Cousin Emma Ch. 01bytouchy_miss©
The girl that he saw standing at his mothers front door was nothing like he'd expected. Her dark hair fell around the fair skin of her face and licked her cheekbones. Her eyes, which sought his in greeting, were disarming and unusual, grey within a deep blue circumference, and when she smiled at him they crinkled up in support of her mouth. For the next hour he sat with them all in the front room and he watched her charm everyone. She was all genuine, heartfelt warmth and good cheer, and it illuminated her. Even though she had just blown in from the street, with the cold still clinging to her, and the mist shining in her hair, she lit up his mothers front room and her warmth seeped into every corner.
She played subconsciously with her hair as she talked, twisting it up into a large claw clip, exposing her smooth white neck, emphasising the line of her jaw, before letting it spill out over her shoulders and lick at her cheeks again. She did this repeatedly, taming, releasing, taming, releasing. He made himself take his eyes off her. It was quite the effort for him to appear casual. Whilst sharing stories of her travels her eyes would land on him, the sun shone out of them, and he could not bare it in a room full of people. He realised with some disturbance that he wanted her to look at him alone. He was greedy for her attention.
So when she slipped out of the room, he followed at leisure and found her fiddling with the lock on the back door. She turned on that brilliant smile that he knew had convinced a hundred men to do her bidding.
"If you help me open this door I'll make it worth your while."
"What will you give me?"
"Anything you want," she laughed uncomfortably.
"I can't believe you are trying to escape already," he said dryly as he worked the lock.
And she laughed. It made him feel wonderful in a schoolboy kind of way. He had made her laugh.
They tumbled out into the back garden and she regarded him as she dug around in her handbag for her cigarettes. Finding one she lit up and leaned back against the wall, looking around. She was uncomfortable and he could have filled the silence with inane chatter about something. But the tension between them as they stood in the tiny rear yard was entrancing, electric, confronting, and so delicious that he didn't want it to end prematurely. Neither did she it would seem. She had swapped the happy chatter of the front room for something else entirely. He expected her to try to fill the quiet void and make everything easy and companionable, try to disarm his quiet mood, push him into a more relaxed congenial humour. Perhaps they would share a joke and she'd see him laugh. That would make her feel more at ease, and by rights he knew he should give that to her. Then the light in her eyes would shine on him again, and he would bathe in it. But that would come another time.
After a while she glanced sideways at him, looking up from under long lashes.
"So, what is it we are to each other," she half whispered. She had apparently decided that attack was her best form of defence.
"Hmmm... That all depends what you mean." He turned in to her conspiratorially and made a little corner of their bodies against the wall. Though the were not touching it was an intimate gesture. He could see the rise and fall of her breasts as she sucked in some deep breaths, and it excited him that this was the effect that his proximity had on her.
She needed something to distract her and so drew back on her cigarette.
"Can I have a puff," he asked, just to watch her hand, slightly trembling, move towards him through the small space between them. He took it gently, without making contact with her, and held it between his fingers.
"Well....," she really didn't want to have to say it, and now she turned to face him and the light from the window fell fully on her face. A little crease of disapproval had appeared between her eyebrows. "We are...related," she hissed secretively.
And there it was. Everything that had been said between them up to this point could have been an exchange between any two cousins. But now she had given voice to the undercurrent and she was looking for an early resolution, she wanted to know how it would end. So soon? He knew she was probably used to feeling powerful around men and here, in this situation, felt confused by the power shift. But he wasn't going to let her get out of it that easily. He knew what he had to do to keep her balanced on a knifes edge.
He drew back on the cigarette and used the opportunity to take in huge, delicious eye-fulls of her. Being obvious, making sure she was aware of his appreciative gaze. She was so well put together. He ran his eye languidly over those inviting curves, so well proportioned, hourglass. Skin so soft, yielding, young, flawless. The hollow of her throat. The sway of her back. Her stance. Her breasts. He felt like a predator. Even when he had been 25 (her age now) he had never met any girl like this. Which was a good thing because he wouldn't have known what the hell to do with her back then. But now, 10 years later he knew that she was something rare, and this night was something rare. They would never be the same people again and never feel quite the same as they did right in this moment. So tonight they should immerse themselves in it, entwine their lives and bodies and minds so completely that they wouldn't know where one stopped and the other began.
Scenarios of all her secret places that he would go, ran through his head in a giant mosaic. The sweep of her bottom to her thigh, looking up at the underside swell of her breasts, his thumb grazing across her nipple, his mouth on the side of her neck, her head thrown back in passion.
"So we are," he said giving nothing away with his words whilst his gaze painted a different picture for her all together.
She wanted him to take her. Right then and there in his mothers courtyard. She wanted to surrender herself to him and let him do anything he wanted to. If he had been anyone else, she would have cornered him, propositioned him. She wasn't shy. But this time she found that she was the prey rather than the hunter, and she was in fear. Fear of what he would do to her when he caught her, but an even greater fear than that. The fear that he would leave her, and not bother with her at all.
She believed that he still hadn't made up his mind. There were complications. They had never met before this night but they had both been raised on the same Irish Catholic Values, where guilt was a very large feature of the education system. Now, usually Catholic guilt only goes to improve fucking out of wedlock, making it that little bit more naughty. But cousins, uh uh, cousins, no matter how distant, were still family. And you just didn't fuck family did you! She wondered if this was adding to his allure. Was it the illicit nature of her feelings making her so wet between the legs that it was painfully erotic to move. He had to take her. He had to give it to her. So she did something that she loathe to do and laid her cards on the table. To try to secure the deal as it were.
So when he said, "So we are."
she said, "I don't think I can go inside now Declan."
"Why ever not."
"Because my knickers are soaking wet," she whispered, staring at her feet. How was he making her feel this way? "Show me," he demanded.
She froze...what did he mean?
"Take them off," he said.
She glanced nervously sideways at the light spilling from the kitchen window.
"They can't see you in the dark here, not when they have the light on" he chastised.
She reached up under her skirt and hooked her thumbs under the waistband, pushing her undies down and wriggling a little to get them down and over her heels. Then she bunched them up in her fist. He put out his hand and she still couldn't meet his gaze.
"Give them to me." He unfurled them and held them out in front of him.
She hadn't dressed to be undressed. They weren't anything terribly special but he seemed to admire them for a second and then popped them in his pocket.
She found the nerve to look at his face again and the eyes she found there were soft and deep and the darkest warmest brown. He was looking at her kindly. He stepped into her and leant over to whisper in her ear
"Show me more," he said. His warm breath shimmering down the side and back of her neck.
She reached out to him.
"Don't touch me," he ordered softly. He leant in closer to her and she could feel his cock pressing into her thigh. She felt a proud desire for the erection that she had given him. Her stomach clenched and a shiver shot down into her pussy which spasmed and clenched aching for his prick to fill it.
"Put your finger into your pussy," he said, "and show me how wet your slutty little hole is Emma. But don't come. You're not allowed to come yet"
Yet she thought, and gasped as her cunt spasmed again but she didn't make a move to touch herself.
"Do it Emma! It's begging to be touched. It's not like you haven't touched it before is it. I bet you play with that fucking beautiful, sopping cunt all the time."
Emma squeaked a repressed moan and exhaled. No one had ever dared speak to her like this and she was disturbed and excited to find she loved it.
She pushed her breasts into his chest "Touch me!" She hissed forcefully in his ear.
"If you want me to touch you Emma, you are going to have to do as I say."
He was calm, and she was so desperate to please him that she reached between her legs and, avoiding her clit, soaked two fingers in her juices. After which,meeting his eyes with a look of defiance, she held them up in front of him where the light caught them sparkling in the darkness.
"Declan!" Someone called from deep within the house.
"Beautiful," he breathed, "Now taste yourself Emma."
She was starting to feel humiliated but didn't want him to know, so as she brought her fingers down to her mouth, and brought out her tongue to lick them clean in 2 long, slow strokes, front and back, she never took his eyes off his and was pleased when she saw a brief flicker of weakness in his countenance.