guilt and the intoxicating thrill of temptation. "Fine," she grumbled reluctantly, her voice cracking like a whip. In one swift motion, Amelia stripped off her panties, leaving her naked save for her bra.

She peered secretly at Olie's manhood, while she had to wet her suddenly dry lips with her tongue. "My turn to enjoy the holiday," she whispered. Before he could even form a coherent thought, Amelia knelt in front of him, her face at eye level with his very rigid member.

"Hm, I always despised this tradition of kissing under the mistletoe. Although, I never thought of it to be like this...I mean your boxer shorts are basically printed all over with mistletoes. Where to start...?" Amelia grinned up at him, like a good girl would.

She enjoyed having him at her mercy for a change. With slender fingers, she traced the contours of his muscular legs, starting with his calves and moving up his thighs, closer and closer...