Carlito & Gianna Pt. 02

We're all adults here, and so are all of my sexually active characters...

It had been nine months since Thanksgiving. Nine months since I last had sex with my sister, Gianna. It was the longest drought I ever endured, sixteen months prior being the longest. It seemed more difficult this time. During the year after her wedding, something about the fear of crossing the line of adultery made it easier to refrain. But now, having fucked my married sister and feeling no guilt, I had a hard time convincing myself I couldn't have her.

After the last time, we agreed, in all sincerity and honesty, never to do it again. But the months were especially cruel to me and I craved my sister more deeply than I ever had. Not only did I miss our passionate love making, but I missed the totality of our relationship. She was the only one I felt I could be my complete, genuine self with, open and vulnerable. Even still, I didn't want to tell her how badly I'd missed her. I was sure she loved and missed me enough to come and see me if I expressed my heart to her. I could even make it seem innocent and then seduce her once she arrived. But for her sake, and for the sake of her marriage, I resisted.

If anyone deserved happily-ever-after it was Gianna. And if two people deserved it, the second would be her husband, Aaron. He was such a good guy. And though I had some sort of emotional immunity protecting my conscience from guilt when I had sex with Gianna as a married woman, I still didn't want to wreck what he had with my sister, the love of my life.

But Fate, the atrocious temptress, found a most cruel way to bring us back together again.

I was on my way to work when I got a call from my mother. "Hey Ma," I answered.

Her voice was chilling. "Carlito, it's your dad! He collapsed. It's his heart. I'm at the ER. They just wheeled him back. Carlito, they... they sounded... they sounded like he might not make it through." Mom began crying.

"No. Mom, listen to me. What did they say? Did they say he wasn't going to make it?"

"No," she said. "No, but he looked so bad, Carlito! So bad. And the doctors, they wouldn't talk to me. They were too busy trying to keep him alive."

"Okay," I said, willing myself not to cry at the sound of my mother's ragged voice. "It's good that they're focusing on him. Let them do their job. They're trained professionals. They probably do this all the time. He'll be fine, Mom. Which hospital? I'm on my way."

I could hear the anguish in my mother's voice as she told me where they were. I assured her everything would be okay, doing my best to keep my voice confident and even. When I arrived at the hospital, the doctors still hadn't provided any information. I sat next to my mother in the Emergency waiting room, holding her hand as she dabbed her tears with a kleenex.

A nurse came and asked about my dad's health history and my mother yelled at her, the worry turning to rage in a flash. I calmed her down and volunteered to talk to the nurse at the other end of the room. After taking down my father's information, the nurse assured me that she would find out what was going on with him and report back to us. I thanked her and apologized for my Mom's outburst.

My mother began to cry again, her emotions agitated by the exchange with the nurse. Slow minutes came and went without any word from the nurse or any doctors. Every second grew longer and more sickening. As my mother's tears began to dry, I relaxed, and as I relaxed, I began to think about what might be going on behind the curtain. I imagined the doctors doing CPR on my father, trying to recollect from the doctor shows I'd watched how long someone can live unable to breathe on their own. I got scared, my own eyes filling up. Still, I choked the tears, refusing to show my mother that I was becoming unsure of her husband's recovery. My face was a stone wall, but inside, my emotions were roiling.

Mom announced she needed to go to the bathroom, and even as she stood, I felt a dreadful sense of loneliness. My heart filled as I watched her walk toward the women's room and I felt a tear fall down my cheek. I wanted to comfort my mother but I needed to be comforted just as much. I called Gianna and told her what was going on. Shamelessly, with a quivering voice, I begged her to find the first flight out. I didn't know how I would hold up if Dad didn't make it. I had visions of holding Mom up as she bawled at the doctor's cold words, 'I'm sorry. We did everything we could....' I knew I couldn't handle that alone. Mom would be stricken and I'd crumble apart. I needed my sister. I needed my best friend and my lover.

A half hour after Mom came back from the restroom, the nurse returned and told us they'd stabilized my dad for the moment. She said he would need some more tests and that he was sent to Radiology for images. When my mother and I released our tension and sighed in relief, the nurse said that he was still not fully out of danger just yet. We tempered our gladness, but still, the news had increased our hopes. We were cautiously optimistic.

The nurse escorted us from the ER lobby to a waiting room on the interior of the hospital a few floors up. There, we waited, trying not to fret. We chatted about nothing for a while, both of us implicitly agreeing that we needed the distraction.

Two hours later, a doctor informed us of my dad's condition. He was being prepared for surgery. The scans showed a tear in his heart and the surgeon said they were going to attempt to repair it.

Attempt.

"It's gonna work, right?" I said. "He'll be fine?"

"Look. This is a complicated procedure and the tear in your father's heart is significantly larger than any I'd ever repaired myself. I don't want you to worry, but I want you to understand the seriousness of his condition. We'll do our absolute best, but there are no guarantees here. Understand?"

"Yes, but, what exactly are his chances? Give us a number?" I held my voice even, squeezing my mother's hand. I wanted to get a sense of whether the doctor was just mitigating our expectations. I hoped there was a greater chance of success than he was letting on.

"I'd say..., well, the success rate for this emergency procedure is about sixty percent. But, like I said, the tear is rather substantial."

"So, about fifty percent, then?" I asked. The doctor hesitated. "Forty?"

He said nothing, his mouth a line, his expression hard and unreadable. I dared not speak a smaller number. "Okay," I said, looking away. "I understand." The doctor nodded and stepped away.

My heart sank and then I steeled myself, turning my pain into stones I'd carry alone. I put my arms around my mother who buried her face in my neck as I watched the doctor walk away from us. "It's okay, Mom. They don't know how tough Dad is. He'll make it." I wasn't sure if I believed what I was saying, but Mom nodded against my chest, sniffled and then straightened. Again, we sat there, waiting, our hearts in our throats.

Two hours later, I received a call from Gianna. Her plane had just landed and she was on her way to the hospital. To simply hear her voice and knowing she was drawing near comforted me and filled me with anticipation. I longed to see her. The emotions I'd been suppressing for months overflowed and flooded to the surface, mixing in with the anguish Mom and I shared. There was love, but also fear. Relief and also foreboding. The burden of misery could now be shared amongst the three of us. And if the worst was to happen, I would need my sister as much as my mother needed me. We'd hold each other up.

When Gianna reached the hospital, she called again. I told her to stay where she was and went down to meet her. When I saw her, skin gleaming in the sunlight, wearing loose, gray jogging pants and an old t-shirt that revealed the slightest sliver of her tummy, hair in a crude ponytail, I swore it was the most beautiful I'd ever seen her. I hurried to my sister, embracing her in a crushing hug. "Hey, bro," she said. The flow of grief, fear and doubt was stopped for the moment and all I felt was my sister's soft body on mine. Her skin had grown clammy in the August humidity and she smelled of earthy sweat. I inhaled the skin of her neck, my desire sparking to life like the engine of a car. I knew I should have felt grief and guilt, but I didn't. She always had that effect on me, shading all other emotions. I kissed her cheek, then her lips. In the brief moment our lips were plastered together, there was no one, nothing in the world but us. Instant relief. Instant joy. I wanted nothing more than to fall into her.

"I missed you so much, Gianna," I said, staring at her like I couldn't believe she was real.

I leaned in for another kiss. Gianna stopped me though. "Carlito."

"I know," I sighed, my hands on my sister's waist, hers around my shoulders. "But I can't even say how much I need you right now." We stood silent for a few heartbeats, gazing sincerely into one another's eyes.

Finally, my sister's hands slid down from my shoulders to my hands, taking them off her waist. "I'm sorry," she said quietly and folded her arms across her chest and looked down at her feet.

"No," I said apologetically. "I'm sorry. C'mon, this way." I led her through the hospital into the elevator.

"Any word on Dad's condition since last time?"

"He's been in surgery for about three hours now. I think that's a good sign. Means they're still working on him." Gianna nodded.

My mother and sister met with an embrace when we returned to the waiting area, Gianna reassuring her with kind, comforting words. My sister and I sat on either side of Mom, which seemed to make her feel much better. I was glad for it, my heavy heart finally beginning to lighten up. The Gianna effect. Her arrival was like a sunrise, radiating positivity and hope. I loved her so much.

We all chatted lightly, my mom smiling and laughing as Gianna told a funny story about a work friend. She continued, wisely distracting us with lighthearted topics. She talked about her husband, Aaron, which made me feel only a little jealous. She talked about their intentions to have a baby. Her fertility doctor told her it was only a matter of time before she became pregnant. Mom lit up at the prospect of having a grandchild and it was hard for me to resent the notion that gave my mother such joy. Instead, I smiled at the mental image of running around in the grass with my little niece or nephew and flashing Gianna flirtatious looks as she watched us, grinning and glowing in the sunlight.

We spent more than an hour talking and the doctor returned, walking toward us with a determined stride and a subtle, arrogant smirk on his face. "Alright," he said with assurance, "we had to play it by ear for a while, and I'm sorry we couldn't update you as often as we'd've liked to but, the surgery was a success."

Simultaneous sighs of relief went out from us all. "Thank you, doctor," I said and firmly shook his hand as my mother hugged Gianna.

"He should gain consciousness within the next hour or so. You can be there when he wakes up but only two can go back at a time."

Gianna and I both looked at our mother. She nodded. "Yeah, I'll go first." She followed the doctor down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

"Dad's gonna be okay," I said, relieved, then hugged Gianna. We sat down again, hearts glad and free, the dark cloud dissipating. "Thanks for being here for me, Sis." I put my hand on her knee, looking into her pretty face.

Gianna took my hand in both of hers, grasping it on her lap and caressing it gently. The simple gesture gave me goosebumps. "Of course, I came. He's my dad too, y'know."

"I just thought you might not want to be around me because of...y'know, because of Thanksgiving."

"No, no," Gianna said. "It was Dad. I had to come no matter what we have going on. I wanted to be here for Mom and you too. I'm glad I came and I'm so relieved that he's gonna be okay. So, thank you. Thank you for calling me." Gianna squeezed my hand, looking into my eyes. I smiled. She smiled back.

My sister held my hand between her warm thighs. I relaxed into the relief, my nerves settling after the big scare. I tried to avert my mind away from where my hand was and the seducing presence of my sexy sister. Even dressed so plainly, and in the aftermath of a traumatic experience, my sister's body threatened my carnal instincts. I clenched my jaw. After a few minutes, Gianna leaned into me, laying her head on my shoulder, closing her eyes and breathing against my neck. Her movement made my hand rise between her thighs, resting nearer her crotch than her knees.

I groaned inwardly, trying to hold myself together. I wanted so badly to do what we promised never again to do. And this time, Gianna seemed to really want to try sticking to our vow and the vow she made to her husband. But all I could think about was how her thighs felt on my hand, how the side of her firm breast pressed against my arm and how she smelled. God! I couldn't help myself!

My hand started to move up the middle of my sister's thighs, but she squeezed them together once I reached the summit. She gave a tiny gasp when I covertly wiggled my fingers against her sex. "Stop being bad," she whispered against my neck with a smile in her voice.

"Sorry," I mumbled. I stopped wiggling my fingers, but kept my hand nestled tightly between my sister's thighs. Over a few minutes she had adjusted her position several times, causing my hand to inadvertently graze her mound. I sat there, cock growing harder every second I listened to my sister's breathing, which I noticed was picking up pace. She felt the sexual tension just as much as I did. And she knew that I knew it.

Gianna spoke low in my ear. "Y'know, just because you fucked me good last year doesn't mean I can't be here for you anymore. Quite the contrary, in fact."

"Is that so?" I smirked, beginning to massage my sister's pussy again. She just nodded with the most wicked smile. "So, does that mean...?"

"I'm still committed to Aaron. And I wanna stay committed." She leaned closer with her lips near my ear and whispered, "I just like to think about us. It still turns me on. A lot. I touch myself thinking about you all the time."

"Oh, yeah?" I said, pressing firmly against her crotch as I let my cock stiffen to full strength. My sister nodded again. "Do you think about me when you're with Aaron?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed into my ear. "Don't you think about me when you're inside other girls?"

I smirked. "I would. I used to. But I haven't been with anybody since we were together last."

"Really!?" she whispered sharply, recoiling, and looked into my face. She squeezed my hand, stopping my motion. I moved it a few inches down toward her knees, suddenly aware that I had been groping my sister in public.

"Yeah," I said, half embarrassed to admit I hadn't gotten laid since Thanksgiving.

"Oh." Gianna seemed taken aback. "Why?"

"Just haven't got back out there, I guess."

Gianna stared through me. I knew she knew I wasn't being completely honest. The truth was that no girl had ever been able to compare to my own sister. "Oh, Carlito," she sighed sympathetically.

"What? It's a choice. I'm just single for the time being. No big deal."

"Carlito, who do you think you're talking to? I know you. I know you don't have to 'get back out there' just to get a good lay. You were sleeping with chicks left and right between my wedding day and Thanksgiving. What changed?"

I couldn't speak. How was I supposed to tell Gianna that since Thanksgiving, I was convinced that sex without that passionate spark we shared felt shallow? In the year since her wedding, I'd slept with a harem of girls of all types. And when I finally was able to connect with my sister again, I'd realized that all those hookups were severely lacking that complete and consuming passion I had only ever shared with my sister. How could I tell her that I was deeply in love with her and that I was stubbornly refusing to settle for some other woman? "I don't know," I said, resigning.

"Are you waiting for me?" she asked. "Because, I thought we had an understanding."

"We do, Gigi. We do. It's just...." I trailed off. I didn't want to explain myself. It was selfish and unfair to want what I wanted.

"I know how you feel about me. It's the same as you've always felt. And the times we shared together...." Gianna looked around, then spoke in lower tones. "The times we made love, I treasure every one. Every single one, even Thanksgiving. But, I'm married now, Carlito. You seriously have to move on. Do you understand?"

"I have to move on?" I questioned. I got really close and spoke in her ear. "Please don't talk to me like this is a one-sided thing, Gianna." I put my hand between her thighs again, touching her pussy through her jogging pants. She gasped, clamping my hand between her legs and squeezing it with her hand, trying weakly to pry it away. "Don't forget that I know you too. I know that when I put my hand here, you shudder, your skin tingles and you get unbelievably wet. I know that when I kiss you, you melt inside." I kissed her then, hard and passionate, and harsh. "How I feel!?" I scoffed, growling in my sister's ear. "How we feel about each other, Gianna, is real. You don't just treasure our times together, you fantasize about us. You know there's nothing like us two together. That's why you've been flirting with me this whole time. You want me too."

"Yes, okay, but-" Gianna started then gasped as I pressed between her legs harder.

I massaged my sister's sex through her pants with a forceful hand, listening as she groaned and cooed and swallowed, trying to hold herself together even as her thighs separated. "You crave me like I crave you. You love me like I love you. We're the same. And yes, you're married but I know you've been thinking the same thing that I'm thinking right now."

"W-what's that?" Gianna whimpered, voice quivering as I massaged her cunt.

"That Aaron has nothing to do with what goes on between a girl and her brother. That we can both be bad. That we can fuck whenever we want and Aaron never has to know. That you deserve to have your cake and eat it too. You know your brother is willing to give that to you and you don't ever have to feel guilty about it. I know that's really what you want, but you're scared. Say I'm lying and swear I'll stop this right now and never touch you again." At that I stopped groping my sister and stared into her glossy eyes.

Gianna looked down at my hand on top of her thigh. She glanced toward my lap, at the bulge of my full erection. She gazed into my lust-filled eyes as they devoured every inch of her perfect body - her plump thighs, her succulent lips, her full breasts, the perky tips pronounced beneath her top. And then our eyes met again. She saw the hunger in mine as I witnessed the worrisome lust in hers - that troubled, passionate, horny-but-guilty look that drove me crazy. I'd seen it years ago when she and Aaron were dating, back when we were attempting for a second time to quit our illicit relationship. She had gazed at me with that look, softly pleading with me, reminding me she was with him, that she wanted to be good to him. It did nothing to quell me then and we both succumbed to lust; me immediately, her eventually.

Gianna stared at me for a long time, contemplating behind those beautiful, passion-filled eyes. She seemed to settle on something, staring me in the face with sincere confidence. And then she kissed me, soft on the lips, like a token, like a consolation. She then stood and walked away from me, leaving me distraught. She's really made her decision, I thought. I'll never be with her again. And then she glanced back at me as she walked into the hallway, stopping and biting her lip.