I sit there opening and closing my mouth. I should have played that off better and denied whatever he thinks he knows, but I didn’t have it in me. I think I’ve just gotten tired of how things have been lately and I’m tired of pretending. I’m so tired of acting like I don’t want Sarah and that I don’t want to share her with Luke. I want everything. Is that such a fucking ridiculous request?
I pay my tab and head outside. I need to clear my head and it’s not happening in that bar.
I decide that Sam has some truth to his statement. I do need to talk to Luke, but right now I want to talk to Sarah more and make sure she’s okay. She left the bar pissed and I can’t stand it when she’s mad.
CHAPTER 3 *Luke*
I sit in my car long after Sarah has entered the house and Sam has pulled away. I felt my knuckles crack on to the steering wheel when I watched to see if she kissed him goodnight. Thankfully Sam didn’t have a death wish and kept his hands and mouth to himself.
I can’t bring myself to go in the house and have the confrontation I can feel building. I hate how things are distant between Logan and me, but I don’t know how to change it. He’s in love with Sarah and, fuck me, so am I. We need to just leave her alone because this whole situation is all kinds of screwed up. Not only am I in love with my goddamn stepsister, but so is my twin. Could this possibly be any more fucked up? Jesus, sign us up for Jerry Springer.
I rub my hands down my face and sigh heavily. I can feel Logan’s pain. Even when we aren’t side by side I know when he’s hurting. He’s the heart of our family. He’s our light and laughter when I’m just a brooding asshole. Things have been so strained lately; our home isn’t a happy place I look forward to returning to at the end of the day. Instead I avoid it. I avoid Sarah and Logan and everything that makes my chest hurt.
“Fuck this,” I say to no one and open my car door. I make my way inside the house. I just need to go in, go to my room and fall into bed. I want this miserable day to be over. I tell myself all of that, but it’s a lie. I know the reason. I know good and damn well why I’m going in the house and why I’m going to my room. I can’t stop punishing myself. I can’t stop the part of me that wants see if I can hear her in her room. The dark sadistic side of me wants to know if she’s making good on her promise to cum tonight.
Our home has three bedrooms upstairs and Sarah’s is in between mine and Logan’s. Logan and I designed the house with the idea of sharing a woman forefront in our minds. We hoped one day to try to make a menage relationship permanent. Even when we were kids and didn’t know anything about sex or relationships we said we wanted to share a wife. We always planned on having a family together.
We shared women and I think it just seemed natural to try to find a woman willing to take us as something other than a one-night fling. We wanted a relationship that wasn’t just for a few hours of fun, or something to cross off a bucket list. We knew most of the women we played with would be discreet. Somehow that bitch Kayla has found out and has been after us to tag team her for months. I try to be nice because I can see that she’d make waves if we just straight up refuse her. She knows too many people around town and she could hurt our business by running her mouth to the wrong people. Logan and I have worked too hard to get where we are to have some scorned socialite dragging us through the mud.
I walk into the house and it’s eerily quiet. I try not to think about where Sarah is and what she might be doing, but it’s no use. I make my way upstairs and pass Logan’s room first. His door is open and his light is off so I know he’s still out. I walk past Sarah’s door and I see it’s closed. I don’t hear anything but I can see the light shining from the door sweeper so I know she’s in there. Her room is the largest and has the biggest bed, and my filthy mind immediately conjures up an image of her naked and spread out on that big bed. Her room was meant to be the room Logan and I would share with our wife. It doesn’t go unnoticed that we designed that room how Sarah would like it best. And it doesn’t escape my mind that Logan and I have never brought a woman into our home or into that room. Sarah is the only woman to ever step foot inside there.
My room is at the end of the hall and I pick up my pace and practically run to get there. I burst through my bedroom door, shutting it closed behind me. The room is dark with only the moonlight streaming in through the window to guide me. I go over to the far wall that connects Sarah’s room to mine and lean against it. The wall is cool against my ear and I can hear movement in the next room. It’s beyond fucked up, but I need to listen. I have to know if she’s touching herself. I hate how weak this makes me, but I don’t care.
In my mind she’s got those milky thighs spread wide and her little fingers are teasing down her stomach towards her pussy. My hands rub over the front of my pants and press on my growing erection. I close my eyes tightly and will myself to pull away from the wall, but I can’t. I keep stroking myself through my pants to try to find relief in that simple touch. I stop abruptly when I hear some shuffling. But then, sweet heaven, I hear a soft moan.
Fuck it.
Immediately I undo my belt and open my pants. I don’t give a damn how pathetic this is, it’s the only thing I’ve got.
I press my ear harder to the wall and envision her digits tickling across her clit. My right hand runs down the length of my dick while my left cups my balls. I start stroking myself. I’m so goddamn wound up from thinking of fucking little Sarah I can’t stand it.
I can hear soft sounds coming from the other side of the wall and I stroke myself harder. I can hear her moaning and moving on the bed and it’s painful how turned on I am. Thrusting my hips forward on the down strokes, I tighten my hand on my balls.
I want this to hurt. I want to punish myself and my dick for these dirty thoughts of fucking my baby sister. I want to remind my body that all the nasty things I want to do to her are wrong. But the more pain I cause, the hotter it makes me. The more I think about shoving my dick down her sweet throat, the more pre-cum leaks. The more I think about squeezing that sweet throat while I thrust into her cunt, the more my spine tingles and I can feel my release coming.
My forehead is sweaty and I realize absently that I’m still fully dressed with just my dick in my hands and my ear to her wall. I’m a fucking pathetic sight.
I hear her moans getting louder and more urgent and I know she must be ready. I speed up my strokes because, in my mind, I’m cumming with her. In her. I imagine one of her hands is on her breast, plucking at her nipple. I can picture her other hand between her legs, her fingers speeding up as the ache gets stronger. I can almost smell the juices from her pussy dripping down between her ass cheeks and wetting the bed. I start panting. I’d give anything to lick it up. I wouldn’t waste a single drop.
That thought leads me to my climax. I cum. Thick streams of semen run down my cock and over my hand, and I use it as lube to work every last bit of my orgasm out of me. I hear Sarah let out a shout on the other side of the wall and it causes more cum to leak out of my cock. I look down to see my hands covered in cum. I’m sweaty, sticky, and still horny as fuck.