Fuck Chicago, I thought bitterly. The City of Winds, yes… and sudden, wildly inconvenient snowstorms in the middle of winter. I had been planning on flying out to tropical Fiji on a business convention for pharmacy assistants, all expenses paid there and back- but in my case, I was going to stay on a week longer. I’d been especially looking forward to soaking up the sun and enjoying some kava before returning to the icy grip of home.
But no. We couldn’t have that, could we? So out of nowhere had come a cold snap, followed by a convection of humid air from down South, followed by a light snowfall that had triggered my current nightmare. The runways were considered too icy to launch from, the gusting winds too random to take flight in. Everything was cancelled, and we’d been only five minutes from taking to the air.
And now I’d been waiting to get my luggage back. Half an hour to haphazardly toss it into the cargo compartments, but more than three times that to unload them and sort out the mess. Typical. So whilst I waited, I ordered myself a sad little cocktail, drank to the memory of my cancelled vacation, and called around to let my parents and brother know what had gone wrong.
My parents had actually left that morning, travelling on their own winter getaway by train, travelling to perennially-sunny California. That left just Sean at home; whilst my parents answered their mobile and were appropriately supportive, the home line was engaged, so I left a message.
Getting back was a chore in and of itself. With the chaos of so many flights being cancelled at once, just making my way to an exit was difficult enough, but then I had to jockey for the attentions of a cab driver. Ordinarily I would turn on the charm, but the winter weather precluded that simple expedient, leaving me shivering in the cold. Eventually, though, I made it to the front of the line, fended off some impatient challengers, and headed for the family seat.
Shivering outside the front door, I stamped my feet and fought with numb fingers to get the keys in and turn the lock. Dragging my luggage inside, I abandoned them by the front door, shook off my coat, and peeled back my outer layers of clothing, luxuriating in the warmth of ducted heating. Taking a moment to catch my breath and rub some life into my chilled hands and nose, I noticed something unusual.
The lights were dimmed, but I could see candles flickering by the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Not only that, but as my olfactory senses warmed back to life, I could smell the delicate scent of roses. Frowning curiously, I wandered over to the staircase, finding a folded note at its base, before a path of rose petals leading upwards.
Hey, babe, it said. I know you’ve had a tough week and today didn’t work out the way you planned. So here’s a bit of a surprise, from me to you. S.
I was taken aback. Sean had always doted on me, but this was new, even from him. I’d always been the younger sister, the one he watched vigilantly over, but lately I’d been wondering…
Well, no. That was just insane. Brothers just don’t feel that way towards their sisters, do they? All the little compliments, his smiles and the frequent embraces we traded, it all had to be innocent, didn’t it?
But truth be told, I rather wished they weren’t. After all, were we not siblings, I’d have jumped Sean long, long ago. He was tall, athletic but not heavily muscled, and with dark-brown, shoulder length hair that he was always careful to style into place. Left untamed, it had a tendency to curl; I liked it better that way, longed to run my fingers through it, but he thought it made him look like he was wearing a bad powdered wig. And at an even six feet, he towered over my diminutive 5 feet and six inches.
Holding the note, I started up the stairs, following the carpet of red petals. I wondered briefly how much this gesture had set him back; red roses are hardly cheap, and there seemed to be rather a lot of them strewn about. The path wound around a few corners, down the hall, and into the bathroom my brother and I shared.
Inside, there were at least thirty candles, many pink and rose-scented. The bath was drawn, still steaming hot and with a layer of bubbles. There was another note on the counter top, beside an empty silver bucket and a bowl of expensive, individually-wrapped Belgian chocolate.
Make yourself comfortable, gorgeous. Call me when you’re in, and I’ll bring the champagne.
Gorgeous? I thought. Hardly. But then… well, I was standing in front of the mirror, so I tried to see what he saw in me. I was only of average height, and I’d inherited all the Scots genes the family had to offer; green eyes, auburn hair, and pale skin dusted with freckles. Like all redheads, I had to worry about the sun, but at least in my case it seemed only to add to my freckle collection. I smiled experimentally, thrust my chest out; I at least took after my mother, with the soft swell of C-cup breasts straining now beneath my knitted jumper. About the only thing I really appreciated in my looks, though, were my eyes; green with gold flecks, they always drew compliments.
Popping a chocolate in my mouth, savouring its flavour, I hurriedly undressed, slipping into the bath tub. As I felt my tension unwind, I called out to my brother.
I heard something crash, then the creak of his door and soft footfalls until he peered around the lintel of the door. I’d settled in carefully, my breasts slightly buoyant in the scented water, making sure that I was decent. Even so, the constraints of the bath kept me from sinking too far beneath the waterline, and I wondered if Sean appreciated the sight of my pale, milky cleavage.
“Uh,” he started.
I cut him off. “Thanks, Sean. Really. This was just what I needed. And it was so very considerate of you. Champagne,” I added as though an afterthought, “would be great. Bring two glasses up, though, I hate drinking alone.”
He flushed, then nodded, heading off on his assigned errand. A few minutes later he returned, dumped some ice into the silver bucket, carefully measured out two glasses of bubbly, and handed one to me. As he did, I looked down, careful to ensure my modesty was intact beneath the bath water. Thankfully, it held.
He flipped the upper lid of the wooden toilet seat down, sitting on it with wineglass in hand. He sipped it as we talked, but after the stresses of my cancellation I went through it rapidly. It was after my second glass that I realised I had become aroused, and spurred on by the alcohol I began to run my fingers through my soft folds, gently stimulating myself. I imagined Sean ripping his clothes off in an impassioned frenzy, hauling me out of the bath and taking me there, on the tiles, bringing me to climax after climax after climax.
Clamping my thighs together, I tried and failed to banish that delicious thought. A door had been opened, and now I saw Sean not as a brother, but as a man. A fine man, who would make a strong and suitable mate…
Seeing that my glass was again empty, he rose to his feet and refilled it again, sitting back down. I had ceased moving whilst he waited on him, afraid that the slow movement of the shoulder and arm hidden from his view as he sat further away and the soft roll of water would give me away. Happily, however, he remained ignorant; the heat of the bath could easily explain my flushed and sweaty skin, after all.
As we spoke about this and that, I let my mind drift, my body take over. Concealing my orgasm was difficult; I was forced to disguise my shudders as I climaxed as a sneezing fit. And as I lay back, I realised my movement had upset my artfully-arranged reclining pose; my nipples, rock hard and protruding, were above the waterline.
And Sean’s eyes locked onto them in a flash. He blushed, surprised to see me that way, but I affected not to notice, sitting high in the tub and making sure he got a good look at my womanly curves. He coughed and shifted about awkwardly on his makeshift chair, and I realised he must have been becoming erect.
Becoming bolder, I puffed out my chest as best I was able, flirted with him, and worked in as many double entendres as I could as we conversed. He grew redder and redder at my outrageous behaviour, eventually excusing himself and fleeing to his room.
But now, I was lost in my own needs. When he stood, I saw the outline and size of his manhood beneath the thin sweat pants he favoured as winter pyjamas. And I knew he’d been aroused by me, wanted me, but feared to have me. But fortune favoured the bold, and I could certainly be that.
Standing up, I let the warm water cascade off me, dried myself rapidly, and then walked the path to my brother’s room. He sat on his bed, looking conflicted, and when I entered he did not know where to look; his eyes flitted to my nakedness, ten darted away, unwilling to alight on my body but unable to resist it either.
“Stella,” he began. Again, I silenced him, this time by placing a finger to my lips as I swayed seductively towards him. Kneeling, I folded the waistband of his trousers down, took his shaft into my mouth. He was wonderful, smooth as silk and slightly salty with the taste of his pre-come. But that wasn’t what I wanted; I needed him, and this was just the prelude to our pleasure.
One hand on his chest, I eased him back up the bed, had him lie down flat. Straddling him, I pulled his pants down to his knees, knowing it would hobble him if he thought to flee my advances. And then, with great delicacy, I positioned myself over him, sinking down onto him slowly, savouring the moment as he speared into my soft, slippery folds.
He felt like an iron bar inside me, all heat and hardness, and it was the work of mere minutes to bring myself to orgasm. Then my world seemed to spin, and I realised that her was pressing me down into the bed, was now astride me, as we made love.
He took his time, stroking at my slightly-yielding, pliant flesh, working at my nipples and clitoris. But he was no fumbling amateur; he knew how to work at a woman’s body properly, and his palms roved across my belly, thighs, hips, neck and back, always in motion, always flitting from one erogenous zone to the next.
I lost count of my orgasms, each one seeming to take me higher. Finally, with a passionate kiss, I felt Sean tighten inside me, followed by rivulets of heat as he ejaculated into my depths. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, I was astounded to see that the eternity of bliss had in fact lasted less than half an hour. And if he could to that to me in so little time…
Sweating, he rolled off me, curling beside me as we snuggled together in shared post-orgasmic euphoria. “Stel,” he whispered. “I was trying to tell you that… umm… the bathroom and that wasn’t for you.”
Anger flashed in my eyes, and he drew back, afraid. “It was just, you know… with you out of town and with what happened with Joan…”
He trailed off. Joan was his girlfriend of some two years, and I knew they had been going through something of a rough patch. Twitching my mouth uncertainly, I asked him what, exactly, had happened. He looked embarrassed as he told me they’d fought again, that he’d been on the phone to her arranging a romantic evening when I’d called from the airport. Moments before I got home, she’d called back to cancel, breaking up with him as she did.
Feeling for him, I asked what had led to the break-up. He coloured again faintly, stroking my hair back from my face. He swallowed, then croaked out, “You.”
“Me?” I asked, bewildered. “What did I do?”
He shrugged, snuggling in tighter against me, hand now toying with my breast. God, it felt good; he knew exactly what he was doing, and clearly loved pleasuring a woman. “She thought you and I were too close. She was always jealous. Thought you had a thing for me.”
“Mmm,” I moaned, as one of his hands sought out my clitoris, still sensitive from our sex. “Ironic, then, isn’t it? We’ve made her right, after all…”
