Chelsea Rising Ch. 03

"So how have you been?"

"OK, I guess. I was promoted to Director."

"I heard. That's well done."

They sat awkwardly, the silence stretching out, and at length he spoke.

"I thought the ceremony went well."

"Yeah. Dad is so happy. Melanie looks such a nice person." She regarded him. "I don't want to talk about that, Ben. I want to talk about us."

"Right"

She looked into his face. "I nearly didn't come today because I thought you'd be here."

"I'm glad you did."

"I came for Dad only. You know I never wanted to see you again."

"I guess I deserved that."

She shook her head, angry for the first time. "You deserve a Frying Pan on the side of the head, Ben!" She waited until the flash of anger subsided. "What we had wasn't a game. It wasn't something you could put on and take off like a shirt each morning."

"I know that now."

She stared at him. "So what's given you this amazing wisdom all of a sudden? Don't tell me you're starting to think with your head instead of your dick!" She looked around. "And where's that schoolgirl you shacked up with - or have you walked out on her too?"

"She wasn't a schoolgirl."

"Well, she looked like one." Chelsea leaned forward, her eyes flashing. "What the fuck were you thinking Ben? Wasn't I good enough for you?"

He raised his eyes from the table and looked at her steadily. "I made a dreadful mistake, Chelsea. Haven't you ever made a mistake? Haven't you ever done something that you know you'll regret for the rest of your life?"

Chelsea stared at him, thinking of Rebecca lying in her bed each morning and what they did to each other. Every day they were together tied the knots of complication tighter, and she knew she would have to do something about it. Ben was right - people did make mistakes. The question was whether they learned from them. She remembered the Ministers words that morning ...always stand by him for good or ill. She felt her anger dissipating, replaced by a great weariness. Life was so fucking complicated.

Ben continued talking, his eyes on her face. "Don't you think that I think about it every day of my life, Chelsea?" He reached out and gripped her arm, his fingers warm on her skin. "I'd say sorry, but that wouldn't even begin do justice to how I think."

She wasn't going to let him off so lightly. "So where is Lolita?"

He released her arm and expelled his breath, leaning back in the chair. "If you mean Sophie, she's gone."

"And who pushed who?"

He shrugged. "Does it matter?" There was a shout of laughter from a nearby table and he waited for the noise to subside. "I know it sounds trite, but when I left it was never about her...she just happened along at the same time." He looked at Chelsea's expression, seeing the cynicism in her eyes. "It's true - I never left you for Sophie. It was all about us having to hide what we had for each other, and my fear of people finding out. I thought we could never be really together - you know, without always looking over our shoulders to see who was looking, and I couldn't handle it." His voice tailed off, aware of how inadequate it sounded. "I guess I was tired of being ashamed of loving you," he finished lamely.

Chelsea shook her head. "Was that all?" she said bitterly. "Didn't you ever think of talking to me about that?" She stopped, aware that people on the other table were looking at her, and she dropped her voice. "Look, Ben, what we do isn't anyone's business but our own. Sure there will always be a few busybodies who poke and pry, but that's not our concern. Don't you think that you and I could have lived together for the rest of our lives? Who was ever going to change that, other than you and Lolita?"

"The authorities, for one."

"Bollocks! We move to another town and set up together...we already have the same surname. Who's going to bother - I mean, really, Ben. Who's going to poke around and find out that we are related for God's sake? And even if they do, who's to know what goes on between us...we could just be sharing a place to live."

He smiled at her. "Does that mean we are back together?"

She turned her grey eyes on him, like chips of steel. "No it does not! I'll have to think about whether I even want to see you again - and I haven't ruled out the Frying Pan therapy, either."

He smiled. "Go for it...at least it will mean that I see you again."

"You wouldn't see anything for a week if I hit you with a skillet." She stood up and gathered her bag and gloves. "I'm out of here, Ben." Her voice softened. "You take care, do you hear?"

"Will I see you again?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'll have to think about it." She turned and walked away, and Ben watched her until she turned a corner and was lost from sight.

Epilogue

Ben took a final look around his apartment to make sure everything was perfect. He'd just finished an extensive refurbishment, scouring away the last traces of Sophie's taste in paint and furnishing, and he'd gone for concealed lighting and soft, pastel colours offset by bright prints and fabrics. The Christmas tree stood in the corner of the lounge, inexpertly draped with tinsel and coloured balls that reflected the twinkle of the candles that he had lit a few minutes ago.

He wiped his hands on the tea towel he was carrying, and smiled ruefully. He was as nervous as a kid on his first date, desperate for everything to go right. He thought about the days since the wedding - how he and Chelsea had met for coffee a couple of times, and then taken the first halting steps towards rebuilding their relationship. Actually it had been fun rediscovering her - he had forgotten the quick sense of humour and her vitality. It had been a slow process, though, and aside from a peck on the cheek and a quick hug there had been no intimacy. Tonight was a big step forward as she had agreed to come to his apartment for dinner.

The doorbell rang and he hurried to answer it. She was stood on the doorstep clutching a carrier bag, and she had a little Santa hat on her head tilted to one side.

He laughed. "Why, it's one of Santa's little elves!"

She patted her tummy. "No so little, unfortunately." She held up the bag. "But I come bearing gifts."

"Then you are welcome." He stood back. "Come in, Sis."

She walked into the room, looking around, handing him the bag. "This is lovely, Ben. It's yours, isn't it - I mean you're not renting."

"No, its mine - well, me and the bank. Can I show you around?"

"Absolutely." She followed him through the rooms, impressed by what he had done, noting the way he had blended colours and how neat everything was. They arrived back at the lounge and she turned to him. "It's beautiful, Ben. You've done so well."

He smiled at the compliment. "What would you like to drink?"

"Champagne, if you have it. We're celebrating tonight."

"Really? Celebrating what?"

"Lots of things, Ben - being together a month, being together at Christmas, your first dinner in your beautiful apartment..." She looked at him with bright eyes. "Oh, I forgot," and she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Thank you for inviting me tonight."

He had forgotten how soft her lips were, and he struggled to think of something to say. "You might not feel the same after you've tasted my cooking."

She waved her hand in dismissal. "Not a problem. I've been on my own for two weeks, and I could eat a scabby rat."

Ben poured her drink, watching her take it with her slender fingers, the skin of her arm burnished by the sun. "I don't have a scabby rat," he said, "would Rat au Van do?" He laughed. "Do you remember the Black Adder series? Baldrick's recipe?" He cleared his voice and did a passable imitation of the little soldier "...you take a rat, and run over it with a van..."

Chelsea laughed. "I think you needed a Brit sense of humour to get that."

Ben regarded her. "Why are you on your own? I thought you had a housemate - Rebecca, wasn't it?"

She shook her head. "She quit a couple of weeks ago - her ex boyfriend came back, asking her for another chance, so she went back to live with him."

"Were you sorry or pleased to see her go?"

"Pleased, I think....she was a lovely girl and we got on well, but it's nice to have the place to myself." Chelsea thought of their last night together - candlelight and an intimate meal, and afterwards their gymnastics in the big double bed. They had taken each other to new heights, each of them aware that a chapter of their lives was closing. She smiled: Bec had been right - they had been good for each other, and she thought they would both look back on their time with pleasure.

She became aware of him looking at her enquiringly. "I'm sorry, Ben, what did you say?"

He smiled. "I said dinner is ready."

"Right. Just give me a moment."

The dinner was an unqualified success, and Chelsea was touched by the time and trouble he had taken. She held up her glass of wine and looked across at him searchingly, and he smiled back.

"What?"

"I know it's a forbidden subject, but what happened to Lolita? Last I heard she was living here and next thing you're renovating."

Ben shrugged. "I don't know, Chelsea. I guess she decided to move on...she didn't tell me where she was going." He fiddled with the stem of his glass. "We didn't part on particularly good terms, you know - I'll tell you the story one day."

It was true - he didn't know what had happened. He had tried ringing the apartment a few times after speaking to Hussein but she didn't answer, so one day he had used his key to get in. Every single item of hers had gone, just as if she'd never been there - except for one. There was a manila envelope on the table with his name on it, and inside he'd found the print -outs of his letters. He remembered the post -it note stuck on the top page, and its message in an unknown hand: 'One good turn...'. That's all it said. One good turn deserves another. Her diary must have been as damaging as the Detective had said it would be, and that was the payback. He sometimes wondered what had happened to her, but that was dangerous ground. Best he forget.

He tuned back into what Chelsea was saying. '...I hadn't decided when I came around this evening whether I'd give it to you Ben, but I guess the time is right. Happy Christmas." She handed him a parcel wrapped in festive paper and lots of ribbon. "You have to open it now."

"Right." He tore open the paper and it fluttered free, and he looked at the book in his hands. "Um - thanks, Chelsea."

She laughed at his expression. "It's a shared experience diary, silly. Look -" She took it from his hands and opened it. "Couples fill in when they meet - you know, first impressions. There's a page for every first event - first meeting, first date, first time with the parents....you each fill it in with your thoughts." She looked at him shyly. "It's something you look back on when you've been together a long time.....it's to show that we've started again, Ben."

He smiled at her intensity. "Is there a page for when you first have sex?"

"There's a blank page on page twenty - I guess you could use it for that...but you have to work through the others first."

Ben took the book from her hands and examined it. "Thanks, Sis, it's a lovely thought." He leafed through it. "Wait a sec - you've filled it in!"

She laughed. "Well, we have been going out for a month, so we've done most of the things in it....I cheated a bit and filled out my impressions of tonight's dinner a couple of hours in advance. I knew it would be great."

"So what page are we up to?"

She looked at him with steady eyes. "Twenty."

He was in already in bed when she came out of the bathroom, and he watched her undress - the skirt and the white blouse first. He could see that her body had filled out a little, but it suited her - the curve of her hips was just a little more rounded to give a voluptuousness that hadn't been there before, but there was no spare fat on her frame. She deftly unfastened her bra and let it fall free, and he looked at her breasts, firm and full, the nipples already stiff with arousal. She hooked her thumbs under the elastic of her pants and slowly drew them down, and he watched her with hooded eyes. Her belly was firm and flat, and she had trimmed herself so that there was just a shadow of hair at the juncture of her thighs, pointing downwards to her crease like an arrow.

He leaned up on one elbow to look and she stood before him, relaxed in his gaze. The light from the ensuite spilled into the room illuminating one side of her, throwing the valleys of her body into shadow that shifted as she moved towards him. He could see a faint flush on her cheeks and her mouth was slightly open, her lips pouting and the flash of her little white teeth behind them, and her eyes were bright with desire.

She moved beside the bed and pulled back the bedclothes to stare down at him, hard and ready, his skin dark against the vivid white of the sheet and her voice was husky. "God, it seems ages, Ben."

"It is, Chelsea. It's been too long. Jesus, I want you!"

"You can have me, Ben. I'm yours."

She straddled him, her fingers reaching down to hold him upwards, adjusting slightly to engage him at the entrance to her body, and then she sank down, her hands on his chest and her hair swinging forward like a golden curtain. He gasped as he entered her, his thickness levering aside the tight, gripping walls of her vagina to slide upwards into the warmth of her belly. Her breasts were swinging forward, full and round, the nipples as hard as he had ever seen them and he cradled them in his hands and rubbed their tips with his fingers. They were heavy in his hands - the flesh firm and pliable, a creamy white against the darker, tanned skin of her torso.

For a long moment she was still, adjusting to the thick intruder inside her. Her labia were pressed hard against the root of his cock and he could feel the slow trickle of her juices seeping out between them. She began to move gently, her thighs flexing to lift her hips; he could feel the ridges of his cock rubbing against her as it withdrew and the sucking clasp of her cunt as it reluctantly released him. His rod gradually appeared, coated with her juices, one side shining in the light.

She stopped again, balanced above him with just the tip of his member embedded inside her body. For a long, tremulous moment she held herself there, their bodies only joined by the head of his cock, and then with a little cry she sank back down, grinding her hips as she swallowed him. His shaft slid into her like a greased piston, lancing up into her body to reach far inside, stretching her open again. She flung her head back and groaned at the invasion, her brain suffused with lust, her hips working at him, and she gripped him with her pussy, milking him with a powerful rhythmic grip that seemed to ripple and undulate along his length.

"Jesus, Ben, that's so fucking good!" She gazed down at him. "Tell me what you feel."

"I can feel myself deep inside you." He looked up at her, his blue eyes languorous with pleasure. "I'd forgotten what it was like to fuck my sister."

"Yes! God, yes! Tell me about it, Ben. Tell me about fucking your sister."

He stared up at her "I keep remembering you as a little girl - you and me, growing up together, with your flat chest and the little cleft between your legs...we used to take baths together...completely uninhibited. Who was it who told us that we could never touch?"

She closed her eyes, remembering the past but savouring the feel of the present. "No one, I guess. We just sort of knew." She smiled. "You didn't have much to touch anyway."

He nodded. "But we changed."

"Ahhh, yes I can feel that. What made you want me, Ben?"

"You did. I watched you grow up...your tits filling your blouse and the little lacy panties in the bathroom laundry basket. I'd take them into my room -"

She laughed. "But why me? Why didn't you fuck other girls?"

"I did...a few. But it was you, Chelsea. I thought you were so beautiful, but I knew that I couldn't have you." He grunted. "I never dreamt that you'd want me...that we could do this....it wasn't until the beach chalet."

"Tell me."

"The night of the storm - you left your panties on the floor and I took them -"

"Just like before."

Ben shook his head. "No, not just that. It a combination of things...the time was right. It was the scent of your pussy on your pants and the sight of your body through your nightie...and then you came into my bed. Jesus I wanted you."

She laughed again, wriggling down, gyrating her hips and gripping him with her muscles, milking him inside her. She felt him arch his back with pleasure, lifting her, his cock burrowing deeper. "Like you want me now?"

"God, yes. I wanted you, even though I knew it was wrong."

"How wrong, Ben? Tell me how wrong it is to fuck your sister."

"It's so bad, Chelsea." He thrust up into her, watching as her hair swayed back and forth, and the play of expressions on her face. She leaned forward again and he grasped her buttocks, holding them apart, dipping his fingers downwards to press against the slippery skin of his cock as it slid into her. He traced the ring of her vulva, feeling the thick grease of their lubricant slick against his fingertips, and he touched the delicate, folded skin of her anus, pressing into it lightly and hearing her groan with pleasure.

He whispered up to her. "You tell me, Chelsea - tell me why you like fucking your brother."

She was looking down at him, her eyes steady and clear. He could see the black portals of her pupils like windows into her soul and the gunmetal grey of her irises shot through with iridescent threads of gold.

"Because I love you." She smiled, realizing that it was the first time she had said that. It was true, though. She regarded his face, the comma of dark hair over his forehead and his eyes as blue as cornflowers in a field. He was like a little boy in so many ways, she thought - so vulnerable. She felt his thickness inside her and how it moved. Not so little, perhaps.

"I've always loved you, Ben...I used to see you take out other girls and I was so jealous."

"I never knew."

She nodded. "Cassandra Phillips used to tell me all about what you and she did together...I wanted to scratch her eyes out." She chuckled softly. "And now I have you, and she doesn't...you won't leave me again, will you?"

He remembered Cassie, a thin redhead in the last year of school, and how she had wriggled underneath him like a stick - nothing like the warm voluptuousness of the woman he was inside now. He reached up and grasped Chelsea's shoulders and pulled her sideways onto the sheets, rolling over her. She was underneath him now and he began thrusting in and out - long, languorous strokes, driving through her pelvic cavity into the depths of her body. The sound of their fucking filled the room: the wet suck of her grasping flesh, and the sighs and moans of their pleasure.

He could feel the first stirring of his climax and the thought of embedding his seed into his sister spurred him on. His pleasure built rapidly, spiraling upwards, seizing his consciousness. He could hear her gasping underneath him, groaning with each thrust, and he was aware of the press of her thighs around him. He envisaged his cock buried inside her, ready to spurt into her secret depths...into the very core of his sister: his own flesh and blood - raised of the same family, growing up together with their separate hopes and dreams...and how their lives had come together again in the little bed in the chalet.

The vision tripped him over the edge and he burst into her body, long hot ribbons of his sperm splattering against the trembling, clasping walls of her cunt. He heard her cry out, the feel of his hot seed driving her own climax. She writhed underneath him, her pussy grasping his shaft, milking it with hard contractions like a hungry mouth. He could feel the clasp of her flesh and he became one with it, their juices flowing together, their bodies fused. Their minds tumbled together through the footholds of space and time, rushing through labyrinthine tunnels of light and darkness and thundering sound until at last they emerged into the soft, golden light of day and he perceived her face beneath him once more, smiling up at him with her eyes filled with love.