by Parker Ford
“I need a shower,” Jordan said, stretching. The plane ride home and then the taxi ride from the airport and then all that had followed left her feeling ready to stand under a hot spray for a good twenty minutes…or twenty hours.
“You go do that and I’ll call and order us…?” Gareth pointed at her.
“We can cook,” Jordan balked.
“Listen, little sister, I know you can cook. I know you run a steak house, yada-yada-yada. But I was tied up to a bed and left by a nasty, albeit sexy, lunatic and you just flew all the way back here from sunnysideupCalifornia. So, pick—pizza, wings or Chinese.”
Her stomach roared and Jordan sighed. “Chinese from Lee’s?”
“Done and done. Let me guess. Shrimp Lo Mein and eggrolls.”
“And shrimp toast and egg drop soup,” Jordan said and turned toward the bathroom. She’d dropped her bag in the office that had been cleared of their dad’s medical equipment but still had a very nice and surprisingly comfortable pull-out leather sofa.
“Wow, you are hungry.”
“And dirty. I’ll be back.”
“Nothing wrong with dirty,” he called and then she heard him dialing the phone.
Sure. Nothing was wrong with dirty as long as it was appropriate.
Jordan shut her eyes and doused her head under the hot spray. Heaven. A steamy shower with a really good showerhead was perfect. Her showerhead back home was low-flow and weak and for weeks after moving in she’d felt like a drowned rat when she tried to wash her long, straight hair.
Now used to the weak spray, her brother’s shower was like being shot with a fire hose. Jordan snorted and used his plain old generic non scented shampoo on her hair. When she shut her eyes again to dip under and rinse, the vision—crystal clear and unbidden—of her brother hard, naked and being ridden bloomed behind her closed lids.
“Jeesh,” she sighed.
The sight of him bound that way, muscles taut, lean face tense and angry. How he’s roared at that woman and tested his bonds. How he’d looked helpless with is hard cock jutting up waiting to be enveloped by someone’s heat and wetness…
“Fuck,” Jordan said. She reached for the shower head and switched it to the jet. The low jet. The higher setting would be too much, but judging by the damp pulse in her pussy and the flickering throb in her clitoris, the low jet would be perfect.
“Just get it over with so you can think,” she told herself.
She saw the wall sconces and the low light and the vague outline of the sink and the mirror though the pale shower curtain. It was nearly opaque but not quite and when she really focused, she could see the foggy-ghost of her image in the clouded mirror.
Jordan put one leg up on the lip of the tub and set the heated pounding water to her clit. She hissed instantly as an aggressive flex of the orgasm to come surged through her pelvis. This would not take long at all. Especially when she allowed herself—simply because it was a fantasy and nothing more—to imagine it was her straddling Gareth. That it was her body his long dick was nudging. That her soft folds were the ones penetrated by that rigid length.
One step closer to coming. She felt it, that heady nearly-violent tightness in her cunt. She swirled the water jet around so that it wasn’t pounding her clit, but teasing it. Her head dipped back to rest against the wet tile and her breath came in wispy rushed spurts.
He would grip her hips, in her fantasy. He wouldn’t be bound. He would grip her hips in his big work-strong hands and he would pull her down onto his cock even as he thrust up hard beneath her.
He’d whisper to her and tell her what to do. But he wouldn’t roar at her and yell at her because she’d do what he said. She would do what he said–whatever he said—and she would be a good girl. When he’d tell her to roll her hips and rock from side to side as he drove into her from underneath—she would. When he told her to pinch her nipples while he delivered one smart blow to her ass cheek as she rode him—she would.
“Jesus,” she breathed, coming in a hot blissful rush of spasms. The warm water licking her between her legs. The forbidden image of all that she’d fantasized over, more than once—crystalline in her mind.
Jordan blew out a long breath, her body boneless and blissed out. Until she opened her eyes.
On the other side of the curtain stood Gareth. Watching her. She couldn’t see him clearly but there he was with a front row seat to her shadowed but explicit show. He pushed is hand to the curtain so she saw his palm print darken where light bled through the curtain.
“Nice,” he said.
“Gareth…you shouldn’t...I was…I mean—“ She shook her head, ready to weep but too startled to do it.
But under it all was also a lightning strike of awful, perfect joy. He’d seen her. He’d watched her. How very bad was that? And yet…exciting.
“Hush up. I know what you were doing. And it was gorgeous, Jojo. How can a man look away from that?”
All she could hear for a moment was her pulse and the water hissing in her ears.
“The food’s ready. I’m going to get it. I came in to say but then…I got distracted. Be back.”
He was gone and her heart felt like it would never ever slow down.
*****
She was prepared for it to be super weird, but it wasn’t. Not so much. It appeared that the entire scenario had bordered on normal for Gareth while remaining completely bizarre to Jordan. She pushed it out of her head and dipped enthusiastically into her Shrimp Lo Mein.
“So spill. What’s up around here?” She swigged another beer and swore that would be the last. Trying to drink beer to keep up with her brother would land her one place—drunk, hung-over and miserable. The man worked construction, was ripped and had the metabolism of a jack rabbit. Jordan had none of those things.
“Greg and Melinda got married.”
“No fucking way,” she laughed.
“Yep. He cheated on her when they broke up right out of high school. She caught him in bed with Rene Burns and broke his arm with her purse.”
“What was in her purse?” Jordan asked, startled but amused.
“Everything. And a lamp she’d just bought at a second hand store. The base was one of those old fashioned irons. That was made of…”
“Iron!” Jordan laughed.
“So good old Greg went out of his way and twisted himself in knots etc, etc, etc. She almost sort of forgave him and then he asked her to marry him and gave her a nice rock and tada!”
“She forgave him,” Jordan chuckled, forking up a shrimp. “What else?”
“Bradley Monroe is gay.”
“No shit?” She rolled her eyes. “But we all knew that, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, but captain of the football team didn’t know it until last year so...the bulk of Allisonville was a bit ahead of him is all. No biggie.”
“Anything else?”
Gareth rolled his eyes and scratched his head. He sighed contentedly and finished off his beer. Then he pointed to his left, “Mr. Barkley behind us killed his wife.”
“What!”
“Euthanasia. Stage five cancer.”
“Oh god.”
“The Myers across the street had their sixth grandchild in a year.”
“Lord.”
He leveled those surreal green eyes at her and said, “And I’m not sure we’re brother and sister.”
The noodle she’d been eating got stuck in her throat. No fan fare, no hoopla. She just suddenly could not swallow. Until Gareth looked at her and said: “Breathe.”
Chapter Four
“You can’t drop a bomb like that on someone and then…go to bed!” Jordan said. She was trembling. Even here teeth were chattering.
Gareth, calm as ever, stood and grabbed a crocheted afghan from an arm chair and covered her. “I don’t have many details. Just a few things that dad said that made no sense. At the end he was in and out a lot. And even when he was in he was out of it. Spacey and exhausted and medicated to the gills.”
Lung cancer was rarely pretty and Jordan felt another staggering stab of guilt at not having been in Allisonville to help Gareth with that burden.
“Like what?” She spun her empty beer bottle wondering how the day had unwound down to the darkness that now pressed to the windows. It was only a bit past eight but she was wiped and it felt much later to her.
“I’ll give you one and then you go rest. You look like something the cat dragged in.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Gee, thanks.”
“Hey,” Gareth cupped her face in his hands and his thumbs swept along the arc of her cheekbones. “You are always gorgeous, little sister, but you look tired. Sorry, I cannot tell a lie.”
He winked at her and Jordan tried very hard to not acknowledge the burning trail of what could only be labeled as arousal. He was beautiful, her brother, and for the millionth time she wondered if other women felt this way for their brothers…or just her. Did they have the kind of thoughts she’d had? Did they wake up from dreaming about him and have to, with absolutely no choice, touch themselves and come like she did?
Or was it just her? Alone?
It was irrational and wrong and completely heavy on her shoulders. The world’s heaviest cashmere throw, the diamond so big its wearer couldn’t life her hand—it was a terrible wonderful weight on her.
“Go on,” she said.
For one blissful and bizarre moment in time she thought he was going to lean in and kiss her. Her lips tingled with the imagined pressure and the invisible energy of him. Instead, he smiled and released her.
“Right before he died—I mean, the day before—he said to me ‘when your sister and you finally met’…and that was the first time I really paid attention. I mean, he’d said thing that didn’t make sense before. Hell, almost the whole time he was sick. But that…”
“When we met?” Jordan whispered.
“Yeah. And one of the other times he said ‘the place where you were born’…”
“You?” she asked.
Gareth nodded. “Yep. And I’d always been told I was born here in Allisonville. But…” He shrugged—broad strong shoulder rising and falling.
“Maybe he was just…hallucinating?”
Gareth shrugged again. “Maybe. Now go to bed you. We’ll talk more tomorrow on our hike. You need rest.”
This time he did bend, clearly intent on kissing her, and Jordan had to suppress the fine tremors in her body that wanted to manifest and shake her until she wept. But he only kissed her forehead. His lips warm and firm but soft on her skin. He stroked her hair with his hand and smoothed it along her back.
“Go to bed, Jojo.”
Jordan nodded. “Okay. Love you.”
“Ditto.”
*****
It had only been the one time. Jordan pushed a fat pillow under her feet and two under her head. She turned the TV up just a bit and watched people trying to pawn their goods.
Once, right before their mother left them, Jordan had heard her say to her dad. “Jordan’s dad.”
Jordan’s dad…
Then Doug had seen her standing there and had laughed loud and jovial saying, “You don’t have to be so formal with me Kelly. You can just call me Doug.”
And then she’d laughed and Jordan had laughed and given how their lives had unfolded, Jordan had forgotten it all. Until now.
She wiggled her toes and tried to get her body to relax. Between the surreal nature of being home and the bomb Gareth had just dropped on her, she was bad. Throw in seeing him with Isabel—naked and bound—and him watching her in the shower. Oh, and accent it with her wanting him. Because there was no denying that’s what she was feeling…Well, relaxation seemed damn near impossible. She felt more like someone who’d swallowed a live wire than someone who was going to try and drift off to sleep soon.
Someone’s dog was barking down the road and she figured it was the new folks who’d moved into the Kaylin house. They had a huge Great Dane that she’d seen earlier while they were sitting on the porch.
“Barking at the fall moon,” she whispered to herself.
At ten it became clear she was both exhausted and restless. An infuriating combination. Jordan clicked off the TV and tried to settle.
It took ten minutes of tossing and turning to be truthful with herself.
You know you want to…you know you need to.
And with that thought, it was not hard to call up the first time she’d seen her brother with another girl. She’d been going to ask him for batteries for her camera, they were the only ones home, and he’d been giving it to Sherrill aka Sugar Talb. And hard.
She’d walked in to see him with his face buried between her pretty thighs, pressing his lips and his face to her pussy. There had been a flash of pink as his tongue set to her clit and then he’d sucked hard enough to make the pretty cheerleader shiver and clutch at his pale hair.
“Do it, Gar…Oh God.” That is what she’d said and it had sent a sympathetic shiver and tremble through young Jordan.
The wetness in her panties that day had been more violent and sudden than anything she’d felt in her eighteen years.
It did the same now. Jordan pushed a hand down into her pajama pants and found her own body responding already. The hard nub of her clit was eager to be worked and she pressed a trembling finger there and let out a sigh.
Gareth had slid a condom on that day and then worked his length into the waiting rosy split of Sugar’s pussy. Her long legs had come up to grip him, her pale hands clutching his tan muscular back. She remembered the sight of him thrusting into her. His tight ass flexing with each driving movement.
Jordan slid her other hand into her pj pants and slipped three fingers into her already soaked and flexing cunt. “Jeesh,” she whispered. “You’ve got it bad.”
Memories flooded her of him speaking in Sugar’s ear, fucking her in even strokes—his control so much greater than one would expect of someone his age. Jordan realized that now. When the girl had come, and come with a rowdy cry that had made the spying Jordan blush and back up a step as Jason had pulled free of Sugar.
“Where’re you—” Sugar had started.
“Turn,” he’d growled and put her hands to the doweled slats of his head board. He’d curled her fingers around two dowels for her and had muttered something that Jordan couldn’t hear but took to be ‘hold on’
Then her brother, her sweet, funny, gorgeous brother, had hiked Sugar Talb up by her hips and knocked her knees apart to his liking. He’s teased the girl’s anus gently with the sheathed tip of his cock until she begged him not to ‘do her there’. Then he laughed, wiped a hand along his tip and then drove into her red cunt from behind.
Sugar wasn’t shy. Sugar was loud.
It all played out Jordan’s mind as she fucked herself with dripping fingers. At the last moment, driving a wet finger into her ass as the other two slipped back into her pussy. She abused her clit with the most perfect rough pressure and came with a pretty loud cry of her own. So loud that the silence that followed echoed in her ears.
Oh shit.
She heard the pounding of her heart that nearly blocked out everything else. Jordan wasn’t sure if the slight creak and rustle was something she was hearing or something she was imagining. She held her breath but that only made her heartbeat louder. Then…
“Jojo?”
“Yeah?” she whispered.
“You okay?” She could hear his footsteps on the carpeting. Had he been asleep? Had she disturbed him?
“Fine.” It came out as a sigh.
The bed depressed and she went rigid as he climbed on. He laid so that he was facing her and she could barely make out the dark shadow of him in the already dark room.
He stroked her hair like he used to when they were kids. “You sure? Were you crying.”
“I had a dream.”
More like a memory…
“Bad one?” She could feel the heat baking off of him and the closenes
s of him. She could feel his concern and his love and the very maleness that was Gareth. It sounded crazy but it was entirely true.
“Not so much bad as startling. I’m sorry. I guess I just woke up with a bang.” And then she was biting her lip for saying something so very inappropriate.
“What do you think it will mean for us if we’re not really brother and sister?” he asked. He was winding a long strand of her hair around his finger.
“I don’t know.” It was such a struggle to get the words out. Even more of a struggle to keep her heart beating reasonably and her mind from going to a very, very wrong place.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said softly. “Sleep well, Jojo.”
Then he kissed her. He kissed her cheek and she tried to stay still. When he leaned himself against her to kiss her—chastely, she reminded herself—she felt the hard ridge of his cock press her thigh. Even through clothes he was harder than hell and warn and it was seductive.
She turned her head, maybe to say goodnight, maybe to kiss his cheek—Jordan knew she could spin it a million different ways by sunrise. But what happened was their lips collided and for a heartbeat they both stilled. And then the kiss continued, gentle and hesitant and when his tongue touched hers for just an instant, she feared she’d come again.
“Night, Jojo. I’m going to do the right thing and leave now. But maybe next time you’ll let me help you with that.”
“With what?” she gasped.
“What you did right before I came in here. What you did to yourself.”
And then he was gone, shutting her door behind him, before she could even say goodnight in return.
Chapter Five
Again she figured it’d be awkward. She could hear Gareth out there making noise while making breakfast. He’d taken the day off for their hike because it was rainy and chilly and gray—Jordan loved it. She loved rain more than sun and snow more than anything.
She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and put a dot of pink cream blush on each cheek, one swipe of mascara on each eyes and some lip conditioner.
“You’re so high maintenance,” she laughed at herself in the mirror. Then she pulled on jeans and some rubber boots that would keep her feet dry. A black plaid sweatshirt topped it all off.
