Chapter 2 Today, it didn't matter

He breathed in. He inhaled and exhaled again. His hand felt for the soap, neither touching nor grasping it.

He slid down.

He could still hear the groans from the room in his mind. Troubling him once more.

Alexa.

Brief fragments of the also short occasions he had spent with her. Simple "table talk", if that could be called that. A "hello" and a "bye" in case.

And nothing more. However, there were her gestures. The brightness of that look, that radiant smile, is authentic. Pure.

Something her brother didn't deserve.

He had never met a girl who smiled so naturally. It was a sincere expression, a gesture he had never seen reciprocated by his surly younger brother. Alexa always tried hard to please Luke, but it seemed like nothing was enough for him.

And her eyes...

That particular jade green shade. Bright and enhanced in his smooth features. It was not a specifically perfect face, but it particularly framed that color of her pupils, against the winter white of her skin; the skin of that youthful body of measured proportions and a small but firm bust. A flaw to remember.

Santino's logic didn't refute the argument anymore ... and neither did his body. Arousal had plumbed his mind, not from hearing them doing "what they did" and less from the lust proclaimed in the thick moans and fluffiness of the mattress. It was vile and blatant arousal aroused by her. And her mind, even when it is in those lapses of contained anger, tends to take whims. Transform them and lash out with them like a blunt blow to the stomach.

He was erect. His member stuck out from a mass of black pubic hair.

Under the warm stream of water, amid her swirling mind and confused ideas, her body rebelled at the dazed outburst. And it was fucking perfect when the mind was allied in these matters.

His hand was rushing over his penis. She felt the throbbing hardness as his hand rose and fell, pulse trembling. Slow. Still listening to him in her mind. Calling you. Going on it.

Longing for it to be her hand at that moment.

Santino...

The very image of her made him feel hotter. A vivid scene, almost, almost real. She, lying in her bed... at his mercy.

This had already turned into blatant lewdness. And she stopped caring for him.

He wanted to have her, possess her... touch her and taste her warm snowy skin, savoring her as if she were the most exquisite delicacy on earth. The images began to happen, sweaty sheets, bodies in tension...

He increased the pace of her hand, indulging in that blind frenzy... almost as if he could feel her.

Touch the.

Caress her.

Penetrate it.

Make it yours.

Santino... Santino...

Her voice in his head.

Oh, Santino

He shuddered, almost painfully. Two more jerks and he experienced an immediate, wild orgasm. He poured the semen onto the floor in a dazed convulsion, resting his free hand against the water tap. He felt a stinging stab from the tips of his toes to his waist.

Be quiet.

Silence returned to haunt the outside of the hall, while the water continued to run inside the bathroom.

With a faint heat on the back of his neck and his head throbbing slightly from that peculiar physical effort, he turned off the water.

He breathed slowly, returning his mind to that reality. She adjusted the towel around her waist, water dripping down her back and shoulders from her wet hair.

He remained standing, standing in the middle of the room. He finished drying off, stopping now and then to wring the towel over the tub. He watched the trickles of water trickle down the drain.

He was shaking, partly from the reaction and partly from relief. She had barely heeded the veiled idea of opening the door and beating Luke up. She could only think, over and over again, of the succession of events that had culminated in this scene.

He sincerely believed that he had indulged in those disturbing and unrepentant ideas around Alexa almost inadvertently.

It had been like an explosion of sewage from a buried sewer. He believed that a similar cloaca ran under the manicured lawns of almost every family in Kuri.

I have become the legendary lonely piece of furniture in the house

He had thought sadly one last day of last winter, watching the sleet hit the porch shutters. Then, little by little, the filth had started to accumulate in the pipe. He began to nag Luke about the little things, sublimating the big ones because they were hard to put into words. Things such as loss, fear, and loneliness. Things like hearing a song he used to listen to from his student days on the radio and feeling a burst of frustration and pent-up anger. Feeling jealous of his brother because, compared to him, his life was not a daily struggle to build something. It was a life lived in the trenches.

And lately, a part of his life was waiting and listening.

And then Santino would start working after hours, delving deeper into anything he didn't remind him of.

He thought of Alexa, with whom he often chatted (most of the time without his stupid brother present) in the rare moments when he was home. And one afternoon, he had caught himself sitting in front of the television with no idea what he was watching because he was thinking about the particular shade of pink in her hair or the way her jeans were fitted over. her butt. And, in the end, he had wanted to do one thing.

And today...

And today, it didn't matter.

XXX

The bright morning light hit her face, covered only half by one of Luke's pillows.

Alexa half-opened one eye, drowsily. To her right and his back to her was hers, deep in the fifth dream perhaps. She turned around, glancing at the clock on the nightstand; almost nine in the morning.

She turned again, moving closer to the boy's body. She draped her arm across the sheets, hugging his back.

"Luke" she whispered affectionately close to her ear. Her lips brushed her neck and she could hear the rhythmic rhythm of her breathing.

"Hmph..." was the only answer she got from him.

She knew his gestures, she got used to the "long and argued comments" from him, obviously, after spending almost a year and a half with him. So she didn't take the boy's grim and indifferent reply negatively. She kept hugging him and slowly raised one of her hands to one of the wispy strands of her hair, playing with it.

"If you're hungry, come downstairs and make yourself some breakfast. I want to get some more sleep" Luke said tersely. He pulled up the sheet and covered his face with it.

The young woman just answered him with a simple "okay". Her voice was a barely audible whisper; Trying to emulate the indifferent tone of the boy's voice, there was no further response from him.

She sat up on the bed, lazily stretching her back. His shoulders and waist claimed her with an almost delicious click from the intense activity of the night before. Despite not being the first time of that, she still allowed a faint blush on his cheeks. She cast a sidelong glance at the bundle that lay to her left.

Luke ... my Luke ...