Don't Dry That Glass

The lunch had ended and the good glasses were still in the rack.

Lara was thirty-three. Nico was thirty-six. Their parents had married four years ago, when both of them already had flats, jobs, and no childhood in common. He had come down for the Sunday roast and stayed to dry up, which was the excuse. The real thing had been in the car park in March, a kiss they had called a mistake and then repeated in texts they deleted.

"You can go," she said.

"If I go I'll think about your mouth all the way to Leeds."

"Then don't go. And don't call me your sister. I'm not."

"You're my father's wife's daughter. We met when you were twenty-nine. I know exactly how bad this is. Say stop and I stop."

"Don't stop."

He kissed her against the sink. It was clumsy and then filthy. Lara got his belt open and his cock out, already hard, and stroked him while he pushed her dress up. No underwear. He groaned when he found that.

"You planned it."

"I hoped."

He put her on the counter and licked her until she had to bite her own wrist. Then he fucked her there, glasses chiming in the rack, her heels on his back. She told him to say what they were. He said stepsister, and she came on the word, cunt gripping him. He came inside her because she told him to, face in her neck, a sound he would not be explaining at Christmas.

They did not go back to the glasses at once. Lara slid off the counter, turned, and bent over the sink because she wanted him again while she could still feel the first time. Nico pushed back in, wet, and fucked her harder. She told him to say it again. He said stepsister against her ear and she came, shaking, knocking a glass that did not break. He came with his hands on her hips and his mouth on her shoulder.

"Leeds," he said, when he could talk.

"Text me when you're actually there. Not a novel."

"And next time a bed."

"Next time a bed. And you look at me while you say what we are."

He looked at her now. She kissed him once, quick, and they dried the rack as if the roast had only run long. Her phone buzzed before he reached the motorway. Again, she had sent. He smiled at the road like a man who was not going to be decent about it.

They finished the glasses after. Her thighs were a mess. He texted home when he was actually home. She replied with one word: again.

Lara bent over the sink and let Nico take her again, wet from the first time, glasses chiming. She made him say stepsister while he fucked her. She came on the word. He came on her lower back because she told him to, then wiped her with the tea towel and looked horrified at himself. She laughed. "Leeds," she said. "Text me when you are actually there." He did, one word. She replied again. The next Sunday they used the spare room and a locked door, and he looked at her while he said what they were. She came with her hand over her own mouth. They still did the glasses after. The roast was only the excuse.

The spare room happened the next month, after another roast and another excuse. Lara locked the door. Nico looked at her and said the word she wanted, stepsister, before he even touched her. She pushed him onto the bed and sat on his face, then on his cock, and rode him while the family laughed at something downstairs that was not them. She came with her hand over her mouth. He came inside her and stayed quiet, shaking. They fixed the bed and went down for coffee like helpful adults.

In the car park she sucked him once more, quick and filthy, and swallowed. He held the wheel and said he would crash if she did that again. She said next time a bed and a locked door and his eyes on her. He said yes. The glasses still got dried. That was the joke they did not tell.

Lara booked a hotel on a Tuesday so they would not have to listen for the family. Nico fucked her against the window and then on the bed, and she made him say stepsister while he was inside her. She came twice. He came on her stomach the second time because she wanted to see it, then licked her until she was shaking again. They showered and did it once more, slower, her hand on his face so he could not look away. Checkout was a joke. In the car she sucked him at a red light and swallowed. He said he would never dry a glass innocently again. She said good.

The hotel became the pattern. Lara texted a room number. Nico arrived hard and said the word before the door shut. She sucked him, fucked him, made him look at her while he came. Once she bent over the bathroom sink and he took her there, mirror fogged, her hand over her own mouth. They still did Sunday lunch. They still dried glasses. The family thought they were helpful. The helpfulness was a lock on a door and his cock in her and the word they only said when they were alone.

Lara stopped pretending the glasses were the point. She texted Nico a hotel pin and met him in the lift already wet. He fucked her against the door, then the bed, and said stepsister while she came. She sucked him after and swallowed and told him Sunday lunch was camouflage. He dried plates the next week with a steady hand and a hard cock and nobody noticed. She noticed. That was enough. In the utility room, once, they did it again, quick, her dress up, his hand over her mouth, and the freezer hummed like it was in on it.

They did it again before they slept, slower and filthier, and neither of them pretended the night had been an accident. The door stayed locked. The want did not. She kissed him once more and kept him there.