Cry Little Sister (2 page)

“Stop thinking so hard,” Gareth said, arching up just a bit.

She didn’t miss the jut of his cock or the cut of his hips in her peripheral vision. But Jordan focused hard on the knots in the silk and worked them with trembling fingers.

She’d spied on Gareth and his girlfriend once in high school. He’d been a cocky, horny sophomore and the girl a junior. It had been years of trying to convince herself that it has been the act—the scene—that had stuck with her and erotically haunted her, not her brother.

But deep down you know it was seeing
him
that did you in. All those nights with it in your head and your own sticky slick fingers between your thighs…

“—okay?”

She blinked and tugged the remainder of the tie off his wrist. A quick glance from the corner of her eye showed her he was still hard. Rock hard. And Jordan swallowed fast and turned away.

“What?” she managed.

“I said are you okay, little sister?”

“I am.” She smoothed her jeans as if they were a skirt and cleared her throat. “I’ll just let you get dressed and then we can—“

“I’ll need a few minutes before I can get dressed,” he said. He sat up and touched her arm. “Welcome home. Now leave the room so I can jerk off. Unless you want to help…”

She started. “Gareth!”

“Kidding, kidding. You know the old saying. Two hand are better than—“

She turned on her heels and headed to the door. She turned at the last second and said, “I didn’t know you were into…
that
kind of stuff.”

Jordan nodded to the silk ties, looking harmless and merely decorative, hanging from his headboard.

“There’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me, Jordan,” he said.

She stood there, keeping her eyes away from his waist, his lap, his hard-on. But even when she unfocused her eyes she could still sort of see it there in the fuzzy unfocused halo of her vision. Jordan waited for him to wink after such a cocksure off-the-cuff statement.

He didn’t. And finally she shut the door for him to take care of business, as it were. The vision of him naked and perfect and grinning remained locked in her head, an after-image she couldn’t shake. The wetness between her legs was a traitorous bit of evidence about feelings she shouldn’t be having.

In the bathroom she washed her face and hands and put a wet cool washcloth on her pulse points. It was easy to try and make noise and hard to blot out the sound of Gareth. She knew he was getting off in there. She knew her brother was highly sexed and also the most straight forward person she’d ever met.

If Gareth said he had to take care of business, he would.

Jordan heard a soft groan and imagined him in there, hand coated in come and his face tense before smoothing out to a peaceful façade. She’d seen Gareth have an orgasm once in her life and it was still a very easy image to recall.

Funny, she knew that coming home would be hard. She did not know it would call up old this old…
stuff
and leave her feeling not only perverse but oddly thrilled too.

The quickening in her belly bled warmly into her cunt and Jordan pressed her thighs together for a moment. Only realizing at the last second that it was a bad move—it only made her desire worse.

“You need to calm down and find a man. So you stop thinking those bad things about your only sibling,” she told her own pale reflection.

A sharp rap on the door made her jump.

“Who you talking to in there, Jojo?”

“Singing!” she called and then she wiped her face once more with the hand towel. The lie had flown easily off her tongue and she was grateful.

“Well come out here and have a beer with me and we’ll see if Isabel did any damage on her way out the door.”

Isabel. The red headed wonder with the shaved pussy and the big breasts and the horrible laugh and…the woman who’d been impaled on her brother’s hard erection. The woman who had been feeling him. Inside of her.

Jordan blew out a breath and shook her head. It couldn’t be jealousy she was feeling. It was something else.

It had to be.

* * * * *

Gareth put his feet up on the wrought iron railing. Jordan tucked hers under herself. The big white wicker chairs were still dominating the front porch. The oversized ferns their father had grown shielded them somewhat from view. They were huge monstrous things he was ridiculously proud of, even bringing them inside the house during the winter months.

“So he died and now you’re here, Jojo. And
the mother
is still missing.”

“No word at all from her? Does she even know that dad’s gone?”

He shook his head, took a swig of beer from his green bottle. “Nah. And as far as I’m concerned she has no right to know.”

Jordan nodded succinctly. It put her belly in knots to think that way but Gareth was right. When their mother left, she’d grieved for a long time, thinking she’d done something wrong. Her grief had bled into anger and often rage, which her father and brother had soldiered through with amazing patience and grace. And then a soul sucking sadness, followed eventually by acceptance.

When Jordan turned eighteen she hightailed it from Allisonville to move to a small California town. She currently ran a steak house and lived in an efficiency a block from the public beach. And life was good—but she often missed Gareth and she now sincerely grieved the loss of their dad.

And you weren’t here…

“Stop it,” Gareth said, draining his bottle and grabbing a fresh beer from the bucket of ice at their feet. Isabel, thankfully, had done nothing more than throw Gareth’s mail all over the porch upon leaving. Gareth had picked it all up with a simple,
it’s all junk anyhow
.

“Stop what?”

“Stop blaming yourself and picking at yourself and all that shit you do, Jojo.”

“God, do you have to keep calling me Jojo?”

“Yes. It’s my name for you, Jordan. What’s the matter…” He turned his sea green eyes on her and she felt a blush rush to her cheeks. The heat reminding her that she really had to get control over her strange emotions. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, drinking her beer and watching the fern-obscured view of the street. “Of course I do. I’m just sorry I missed dad’s…passing. And his funeral and all that.”

“What funeral?” He grinned. “You want to see him, I’ll take you to see him.”

“Jesus Christ, Gareth, you didn’t do something weird and ‘modern’ like stuff him did you?”

Gareth nearly spit out his mouthful of beer but managed to swallow. “Um…no.” He continued to laugh before wiping his streaming eyes. “But dad wanted to be cremated so I have the urn. I figured you and I could scatter his ashes—together.”

She really didn’t expect it when her throat narrowed and her eyes overflowed and the emotion of gratitude slammed her like a runaway train.

“Oh thank you,” Jordan sobbed and went to hug her brother.

He laughed softly and pushed her hair—a lighter corn silk color than his—out of her wet eyes. “Hey, Jojo. Don’t cry now.”

“I can’t help it.”

He kissed her cheek and she turned her face into it, relishing the warmth of his lips and the feeling that always came with being around her brother.

Safety.

Gareth always made her feel safe. And loved. Once upon a time people took them for twins. As they aged people started mistaking them for boyfriend and girlfriend.

As one woman put it, “You just seem to have that special connection.”

“It’s okay, kid. We’ll take care of dad’s final request together.”

Chapter Three

They were going to go the hiking trail the following day. Doug had adored a good hike alone. The only thing to trump that was a good hike with his kids. So they were going to give him a final hike. And spread his ashes so they could day goodbye.

“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–w
hatever
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.