Close My Eyes

Thanks for the feedback. This feels like the honest place to leave them.

---

Your hand is on my thigh and I open my legs. I'm no longer embarrassed. You move down the bed and your tongue is teasing me. I'm holding my breath.

I wonder if you can smell me yet. You probably can. I'm obscenely wet and you've barely touched me.

You let go of my thigh and look up at me, then back down. You bite me. Another mark. A trail all the way up. I'll have to wear trousers tomorrow; I can't let Mark see the inevitable bruising.

The tights. You keep running your hands over them. The touch and feel of the nylon makes you so hard. It's why I wear them every time now.

My knickers are wet through. Every time I shift, the fabric drags across my clit and I have to bite my lip.

You hook your fingers into the waistband but don't pull them down, just hold them there while you look at me... innocently, like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.

"Please Nat," you say.

It takes me a second. "Go on then."

You rip them. That sound, the tearing... you pull my knickers aside. Your face is so close I can feel your breath and I mutter "fuck Rich" without meaning to.

"Not yet... patience sis." You're smiling.

You trace a finger through my wetness. The muscles inside me clench and you suck your finger clean, tasting me. "Mmm. You taste so fucking good."

"Oh fuck." I clench my teeth and squeeze your hair between my fingers as everything in my world focuses on that one tiny point. A desperate, tiny knot of sensation concentrated on the peaking nub of my clit.

Your mouth is on me. Teeth gently scraping, fingers pushing inside, two at first then slowly three, stretching me...

The tension has been rising all day, tipping me at the brink for hours and now it is ferocious. I grind against your mouth and you suckle at the exact point I need you to.

"Harder."

You do. You pull on my clit with your lips and tongue, sucking and flicking with perfect rhythm and I'm suddenly hanging over the abyss, sensing oblivion only a breath away.

Oh fuck. I'm coming. I can feel myself gushing onto your fingers and you don't stop... "You bastard!"

Finally, I stop shuddering. I unclamp my legs from your head. Shock and guilt overtake me, as they always do, as I watch you wipe your face with one hand and massage your neck with the other.

*Someday I will snap your neck by mistake.*

You know it, too. You say what you always do as you roll out your shoulders.

"I know," you say. "And it will be worth it."

I'm still breathless when you kiss your way up, taking your time, tasting me. Slow. Every inch. I've never known anyone take so much pleasure from my skin.

Your tongue finds the spot under my tits. Between them. My collarbone. My throat. You want every drop of me, licking my skin.

---

I listen to the world outside. The Thames. People walking home.

"You're here," you whispered when you opened the door earlier, like a question.

I had to lie to Mark to be here. Some nonsense about a Chambers meeting in London... a new case management system. Hopefully boring enough that he wouldn't ask questions.

An hour. Just an hour until I have to drive back to Cambridge.

---

I can taste myself on your lips.

"I need to be inside you."

You're hard against my thigh. "Lie down then." You do as I say. My little brother.

I straddle you and your hands are back stroking my legs, feeling the torn tights, the ripped edges, the bare skin underneath. The texture making your cock throb.

I position you at my entrance, just the tip. Both of us holding our breath.

I sink down slowly. Every inch and you're gripping my thighs so tight it'll bruise.

"Fuck," you breathe. "Fuck, Nat."

I lean forward, cheek to cheek. So close I can feel your stubble, hear every sound. I start moving. Not fast. Steady and deep. You fill me completely.

We change position. You turn me over, thrust deeper. I'm on all fours, back arched. I close my eyes against the pressure. My face is pressed into the pillow.

It hits me. Not just the orgasm. I let go and feel the tears leak out. I feel stupid...crying while you're inside me.

I keep quiet. I breathe heavily, feeling the tension leave my body even as I sense it build in yours. I'm done, exhausted, but I push back anyway, contracting my muscles one last time as you come.

You stroke the back of my head. "Are you crying?"

"Yeah." I smile, wiping my face against the pillow. "You've fucked me to tears."

"Good," you whisper, and kiss my shoulder.

We lie there. Your arm heavy across my chest. The flat you're still getting used to now Clare's gone.

Marks on my thigh already darkening. Purple blooming under the skin.

---

Mark.

"I think he knows."

"What?"

"Mark. Something's wrong."

You prop yourself up. "What do you mean?"

"Last week. He tried to initiate sex. I said no but he put his hand on my thigh. Right where you'd left a mark, I didn't say anything..but he froze, his hand was right over the bruise and he looked at me, really looked..."

"Fuck Nat..."

"And Jonathan?"

"He won't talk."

"It's been over a week. He hasn't looked me in the eye once."

You squeeze my hand.

"So tell Mark. End it properly. Like I did with Clare."

"It's not the same."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't..." I sit up. "You don't have children. Don't have a whole life built with someone."

"Just what? Walk away?" You're sitting up now too. "That's what you think I did?"

"Didn't you?"

"Paying the mortgage on my own now, Nat. Clare's gone and I'm stuck in this flat. Still having to avoid her friends at work. You think that's easy?"

"No, but..."

"You're just going to keep lying to him? To them?"

Your hand finds mine again.

"I'm scared."

"I know."

You lie back. Stare at the ceiling.

"Rome. You promised me in Rome. Said one week. That was ten days ago."

"I know."

"So when?"

"Tomorrow." Comes out before I've thought it through. "After I drop the children at school."

You turn your head. Look at me.

"You've said that before."

"I know."

"So why should I believe you this time?"

Look at you. My brother. The one I used to boss around. Who left everything whilst I keep going home every night pretending nothing's changed.

"What if I can't do it?"

Long pause. Your jaw tightens.

"Then we end this. Right now. I go back to London. You stay with Mark. We pretend..."

"Could we do that?"

"No." You touch my face. "But we'd have to try."

Phone buzzes. Text from Mark: *Kids want to say goodnight. Call when you can.*

Stare at it. Bath time. Stories. Mark folding their pyjamas.

Look at you instead. The marks on my thighs. Torn tights on the floor. Your flat around us.

"I'll tell him."

"Promise?"

"Yes. I want to be with you."

You don't believe me. Can see it in your face. How many times have I said this?

"Nat..."

"I mean it this time. I can't keep doing this. Can't keep lying to him. To them. To myself."

You pull me closer. Kiss me slowly, your tongue deep in my mouth.

"Fuck, I love you Nat."

"I fucking love you too, Rich."

Shit. My phone rings again. Mark.

Fuck it. This time I don't answer.

I just lie here with you.