Mafia Desire (Erotica)

“This one,” Megan said, speaking around her thumbnail, “there is something about this one. It’s really erotic somehow.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked.

“Oh it’s good, it’s very good.” She looked up at me. “I’ve never seen you do anything I thought was erotic before.”

“Really? Damn. I thought I had moves.” I smirked. “Guess I need to try harder in the sack.”

She started chuckling, “Oh you’ve got moves alright, smart ass.”

Megan backed herself up to me and pulled one of my arms over her shoulder, resting my right hand on her left breast. I instinctively started feeling for her nipple ring as I hugged her. Luckily, she’d opted to forego a bra that day. She kept staring the painting for a while, until her eyes closed softly and her breath started to quicken.

“You need to do the show next month. I’m telling you, you have to do it.” She whispered, letting her head fall back on my shoulder as she reached behind her and started rubbing my cock through my pants.

“Jesus, Meg, again with this?” I sighed in annoyance, despite the attention she was paying to my prick.

“You need to do it, Adam. Dr. Miller would shit if one of his students turned in something like this as an assignment.” She gasped as I twisted the nipple ring slightly between my fingers. “Especially after you dropped his class last semester.”

“I don’t know. I really hate those things, Meg.” Although, I had to admit, the idea of annoying Dr. Miller’s pompous self-aggrandizing ass did appeal to me. “Oh what the hell…”This content © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“Really?!” She spun to look at me, my boner suddenly forgotten. “You’ll do it? I have the submission forms in my bag!”

“Uhm…” I looked down at the bulge in my pants as she darted to where she had dropped her shoulder bag.

“Oh, I know.” She giggled, without even looking back at me. “But I’m grabbing these forms before you change your mind. Then, we can get back to that bit of business.”

* * *

One Friday afternoon, our parents took off on another of their weekend trips that had become quite common since Amy and I were both adults now. Amy was looking through a women’s magazine on my bed while I was working on a new canvas, painting in a second coat of the background color. She held up the magazine to a photo she wanted me to see.

“I’m thinking of adding a blue streak to my hair like this. What do you think?”

I glanced at her for a moment, and then pensively looked away. I dropped my hand to my crotch and grabbed my package.

“Yeah, I was right.” I nodded, feigning relief. “Just checking.”

She looked at me, baffled. “Checking what?”

“Making sure I was still a guy.” I smirked. “Why the hell would you think I know anything about women’s hair?”

She rolled her eyes at me. “I just wanted your opinion, ass.”

Then she started pointing at me and cackling. Not at the wisecrack, but at me. I looked down to discover that I now had part of a yellow hand print on my cargo shorts, right over my balls. I hadn’t thought of the wet paint on my hands when I decided to make the gesture.

“Damn it!” I sighed, and then started snickering as well.

“That’s what you get for being a jackass.” She snorted. I couldn’t argue with that.

Later that evening, after dinner, she was back in my room again, having changed into boxers and one of my Cure shirts. She was making fun of me as I was adding more partial hand prints to my shorts to hopefully help mask the fact that a paint covered hand had clearly grabbed my nuts.

“You know… You could probably do anything you wanted to your hair and still look beautiful.” I offered, feeling a little tense as I said it. She had asked for my opinion, and I guessed I would give it to her.

She looked up at me, smiling bashfully. “Thank you, Adam. That’s sweet.”

“You really think I look… beautiful?” She asked after a moment. I could see her eyes locked on me out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t look up, for fear she would see the answer in my eyes. The answer and more. More than should ever be present in her brother’s eyes.

“Definitely,” I replied, feeling my chest tighten up as I said it. It was a heartfelt compliment, and one I wasn’t entirely comfortable admitting. My eyes continued to avoid hers.

There was an awkward silence in the room, as the computer had finished the playlist I’d had going. Feeling weird about what I’d just said, I went to the laptop and fired up another album. A more upbeat, album that didn’t add to the emotional tension I was fighting in myself. She just watched me as I moved about the room, not saying anything.

“Jeff never said I was beautiful.” She finally spoke, softly.

“Jeff is an asshole.” I replied. “Who gives a shit what he thinks?”

“I know.” She smiled. “It’s just nice to hear it.”

“I call him an asshole all the time.” I joked, cutting my eyes at her just in time to duck the pillow flying at my head. I grabbed the pillow and threw it back at her, laughing, grateful for the shift of the mood in the room.

I joined her on the bed and started tickling her, like I had done when we were younger. She thrashed around, squealing, and trying to get away from me while laughing her ass off the whole time. The world felt like it just consisted of that room for a few minutes. I don’t know how else to describe how I was feeling at that moment. It wasn’t erotic or sexy. I wasn’t trying to sneak a feel of her. This was just dumb childish fun, something we hadn’t done in a long time. We collapsed on the bed, both sweating a little and gasping for breath. I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling, having worn myself out for a moment and trying not to stare at her heaving chest.

Amy scooted over near me and laid her head on my chest with one arm draped across me, in a slight cuddle. Only her head, arm, and shoulder touched me. She smelled so good. I looked down and impulsively kissed the top of her head lightly. She tilted her head to look up at me and our eyes locked for a long moment. I desperately wanted to kiss my kid sister’s soft, full lips. Kiss her and a whole lot more. Finally, her face broke out in a soft smile. Her eyes seemed to smile as well. Her smile could light up a room, I decided.

“I’m really glad we’ve become close again.”

“Me too.” I replied, and meant it.

I broke her gaze and stared out the bedroom window at the sky, feeling an ache in my chest and trying not to let it show.

“Adam?” she asked tentatively.

“Yeah?” I glanced back down, to see she was no longer looking up at me, but instead had her eyes on one of the stacks of canvases against the wall.

“Would it be okay for me to come to your show? I’d really like to go and see my brother’s paintings hanging in a gallery, all properly lit. I should get back the day before.”

“Of course.” I replied, feeling strangely emotional that she would want to come. “It would mean a lot for you to be there.”

She hugged me with the arm she’d had on my chest. “Good.”

“Hey Amy?”

“Hmm?”

“I want my shirt back.”

“Oh, shut up.”

* * *

The afternoon before Amy was to leave for Rome, the house was a flurry of activity. Mom was going overboard, making lists and nagging Amy she needed was packed for the trip. Our father would periodically pass through the living room and demand to see her passport, boarding pass, and so on in order to make sure she had them all and could grab them on a moment’s notice. Amy seemed frazzled by the whole thing, but was still elated. For my part, I tried to stay the hell out of the way. I loaded her phone up with some music she liked to try to help her pass the long flight time with and left it at that. Well, I mostly left it at that. Ever the music nerd that I was, I slipped in a few songs along the way that I felt she needed to hear. After that task was finished, I kept to my room, listening to music, and avoiding the whole scene downstairs. Our mother could get pretty intense about these kinds of things. If I were being honest, I would also have to admit that I really wasn’t looking forward to not seeing her for two weeks, even if part of me kind of thought it might be a good opportunity for me to try to shake my ever growing feelings for her.

Later that evening, after the dust had settled and all parties seemed to be content that she was as ready for the trip as she would ever be, I risked a trip into the kitchen to forage for dinner. Amy was eating an apple at the bar in the kitchen when I walked in. I cocked an eyebrow in her direction as I grabbed a beer from the fridge and fished around on my key ring for my bottle opener.