Sister in Heat Ch. 04

"Of course."

I scooted forward on the cushions, my thighs hugging her hips, and reached for her as she held her hair in place. My fingers dug into her supple skin. I marveled at how soft and smooth she felt, how every touch called forth memories and how the scent of her still stirred in me a longing to explore her. Time passed in thoughtless caresses until I stopped trying to massage her from under her shirt and told her to just take it off.

Then my fingers were sliding under her bra, kneading into the knots, and soon that too was on the floor. I continued to massage her, but now nothing stopped me from running my fingers around her ribs to scoop up her generous breasts. Morbidly, I thought to myself what a perfect woman you could make if you Frankensteined Monica's top and Stephanie's bottom together, but the thought passed as quickly as it came. The two had wildly different body types, both were painfully beautiful, and I realized (also painfully) that I was inexorably being drawn into both of them.

By this time Monica was leaning against my chest and sighing softly against my cheek, my hands warming her as I gently played with her breasts. "Want you," she whispered to me.

We could have gone to my room; we should have. But instead she quickly rose and slid her pants down. I pulled mine off while still sitting on the couch, and then she was in my lap facing me, her buttocks coming to rest on my thighs, our arms encircling each other as she lowered herself onto my ready cock. She was wet and smooth and we breathed into each other's mouths as we joined again. It was a slow, tender fuck, the two of us gazing at each other in the half-light of the television, planting small kisses on one another's lips as we comforted each other there in the den.

I reached down and rolled her softness up and down my shaft. She flexed her thighs against my ribs. She pushed her breasts into me and I kissed the tops of them, running my fingers through her curly hair. Her pink nipples stiffened as my tongue skated across them and she cooed to me, not to leave her, to stay, to stay.

She rested her lips on my neck and her head on my shoulder, then held me tight as I slowly built my way towards climax. I don't know if she came then. I do know that wasn't what this was about. This was about being part of each other, of sharing each other's flesh, of feeling each other's lives in the pulsations of our sex. Every squirt of semen that entered her body assured her that I was alive and I was here, and her embrace tightened with each ejaculation. In her arms, around my shaft. We held each other for a long time, just like that, joined together.

When at last we parted I saw that she was crying silent tears. I kissed them away, helped her get her clothes on, then carried her upstairs.

* * *

I didn't stay the night. I wasn't tired, and I didn't want to see my mother or my sister in the morning. I would have liked to return to the hospital and speak to my father, but that wasn't going to happen at three in the morning. So I drove my car back to my apartment.

I was surprised when I got the text from Stephanie ("U up?") and parked the car on the side of the road to answer back. Less than an hour later we were sitting up in an all-night cafe, she bundled in a posh but warm looking jacket, me wearing the same thing I'd had on when I got the call earlier that day.

"I'm sorry," she said again. Stephanie's parents were divorced and her relations with both were strained. Parents, and family in general, were not her favorite topic of conversation, but she wasn't a monster. She reached out and touched my cheek, and kissed me quickly just below my ear.

She sat back in her seat with a searching grin. "You've been with someone else tonight, haven't you?"

I was way past lying to her, not that morning, not at that hour. "Yeah," I said.

"Why did you pick me up?"

"I wanted to see you," I said. It was the truth. "I didn't want to sleep, or be alone." More truth. "And I'm confused." The most truth.

She licked her lips. "Do you want to take me back to your place?"

"Do you still want me to?"

Her expression was inscrutable. "I don't know," she said. She put her fingers to her lips, idly chewed on a nail. "I was up working, and I don't want to go back to working. Nor do I want to sleep." She sighed, and shrugged. "And I don't think I want to call up someone else. I think I want to go home with you."

For some reason I can't explain, the way she said it, just then, almost brought me to tears. It was so simple and so damn friendly.

She saw that, and sighed again. Stephanie could be very tender at very strange times. It was the hour, I think. The hurt and the need and the strangeness of it all. "Johnny," she said, "I think I'm getting to a place where I can't call you a fuck buddy anymore. But I also don't think I'm quite to a place where you being with someone else bothers me. But..."

"But before we go any further than that, maybe we should just go back to my place," I finished.

"You think you're up for it?"

"I'm always up for you."

It sounds like a line. It was a line. But it was also true. She knew that. She could see that. And, when she reached under the table, she felt that.

"Do I know her?" she said.

"I don't think you'll ever meet her."

"Let's stop talking about that," she decided. "I'm here for a booty call, after all. So come on." She stood up and gave me her hand. "This frigid bitch wants you inside her."

I took it and grinned. "Steph, I think I love you."

"That's so sad for you," she said, pulling me out of the cafe.

She made me shower before I fucked her, but before the shower was through she was in there with me, on her knees, sucking my cock. We fucked until the sun came up, and that morning was the first time we actually slept together.

I woke up, briefly, with her hand draped across my neck and her head on the other side of my pillow. I looked at her, at the bedside clock, at the morning light on the far wall, and wondered where all of us would go from here. And then, with one soft, smooth sigh, I decided to stop worrying, to let the world roll on, and to sleep.

* * *

Several days later I came to the house to talk to my father. He was alone - mom was at work, Moni was at college - and we had one of those good, gruff, manly conversations that mostly consist of grunts and, "It'll be alrights" and "Fuckin' hospital bills" and "Wish I could have a beer right nows."

At some point, I told him I was being torn between two women. First thing he asked was if it was fucking up my grades. "No they're doing pretty good," I assured him.

"Good," he said. "Which one's prettier?"

We both laughed, and it was good to hear him laugh like that. Then he said, "I'm supposed to say, don't be selfish and be respectful and all that, but hell, you think I ever got a chance like that? Thank God your mother ain't too bright, otherwise she wouldn't be with a dunce like me. But you, you find two dumb broads to take advantage of. I dunno if my heart could take that excitement." He grinned and scratched his stubble. "I dunno know what the hell you're supposed to do, kid. One of 'em's bound to get smart and dump your ass sooner or later. Till then, work hard, play hard."

He scratched his chest, right over the place where his heart was beating. "Maybe I'd've said something different last week. Now... It's a short life, kid. Sometimes it gets pretty weird. Sometimes it gets pretty nice. I got a sneakin' suspicion you're mixing your weird in your nice, but you know what?" He shrugged.

Then he leaned over. "Either one the kind of girl you'd bring home to your ma?"

I thought about that for a moment or two. "Uh, well..."

My father leaned back laughing. "Didn't think so." He thumped me on the shoulder. "You stay classy, Johnny."

In retrospect, it wasn't the most helpful conversation. But it did make me feel better, somehow.

After my father died, I would sometimes comfort myself with the thought that, while he wouldn't necessarily approve of the choices I made, he might have at least understood them.

Maybe.