Chapter 36
He slipped in like a cat on soft paws, even though he didn't need to—we'd been sharing that room since the day he was born. But he had that look on his face like he was up to some big mischief, eyes half-closed, mouth twisted in a smile that wasn't anywhere near innocent. He stopped at the door, peeked down the dark hallway, listened to the low, steady snoring coming from Mom's room—that sound we knew by heart, a sign the meds had kicked in. Only then did he sneak inside, easing the door shut and turning the lock. The click was quiet, but it echoed in the silence like it was way too loud.
He came over to me, sat on the edge of the bed. He lifted the hem of the old t-shirt he wore as pajamas and pulled out a small tube from inside his boxer shorts. Handed it to me like it was a trophy.
"Here."
I took it, feeling the cold plastic in my palm. I looked at him, surprised.
"Jonathan, you've had this in your boxers this whole time?"
He laughed low, one of those rough laughs that come out through the nose.
"No, you dummy. Us smugglers have our techniques. I've got years of experience sneaking stuff into the house."
"So where was it then? Why didn't you just bring it in right away?"
"Well… you know that mailbox from the apartment where the old folks who lived there died? I hide it there. When things are clear around here, I go grab it."
That was my brother. Slick as hell. Always one step ahead, always with a plan B, C, and D. I laughed silently, shaking my head, but the laugh died quick in my throat when he changed his tone.
"So, how's it gonna go?" he asked, his voice suddenly heavy, looking straight into my eyes. Like he thought maybe I'd back out at the last second.
I looked at the tube, pretending to read the label carefully. "Intimate lubricant gel. Water-based. Paraben-free." Tiny letters I could barely focus on because my heart was pounding in my face. To me it was simple: just stick it in. The world—the videos, the conversations I'd overheard, Val's gossip—said there was technique, right position, prep, breathing, relaxing, a bunch of stuff I had no clue about. I didn't know any of that. Never needed to. It had always just been spread your legs and let it happen.
"I dunno… we'll figure it out," I replied, craning my neck to check the locked door. "She asleep?"
"If she ain't, she's damn close, you can hear the snores." He went quiet for a second, then added, kinda sly: "We can get started till she conks out for good."
I laughed again, but this time the laugh came with a hot snap right between my legs. It wasn't one of those slow burns, like when you see a cute guy walk by or remember something quick. It was like someone flipped a switch. A whole flood rushing out all at once. My pussy kicked into overdrive, soaking everything in a second, throbbing hard, the outer lips swelling against the thin nightgown, my clit pulsing like it had a mind of its own. My whole body shivered long, from the nape of my neck to my toes. The nightgown was already sticking to the damp skin between my thighs, the light fabric turning into a slippery second skin.
And one quick thing, I know you're thinking it's weird: I've never kissed my brother on the mouth. Never. And why? It wasn't because I thought it was wrong—sin, incest, all that moral crap. No. It was just that I didn't feel like it. Zero. He was my brother. His smell, his ways, his body turned me on like crazy when it came to straight-up sex, but a kiss on the mouth? Nada. It was like that part was blocked off. I'd thought about it plenty of times, alone in the room, and always came to the same conclusion: if the urge hits in the moment, I'll do it. This time, either it didn't hit, or the nerves didn't leave room to wait. The fire was already raging too high.
I darted to the door on tiptoes, checked the lock twice—key turned, solid click—and hurried back. I stopped in front of him, voice low but firm as I gave the order:
"Come on! Where is it? Get it out…"
My brother grinned crooked, one of those smiles that starts at the corner of his mouth and climbs up to his eyes. He shoved down his shorts and boxers in one go, tossed them on the floor, and settled back more comfortably on the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs spread. I pulled my hair into a simple ponytail, watching him strip bare. I stood there a second, admiring. I loved his cock when it was still soft. Thick, heavy, hanging between his thighs, soft skin, pink head half-hidden. I knew in a few seconds it'd grow in my hand, throb, leak that clear drop at the tip, smell like soap mixed with his scent—hot, masculine, familiar.
I knelt on the bed, nestled between his legs, hands braced on his firm thighs. I started slow, light kisses: first on the groin, warm soft skin, then on the balls, feeling the short hairs brush my lips. I moved up to the soft shaft, kissing slow from the base to the head, tongue just darting out to taste the salty flavor that was already starting to show. He let out a low sigh, hand in my hair, not pulling, just holding the ponytail like he was saying "take your time."
I paused just to look up at him, eyes heavy, and asked:
"Brother… don't cum yet, okay? Save it to cum in my ass?"
He laughed low, rough, his cock twitching in my hand just from hearing that.
"You think I'd say no, you freak?"
I'd had that on my mind all day. I loved feeling cum inside me—the guy shaking, collapsing, his cock pulsing hard as it shot hot, wiping out all sensation at once. Then, as it slowed, it'd leak out, leaving a thick, sticky river running down my thighs, dripping on the sheets. It was delicious. The heat, the smell, the feeling of being marked deep inside. I loved it. And now I wanted it in my ass. Wanted to feel the jet there, deep, filling me up, leaking slow when he pulled out.