I let go of his hand, stepped back, then climbed up onto the counter to watch him as he finished the cuts of steak off with balsamic glaze.
“You have the knack for it. I’ve never been able to cook fillet.”
“Pan’s got to be hot, and you need to have a good feel for the change in colour,” he said, as he sprinkled Parmesan over mine. “Inside or out?” he added.
“Outside, of course. Why be indoors when the day is so lovely?”
“True. Here. I’ll grab the tray; you bring some wine.”
“‘Kay.”
I gathered up two glasses and a bottle of Pinot Noir and followed him to our outdoor table. Olly set a place for me, dished up the salad and then took up position opposite me.
“Cheers, Shannon.”
“Happy Sunday, Olly.”
“To many more,” he said, clinking his glass to mine.
.:.
I slipped off my top and tossed it aside, then knifed into the water. I rolled, arched up to the surface, and then floated, eyes closed, enjoying the sun on my face.
After a moment or two I felt ripples, and opened my eyes; Olly had joined me in the water. I smiled over at him. “Took you long enough.”
“I’m not an otter like you.”
“Mm. Pity. Water’s my element. Air’s yours.”
“This is the interface, then.”
He turned onto his back and tried to float, but failed. I laughed at him. “Still can’t do it?”
“I have dense bones,” he grumbled.
“You don’t have enough body fat.”
“If one needed body fat in order to float, Shan, you’d sink like a stone.”
“Girls have more than boys; fact.”
“Maybe, but you’re pretty light on spare weight.”
“Is that your way of saying I look good or of accusing me of being anorexic?”
“The former. With maybe a touch of the latter.”
“Thanks for the almost-complement then.”
“You’re welcome,” he grinned. “Seriously, though, you must get a lot of attention these days.”
“The wrong sort,” I murmured. “I’m tempted to buy one of those Victorian bathing costumes for next time I go to the beach.”
“It won’t help,” he said. “You’d need to wear a tent.”
“I could arrange that.”
He dipped under the water, and I felt him skim under me, barely touching. I listened to the ripples he made, the faint thud as he kicked off the far wall, and felt the turbulence of his return passage under me.
“Remember how we used to swim lengths?” I asked, once he’d surfaced.
“You always won.”
“It was nice to have something I was good at.”
“You’re good at a lot of things, Shan. You just don’t believe much in yourself.”
“You always were my best cheerleader.”
“Someone has to do the job.”
.:.
I reached for a towel and wrapped it around myself; a South-wester wind was building, blowing cloud over the top of the mountain, and the temperature had dropped several degrees. I suppressed a shiver. “Sorry, Olly, it’s getting too cold now.”
“Yeah, I’ll get out now too,” he muttered. “Gonna need a long-sleeved top soon at this rate.”
“Going to shower,” I called back to him over my shoulder. I walked indoors and climbed the stairs, grabbed a fresh towel from the linen cupboard, and then ducked into the bathroom. I turned on the tap, set the temperature just short of scalding, and closed the bathroom door.
I waited for the water to heat up, then stripped out of my bikini top and the soaked pants and stepped into the cubicle. Cautious, I leaned against the wall, not wanting a repeat of the previous evening.
After a short while I decided I would be OK. I reached up, letting the hot water sluice over my neck and shoulders, before I ran my fingers through my hair to work the pool’s salt out of it. I reached for Olly’s body wash, and gave myself a quick once-over to clean my skin.
I didn’t want to overheat, so I didn’t spend long under the water; instead, after a brief soak I killed it and wrapped my fluffy blue towel around my midriff.
“Shower’s yours,” I called to Olly as I opened the bathroom door.
“Thanks, Shan,” he replied from his room. I gave him a smile and a wave as I walked past his doorway; he was watching the clouds roll down the mountainside from his bedroom window.
I towelled myself dry, then pulled on a pair of thin blue panties, some grey woollen tights and a white cotton thermal vest. I walked back down the passage, then stopped at the bathroom door. Olly had left it slightly ajar. Something drove me to step up to it, and I leaned against the door frame and stared through the slight gap.
Olly was in the shower, water sluicing down over his body. I had a great view of his tanned back, legs and bum as he soaped himself and washed his body. I stood a moment, screened by the door, and watched him as he cleaned himself.
Then my heart hammered in my chest and I felt strangely weak as he turned to face me and I saw him for the first time.
I stepped guiltily back from the gap, scared he’d see me.
I’d seen him in various stages of undress before but… for some reason this felt different. He looked… good. Muscular and lean. I’d always known, peripherally, that my brother had a great body, but seeing him nude in the shower took things to another level.
I snuck back to the door, and watched, giddy as a sixteen year old, as Olly reached down to clean himself. I took a slow breath as I watched him cup his balls and stream shower water over himself. Then, almost idly, he took his penis in his hand and slowly stroked himself, leaning back against the wall of the shower cubicle as his cock swelled in his hand.
I felt myself blushing, and after a moment more of voyeurism I slunk off. “What the fuck, Shannon,” I whispered to myself. But there was an ache deep inside me now, a dark heat, and I couldn’t banish the naked image of him from my mind. I was desperately aroused.
I calmed the lighheadedness with a glass of wine, and then closed the sliding door to the outside as the wind built. I sat in the leather armchair by the door, tucking my legs up under me again as I watched the clouds roll in.
And as I sat I thought about Olly. About his fair-haired, muscular thighs. About his strong, wiry forearms. His calloused hands. The small scar on his chin from the hockey ball. His blue eyes. His smile. The dimple in the small of his back. The small neat and obviously trimmed patch of pubic hair around his ample cock. The slight bend in his shaft when he was erect. The broad head of his cock, and the way he’d tensed his six-pack as he played with himself.
I was aching, soaking. I slipped a finger down under my leggings and moaned at the heat between my lips. I flushed, embarrassed, disgusted with myself over the cause of my arousal, and I clambered to my feet. It was one thing to fuck with him; this was something totally different, and I needed to bolt a lid down on it.
So I finished my glass of wine and tried to put my need out of my mind. I dug around under our fireplace for kindling; there was only a small amount of wood so I went to grab some logs from Dad’s pile in the garage. I carried a couple of arm-fulls back up to the living area, and after some struggling I managed to get a small fire going. Then I refilled my wineglass and thought very hard about the wind.
Oliver came downstairs eventually in shorts and a long, tight running top. I handed him a glass of wine and tried to ignore the shape of his chest under his top as I took up my spot in front of the fireplace once more.
“You OK?” he asked, after a moment.
“Yep, fine, all good,” I bluffed.
“Uh huh. I know that pose. Something’s bugging you.”
“Nope, everything’s peachy,” I disagreed with a smile. “One hundred percent good.”
“Now I know you’re fibbing.”
I shook my head but didn’t answer immediately; Olly lowered himself to the floor next to me.
“What’s up?” he asked, gently.
I sighed. “Just… thinking.”
“About?”
“My fucked up libido, mainly.”
He was silent a moment, and I glanced over at him. “You asked, Olly.”
“Yeah, I did,” he agreed. “What brought this on?”
“Oh, a number of things… mostly I guess I was just mulling over our earlier conversation,” I deflected. “I guess I just realised that it’s been more than three times round the sun since I last had a penis in me.”
He frowned. “I still find that hard to believe. You’ve dated guys these last few years.”
“Dated yes, fucked no. Furthest I’d let them go was to suck them off or let them come on me.”
“What happened to you, Shan? Did someone…”
“Nope. No trauma. Just no… drive, I guess. I never felt the spark I need to get aroused enough for it to work for me.”
“Have you talked to someone about it?”
“Hi, mum, it’s me, Shannon. I can’t seem to let the guys I’m with put their cocks in me. Can I get some pointers, some advice?”
He laughed, startled, and after a moment I joined in.
“Holy fuck, I can imagine how that conversation would go,” he giggled.
“The look of horror. Oh god,” I squealed, leaning forward, laughing. “She’d die. She’d die of panic and mortification. Oh god,” I took a deep breath. “Thanks, Olly. Sometimes I forget how much you make me laugh.”
He reached out to squeeze my knee. “Don’t mention it, Shan.”
I swallowed, looked away, sipped my wine, and tried to ignore the sparks that crawled where he’d touched me.
.:.
We’d dragged blankets and pillows down onto the stone flagstones to make up a nest for ourselves in front of the fireplace. Orange light licked over and around us, and we’d started on the second bottle of red.
Outside, the wind howled.
“So tell me about the one nighter,” I asked, watching him.
“Why?”
“Because I’m bored. Because… I’m curious. I can neither confirm nor deny that I have a bit of a voyeuristic streak in me.”
“I’d never have guessed. I had you pegged at exhibitionism.”
“Me?”
“You,” he answered, levelly. I didn’t try to deny it. Instead I just grinned up at him.
“Stop that,” he said, laughing.
I grinned some more.
“Stop it. Stop it and I’ll talk.”
“Excellent,” I cackled, settling back into our mound of pillows. “Spill the juicy details.”