Close My Eyes

My sister. Haven't seen her properly in three years. Not since Christmas at Mum and Dad's when we could barely look at each other. When her husband Mark kept refilling my wine glass and talking about his research and Natalie sat there in that red dress picking at her food.

We'd been messaging. Started innocently enough. Then it wasn't innocent.

I left work early. Got the train from King's Cross to Cambridge. November rain the whole way up. Thought about turning back at every stop.

Didn't though.

She opened the door immediately. Like she'd been waiting right by it.

"Richard."

"Sis!."

We just looked at each other. She looked older than I remembered. Tired maybe.

She was wearing a navy skirt and white blouse, a pearl necklace. Her work clothes. Black tights. Expensive ones by the look of them. Hair pulled back. Professional.

She looked nervous.

"Come in," she said.

I came in. She closed the door behind me. We stood there. Big room. King bed. Rain on the windows. View of Parker's Piece in the distance.

"Mark's at a conference," she said. "Brussels. The children are with his mother."

"Oh, right..."

"I told her I had case files to review."

"Natalie..."

"I know what this is. I know what we're doing." She looked at me properly then. "I've been thinking about this. About you. For years."

"Me too."

"We shouldn't."

"I know."

"If anyone found out..."

"They won't."

"We can stop. Right now. I can leave."

"Do you want to leave?"

"No."

"Neither do I." She crossed to me. Put her hand on my chest. "I'm terrified."

"So am I."

She reached up. Kissed me. Soft at first. Testing. Then harder. Desperate. Her hands in my hair.

I got her blouse open. Black lace bra underneath. She pulled at my shirt. Got it off. Her hands on my shoulders, my chest.

"The tights," I said. Ran my hand down her thigh. Could feel she wasn't wearing anything underneath them. "No knickers?"

She shook her head. "I wore them for you. Remember when we were kids? Rough and tumble in the garden. You'd always go for my legs."

"You'd kick me in the ribs!"

"You loved it though." She smiled slightly. "Still do, I imagine."

I could feel myself getting hard. She noticed.

"You've still got your thing for them then. Shame you're going to wreck them."

---

On the bed now. Standing over her. And I'm frozen.

I've imagined this. Taking her hard and fast the way we've hinted at in messages. But looking at her now, actually here, can't just launch into it.

I climb onto the bed beside her. Prop myself up. Just look at her. The stubborn set of her jaw I've known since I was five. My older sister. Always bossing me about.

She rolls to face me. Questioning. My hand goes to her cheek. So soft. She's actually here.

Her hand slides down. Lower. She knows. She bloody well knows that's where I'm weakest.

She pulls me towards her. Needs my weight.

I move over her. Settle between her legs. Run my hands up her thighs. The sheer fabric. Knowing there's nothing underneath.

I hook my fingers in at the top of her thighs and pull. Hard. They rip easily. The sound of it. Her gasp.

"There," I say. Looking at the tear I've made. She's exposed now but still held by the fabric.

My cock pressed against her but I'm holding myself up. Taking too long. Building it up too much in my head.

"You alright?" she asks.

"Just... give me a second."

"Richard." She touches my face. "It's just me."

Which is the whole problem, isn't it?

I kiss her. Slow. Try to shut my brain off. When our mouths open properly I stop thinking and just feel it.

Her hands slide down to my arse. Pulling me.

I shift. Position myself. Push in slowly. Watch her face. That thing she does with her mouth when she feels something intense. Known that expression my whole life, never in this context.

She's tight. Jesus. I'm not going to last.

Have to move. Withdraw slowly, then back in. Trying to pace myself.

Her hands roam and I feel myself getting harder inside her. The way she clenches. "Fuck, oh fuck." I bite my lip hard.

I shift higher. Her feet against my chest. Those red toenails through the sheer fabric. I take them in my mouth. Taste the nylon. The shape of her toes underneath.

Then I catch it. Our reflection in the hotel mirror. My body covering hers. Her legs wrapped around me. The torn tights.

She follows my gaze. Sees us.

Her breath catches. I thrust deeper and we both watch. Watch her face change. Watch myself disappearing into her.

The door suddenly opens.

Woman in grey uniform. Towels in her hands. She freezes.

Fuck.

I should stop. Pull out. But Natalie's legs tighten around me and I'm already too close.

"Shit," I say. Still inside her. Still hard.

"She saw us." Natalie's breathing changed. "She saw us and she..."

"Yeah."

Brief silence. Then Natalie pulls me down. "Don't stop."

"But she..."

"I know. Don't stop."

So I don't. Thrust harder now. Faster.

The woman backs out fast. Door clicks shut. Gone.

Both of us thinking about it. About being seen. About what the woman must have thought.

When I come inside her it's too fast. Everything I've been holding back for three years. All of it.

I collapse. Can't hold myself up anymore. She's under me, wrapped around me. Both breathing like we've run miles.

Eventually I roll off. Lie beside her. Stare at the ceiling.

"Fuck" I say. "What do we do now?"

She turns her head. Looks at me. "Don't. Don't say anything yet."

"But..."

"Please."

So I don't. Just lie there. My sister beside me. Smell of sex and her perfume. That Chanel number 5 she's worn for years.

This can't last. She'll go back to Mark and the kids. I'll go back to London and Clare. We both know it. But right now we're just us.

Not Mum and Dad's kids. Not the ones who have to be responsible. Just us.

---

I'm lying here with his weight still on me. Leg's gone numb but I don't want him to move.

What have I done?

Richard's breathing slows. Falling asleep already. My little brother. Thirty now. Has his whole life in London. That girlfriend Clare he doesn't talk about much.

I need to move. Shift carefully. Richard rolls off, lies on his back.

I sit up. Look at him. Goes to the gym too much. Nothing like Mark's skinny academic build. Mark who can barely lift the shopping.

And he's my brother.

I stand. Walk to the bathroom. Turn the light on. Look at myself.

Face flushed. Hair a state. Marks on my neck where he bit down.

Come back out. Richard's sitting on the edge of the bed. Watching me.

"You alright?"

"No."

"Natalie..."

"Don't." Find my clothes. Look down at the tights. Completely wrecked. Massive tears up both thighs. Can't wear these out of here. "Fuck it."

"I'll buy you new ones."

"That's not the point." Try to do the blouse buttons. "If anyone found out. My job. My children. Mark..."

"No one's going to find out."

"The maid saw us, Richard."

"She's not going to say anything."

"You don't know that." Give up on the buttons. Sit down beside him. Put my head in my hands.

He puts his hand on my back. Warm. Familiar. The same hand I held when he was seven and scared of the dark.

"Don't touch me. Can't think when you do that."

He pulls away.

Silence for a bit. Then I ask what I've been avoiding. "Why now? Three years we've been fine. Could have just left it."

He's quiet. Then: "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you. Needed to know if it was just me."

Want to be angry at him. Make this his fault. But I can't. I booked this room. Wore the hoisery with nothing underneath. Told him don't stop when that woman walked in because some sick part of me wanted a witness.

Grab my bag. My coat. He's still sitting there. Naked. Lost-looking. Like when he was little and I'd leave him to go out with friends.

At the door I stop. Turn back.

"This can't happen again."

"I know."

"I mean it, Richard."

Something crosses his face. Hurt. He nods.

Should leave right now. Delete his number. Block him. Pretend this never happened.

"When are you next in Cambridge?"

His eyes meet mine. "Next month. There's a conference."

We look at each other. Both knowing what we're doing.

"Same place?" he says quietly.

Should say no. Should walk out. Should be the responsible one like always.

"Same place."

I leave before I can change my mind. Before I can go back to that bed.