Feels Like Deja Vu

It's a strange sensation. In the darkness of the bedroom, all other senses feel heightened. That's how I know it's the right smell; heavy with sex, but beneath that the cinnamon barsoap I recognize, and that particular smell that's different to everybody. Well--almost everybody.

Except, sometimes, siblings.

I hear the telltale creak of a bathroom door, on the other side of the room. Shifting in the sheets, I feel Maria's weight descend on the bed as she crawls into my arms, bringing the sheets with her. As her head comes to rest beside mine, the smell of her intensifies; not just cinnamon bark any longer, but as spicy and raw as those one-cent heart candies. Reaching down, I cup the palms of my hands over the cheeks of her bum and pull up slightly, hearing a small whimper as her legs spread over mine at the pressure. I slide one of my own between them smoothly, bending it upward at the knee. Her whimper becomes a shade more desperate, as I begin to move my hips; running my leg between hers, massaging her with the top of my thigh. I can feel her wetness, leaving a glistening track against my bare skin.

Moving my lips to the hollow of her throat, I press her face upward with my cheek until I can hear her breathing against the silk cover of the pillow, above my head. Beneath the sheets, my right hand follows the curve of her bum, going lower by inches, until I can feel the slickness of her lips against the flats of my fingers.

"You want me, baby?" My voice, the words, don't truly sound like my own--and I suppose they're not. I'm not normally the one speaking them, I'm the one nodding against the speakers' forehead, bucking my hips and gasping for breath, like Maria is doing now.

With a sudden, almost violent motion I rise and twist. For a moment it puts Maria flat on her back in the sheets, my leg still caught between hers, and her gasp becoming that of surprise rather than arousal. Then a hand around her upper arm, just above the joint of her elbow, turns her over. I press down on her back with one flat hand, the other still between her legs--though from the opposite direction, now. Leaning over her, I push the sheet of her dark hair out of the way, tracing my lips across the back of her neck. I feel the shiver pass through her body, and I sink two fingers into the wetness between her legs in response.

"Dirty girl," I whisper, my lips held just behind the curve of her left ear, "Wanted this for awhile, haven't you?"

She whines in response, pushing her hips back onto my hand, sinking my fingers further inside of her. My hand keeps her head and chest against the mattress, but her bum rises with the curl of her knees. I have to hold her face-down, because I know if I let her turn over and catch another glimpse of those wide, unguardedly gorgeous brown eyes, then it's going to be real. Or feel real--which would be worse. As it is, I can feel something uncoiling in my chest; coming undone. Not like rope. Like a snake. Something cold, dispassionate, and strangely unblinking.

Leaning up, I slide my hand from her back to the back of her neck. I'm fingering her in earnest, now. Inside of her, the slick smoothness of her passage has gone to slight ridges against the pads of my fingers. I wonder if she can cum like this. By the sound of her breathing, and the way that her hips are thrusting back against the front of my curled-in fingers, I guess the answer to be

yes

.

"When was the first time, baby? The first time I walked into this house?" I wonder if she can hear the tone of my voice, the way that I can; the detachment in it. Or does she just hear a woman's familiar voice, whispering in the darkness? Does it sound, to her ears, like lust? I don't know, "You ever hear us, across the hall? Ever get yourself off to my moaning?"

The shudder of her inhale, the riding pitch of her breathing, once more gives me my answer. This time, I can almost hear the

yes

in her gasp. Inside of me, for the first time, the reptilian thing blinks. It doesn't make it feel any more human. She must have heard it, I realize--the tone. She must have, because I can feel the atmosphere of the room changing; the gorgeous figure beneath me shifting into something subtle, supple, acquiescing, even as I change into something cruel.

Her hands have stretched out, and I can see her fingers curling around the edges of the pillow over her head. But it's not enough. Releasing my grip on her neck, I slide down her body until my face hovers just above the soft curve of her bums left cheek. She gasps loudly as my lips brush over it, followed by the edge of my teeth. All the while, my fingers still cant into her, between her legs. I know she can feel my laughter; a silent clicking in the back of my neck.

"Don't you cum yet, dirty girl," my voice is slightly mumbled against her skin, but still manages to slither up to where she can hear it, "Not yet."

With that, I swing my neck right and bury my face between her legs. In the sheets, she coils like a spring. Her legs draw upward, spreading the cheeks of her bum far enough that I'm able to bury my nose and cheeks between them. My tongue finds her wet lips, just above where my fingers split them open, and licks a slow line up her perineum and back. Above it, the hole of her bum winks at me. At the top of the second stroke, I take a deep breath and push the tip of my tongue against it.

Her reaction is everything I hoped it would be. The intake of breath, the rigid indecision; the

can't, haven't, shouldn't

that break, the moment my tongue pushes inside of her. She moans so loudly that I can hear it clearly, even with her voice muffled through the fabric of a pillow. She's about to cum, I know. I can feel her tightening around my fingers as my tongue works deeper inside of her, sliding in and out in slow, sure strokes. If she jerks backward when she does, she'll break my nose. I don't really care.

My tongue pushes deeper still, as far as it can reach. Then I moan. She'll feel it, I know; the vibration of my mouth, of my tongue, inside of her. It's enough. I feel the muscles of her ass and pussy spasm; but whether they're trying to push me out or lock me in, even they don't seem to know. Her spine arches further, her grasping breath made as wet as my hand by the pillowcase. And then she's cumming in earnest, toes curling against my skin as she presses her feet to my belly. Shrieking into the pillow. This close, the smell of sex is nearly strong enough to make my eyes water.

Inside of me, something smiles. It's reptilian. All teeth.

I lean back, flicking the wetness of my fingers and onto the sheets. In front of me, Maria has collapsed into the sheets. My own breathing is buried below hers, full-chested inhales that seem to fill the whole of the darkness around us. As I sit there, I'm struck by the strangest sense of deja vu. It's all right--the sounds, the smell, the house; only the body is wrong. Only the one gasping in the after effect of an orgasm is wrong.

She reaches for me, but I slip out of her arms. After the softness of the sheets, the floorboards feel too hard, too straight beneath my bare feet. She doesn't have carpet around her bed, like Robert does. A subtle difference, perhaps, but one that strikes me hard enough to make me feel breathless. I can feel her watching me as I pull my clothing on, but I don't look at her. I can't. My purse clatters quietly as I lift it off the bedside dresser and slip it over my shoulder. The floorboards creak on my way to the door. And she still hasn't said a word--but I can feel her eyes.

"God," she breathed in the darkness, "He really fucked you up, huh?"

My hand grips the door handle, half turned. Cold coils of muscle constrict inside of me. I'm still breathing; I know, because I can hear it in the otherwise silent bedroom; but something has locked up in my chest. Not a sob. Something heavier. It feels like I've tried to swallow my own heart, and it's gotten caught--halfway down. I won't let Maria see that, though. Instead, I turn on her. In the bed, she's a beautiful silhouette; all tangled white sheets and tangled dark hair.

"Nobody fucks me up, baby," I'm surprised by the steadiness of my voice. It sounds like my own once more, "I'm the one who does the fucking."

And with that, I turn the handle. The sudden light from the hallway floods in. Across the hall from me, I see a familiar door; the same one as I walk through now, but somehow different. Facing the opposite direction. It's closed. Not a single sound comes from behind it. I can't see my smile, in that moment, but I know it's all teeth. The door clicks closed behind me.

Feels Like Déjà Vu

---- THE END.