I woke the next morning with a residue of shame clinging to me. Between my thighs was the evidence of my illicit lust, matted in the curls of my pubic hair. Longing for a shower, I grabbed clean clothes from my suitcase and then stepped out into the hall.

The house had only one bathroom, which my brother was leaving at that moment. His hair was still damp from his shower. Along with jeans, he wore a long-sleeved shirt which did a nice job of accentuating his strong build. 

"Morning, sleepyhead," Clint said to me with one of those sweet smiles I loved. "Bathroom's all yours."

Though my sleep shirt fell only to my upper thigh, my brother didn't sneak a glance at my legs. 

"I'll make breakfast for us once I'm done showering," I promised. "I didn't mean to sleep so late."

"Don't worry about it." As he slipped past me in the narrow hallway, his sleeve brushed my arm. "We have two weeks to go through everything, so there's no need to rush."

Ducking my head, I hid behind my hair so he wouldn't catch sight of my smile. I was thrilled to know he wasn't in any hurry to leave this house. Or me.

In the bathroom, I didn't bother to lock the door. I noticed my brother, thoughtful as ever, had put out a clean towel for me. I'd left my toiletries in a neat row on the counter, and I now grabbed my razor. 

It was a bad habit of mine to indulge in long, hot showers, and that morning was no exception. I took my time shampooing and conditioning my hair, and lathering up the bar of soap. The thought of Clint sliding that bar over his chest, and over more intimate places, sent a surge of arousal through me. 

Washing between my thighs, I dared to rub my clitoris. It was still a little sensitive from my brief but vigorous masturbation session the night before. Instead of succumbing to the temptation to engage in self-pleasure yet again, I finished cleaning the rest of my body.

I'd just begun drawing the disposable razor along the length of my calf when the shower turned frigid. An involuntary shriek tore from my lips, and in the process of scrambling to shut off the water, I nicked my skin. The razor fell from my hand, bouncing against the bottom of the tub. I didn't even register the sting of the cut, for I was much more interested in escaping the icy needles raining down on me from the showerhead. 

While I was busy twisting the hot and cold faucets every which way, I heard the bathroom door open.

"Sylvia, are you okay?" Clint's voice was edged with concern. "I heard you scream."

"I'm okay!" I called. "Just ran out of hot water." After what felt like an eternity, I managed to turn off the shower. "Would you mind handing me my towel?"

 "Sure."

I stood shivering behind the shower curtain, my hair clinging to my face and neck in damp strands. A moment later, Clint slipped his hand past the curtain, offering me the towel. 

Before he had a chance to leave, I drew back the curtain. He froze, turning toward me expectantly. With the towel held against the front of my body, I made a halfhearted attempt to be decent. 

"That certainly woke me up!" I joked. 

Clint started to laugh, but his smile vanished when his gaze swept over me. "Shit, you're bleeding."

Looking down, I saw the trickle of blood on my calf. "It's nothing," I assured him. "I nicked myself with the razor."

"Let me see if I can find a bandage." 

As he opened the medicine cabinet door, I wrapped the towel around me and stepped out of the shower. The bathroom was rather small, so I was practically pressed against Clint's back while grabbing a wad of toilet paper from the roll beside the toilet. Placing my foot on the tub's edge, I dabbed at the cut, trying to stanch the flow of blood.

"Here we go." Clint turned around, moving to kneel before me. I quickly put my foot back down on the floor. While he tended to the small wound, I resisted the urge to stroke his hair.

Yet I surrendered to another, more devious desire. Once Clint had applied the self-adhesive bandage to my skin, I pretended to lose my balance. Immediately, he grabbed hold of my thighs to steady me while I wobbled and thrust out a hand to brace myself against the wall. 

My other hand released its hold on the towel, which slipped from my body to cascade over Clint's arms. Still on his knees, he was positioned so that his face was almost level with my sex. For the briefest moment, he grew completely motionless, his stare fixed on the curls between my thighs. 

The room was so quiet that I could hear my shallow breathing. My brother glanced up at me then, perhaps to see if I'd caught him furtively studying my pussy. Or maybe he wanted to sneak a look at my breasts as well.

I busied myself with reaching for the towel. Feigning embarrassment, I blurted out, "I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay." His voice was low and soft, and I struggled to read his expression. Quickly, he climbed to his feet. "I'll give you some privacy."

Staring after him as he fled the room, I feared I'd made a terrible mistake. Now, my mortification was all too real, and tears burned my eyes. I hurried to blink them away, then drew in a deep, steadying breath. It would be okay, I promised myself. I'd make this okay.

That day, my clothes were far more practical. I had on jeans and a modest blouse, and I pulled my damp hair back into a ponytail. My face was free of make-up when I finally left the bathroom. 

Clint sat at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of coffee. Even while offering a smile, he averted his eyes. "How's that cut?" he asked. "Think you'll live?"

"Only because of your expert care." Moving around the room, I kept up the act, pretending that nothing unusual—or inappropriate—had happened between us.

I made Clint's eggs just the way he liked them, but he didn't rave about my cooking that morning. Our conversation was subdued, almost halting, and the radio served to fill in the lengthy silences. 

The updated weather forecast warned of ice following the initial snowfall expected to begin around eight that evening. Outside the kitchen window, the sky was that uniformly dull hue which signaled an approaching winter storm. 

Clint and I worked in separate rooms for much of the day, stopping only to eat sandwiches for lunch. When I found some costume jewelry tucked away in the back of Gran's closet, I longed to show my brother, but he'd thrown himself into the task of clearing out the rest of the living room, and I didn't want to be a nuisance. 

As I did my own sorting, anxiety gnawed at my insides. Clint must have seen through my ridiculous charade; he probably thought I was deranged and wanted to avoid me at all costs.

Just before six that evening, he appeared in the doorway of Gran's bedroom. "Ready to call it a day?" he asked. 

Meeting his eyes, I was relieved that he seemed relaxed, no longer tense in my presence. With a huge smile, I told him I'd heat up some leftover casserole for our dinner.

While we ate, and the radio's weather updates grew more cautionary, I mentioned the costume jewelry I'd found. "I doubt it's worth much," I told Clint, "but I thought you might want to look through it. Maybe you could pick out something for Millicent."

Clint humored me with an amused expression. "I told you; she and I aren't serious. Besides, that jewelry belonged to our grandmother. It should be yours, Sylvia."

We were washing the dishes when I noticed the first snowflake fall on the other side of the window above the sink.

"Looks like it's started," Clint said with a sigh.

A little later, I sat next to my brother on the couch while we watched television, but I kept a safe distance between us. It was almost nine when I heard the distinct sound of ice striking the window pane.

"The good news is," Clint said, "this should clear out by morning."

Another half hour passed before I told him good night. The ice hadn't stopped its incessant plinking against the window's glass.

"I think I'll head on to bed, too," he said. 

I waited for him to turn off the TV. In the kitchen, as we lingered near the fridge, he took several swallows from a can of soda, and I tried to discreetly remove my birth control pill from its packaging. Last night, I'd taken one at my usual time, during a lengthy commercial break between sitcoms. While Clint was still in the living room, I'd placed the pills in a cabinet, out of sight.

I had no idea why I wanted to hide that I was on the pill. Maybe I didn't want my brother to think I slept around. After all, my sex life was currently limited to the occasional fuck with my roommate. 

Whatever Clint might have thought, he didn't say anything as I swallowed the small tablet with some juice. Instead, he returned his soda to the fridge. 

I was about to tell him he could use the bathroom first, but before I had a chance, the lights flickered and then went out entirely. I gasped at the sudden darkness, so total that I fumbled to grab the edge of the counter.

"Well, shit." Clint's tone was full of good-natured humor. "You know, I thought this might happen, so I set aside a flashlight I found earlier today."

"Is there ever a time when you're not prepared?" I teased.

"Gotta stay two steps ahead."

I could just make out his form as he opened a drawer. In seconds, the flashlight's beam cut through the shadows. Together, we returned to the living room, where my brother peered out the window at the few other houses on the street. 

"It's not just us," Clint said. Turning toward me, he held the light beneath his chin. His features were eerily illuminated, and his smile appeared downright sinister.

"Ooh, stop that!" I cried. "You don't even look like yourself."

He merely laughed, low and creepy. "Am I scaring you, Sylvia?" Shining the light in my face, he waited for my reaction.

I turned away, folding my arms over my chest. I hoped he could easily discern my scowl.

"Come on, don't pout." Lowering the flashlight, Clint slipped his arm around my shoulders. "I didn't know you were such a baby."

"I'm not!" I protested. "It's just really dark."

He planted a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek. "Are you going to want to sleep in my room, scaredy-cat?"

That question, so teasingly asked, made all my unease vanish. The thought of curling up with my brother in his bed had me blushing, and I was glad he couldn't see. "Maybe," I replied, drawing out the word. 

"It's okay. I'll protect you." 

Hearing those words, I became intensely aware of his hand on my arm, and his body nestled against mine. I could feel his warm breath as he whispered in my ear. My pulse fluttered in my throat, and I allowed myself to desperately hope that Clint was taking a first, tentative step through the door I'd opened between us. If he found me annoying, or ridiculous, he wouldn't invite me into his bed, would he?

He insisted I use the bathroom first. With the door slightly ajar, I set the illuminated flashlight on the counter and changed into my sleep shirt. While brushing my teeth, I noticed I was shaking from nervousness. I wanted this, so much. And I was terrified of screwing it up.

At the last minute, I decided to remove my panties. My arousal seemed uncontrollable, for I was already wet. 

Clint was waiting for me in his room. Afraid of saying something that would prompt him to change his mind, I silently handed him the flashlight. 

"You okay, Syl?" he asked. He'd never called me that before.

"I'm fine." My shivering wasn't at all feigned. "Just a little cold."

"Go on and get into bed. I added some extra blankets, since it's just going to get colder in here with the power out."

He waited for me to slip beneath the covers, then leaned to kiss the top of my head. "Promise I won't be long."

I ached to reach for him, to pull him toward me. Somehow, I managed to resist the wild impulse. 

By the time Clint slipped into bed beside me, I was plenty warm. He turned off the flashlight and placed it within easy reach on the nightstand. Like me, he didn't sleep in much clothing; he now wore only a pair of lightweight sweatpants. I couldn't help but wonder if he slept naked in the summer.

As soon as he was settled on his back, I moved closer. He slipped an arm around me. "Mmm, you're warm," he said. "Still scared?"

"I wasn't scared," I insisted. Lying on my side, I rested my cheek on his bare chest. His hair was coarse against my skin, but I didn't mind at all.

"No?" Clint's voice held a grin. "Then why are you here?"

Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard. My brother couldn't be oblivious to my feelings, not after last night on the couch, and this morning in the bathroom. Did he want me to say it out loud? Was he goading me into confessing my desires, as wrong as they were?

The dark, and his nearness, made me brave to the point of recklessness. Slowly, I draped my leg over him. Could he feel the heat of my sex through his pants? 

"You know why I'm here," I whispered.

Clint said nothing, and when I pressed a hand against his face, he made no attempt to withdraw from my touch. Breathing faster, I wove my fingers through his hair, then guided his mouth downward.

Tentatively, I kissed him, expecting a rejection. With my closed lips against his, my advance could still be considered a mere gesture of affection. But several seconds passed, and neither of us pulled away. My pulse started up an insistent throb between my legs; I couldn't help but moan softly when Clint parted his lips.

I felt the jolt go through him, just as it went through me, the moment our tongues touched. 

Abruptly, he broke the kiss. "Sylvia, we shouldn't."

Not can't, but shouldn't. He wanted me to convince him.

"Why not?" I whispered, sliding my palm over his chest. "It's just us here."

"I'm your brother." He was breathing faster now, too. 

"And I love you, more than anyone else in the world. I want to be close to you." Taking his hand, I placed it between my thighs. "Feel what you do to me, Clint."

I knew I was dripping wet. A moan emerged from low in his throat as my juices coated his skin. 

"Last night," I said in a seductive voice, "I didn't go straight to bed. After being with you on the couch, I had to touch myself. I made myself come while imagining you touching me just like this."

As if they had a mind of their own, my brother's fingers explored my inner folds even while he said, "It's wrong. I'd hate myself for taking advantage of you."

His mouth was just inches from mine. I could feel his warm breath against my lips. When he homed in on my clitoris, giving it the gentlest caress, I let out a cry filled with such pleasure that it made him gasp. 

"It's not wrong," I said. "Please, give me this while we're here. I swear I won't ask for more. Later on, you can go back to your life and forget all about me—"

His kiss was hard and demanding, so unlike the first we'd shared. I melted beneath its force, aching for my brother to claim me.

"I could never forget you, Sylvia."  His mouth grew fervent on my neck while his fingertips did little more than tease my clit. That combination of heat and tenderness made me rock my hips.

Sliding my hand down his belly, I dared to inch closer to his groin. When he did nothing to stop me, I stroked him through his pants. I was thrilled to find him hard and ready.

While I loved our kissing and touching, I feared Clint would change his mind if we waited too long. "Make love to me," I said between shallow breaths.

He groaned my name, as if I were putting him through a brutal endurance test. A test I wanted him to fail.

"We have to stop," he said. Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew his hand, leaving my clitoris quivering for more stimulation. "I don't want you to do anything you'll regret."

"I promise I won't!"

Clint released a heavy sigh. "You might feel different later. Let me just... hold you, okay?"

Afraid of being too forward, I stopped stroking him. In his embrace, I closed my eyes, willing my heart to calm its furious beating. Clint and I had just done something I'd only dared to dream about. His attraction to me was obvious; I'd felt every hard inch of it under my fingers. Patience had never been a virtue of mine, but I was prepared to wait until the end of time for my brother.

The lingering kiss he planted on my forehead gave me hope that I wouldn't have to wait anywhere near that long.