Kim

He took me twice more last night. Just woke me up, made no apologies, hardly a by your leave, before he thrust his cock into me. But my clit still tingles when I remember the touch of his lips against it, licking and sucking, biting then making it better, for as long as it took for an orgasm to slice through me with all the force of an axe.

But that was hours ago. He's been gone since before dawn.

I still feel his cock deep inside me when I move, so today would be the perfect day for him to check if I can walk, but he hasn't texted yet. I haven't either. And I suppose that could mean we'll never see each other again. But I don't feel like that’s the case. I feel like we'll see each other a thousand times more, be alone together even more often than that. I want that to happen. But I'm afraid to text first and find out I'm wrong, that it'll never happen that way for us.

I've been with Benji in his room since three PM and it's almost five. I should be concentrating on helping him with his lines, which he's still messing up pretty badly, but I keep glancing through the window to the parking lot, hoping to see Tank arrive, although there isn't much chance of that happening. It's Saturday and there's no meeting. But I told him I'd be here today before he left this morning, and he said he might stop by to help with the preparations for the play.

Benji tosses the stack of papers with his lines to the foot of his bed, eyeing me sharply.

"What?" I ask and smile at him. "You're doing great."

"I am," he says petulantly. "But you're not."

Can't argue with that. I'm supposed to be reading Juliet's lines, while he recites Romeo's, but I don't even know what page we're on. And I think he was saying something before he threw this little tantrum.

I reach over and tussle his hair, still smiling at him. "I'm sorry, Benji. I'm not being a great big sister today. My mind is somewhere else."

He looks at me like I've just said the dumbest thing. "Your mind is in your head and your head is here. So your mind can't be somewhere else."

I chuckle at that. Sometimes I wish my life was as simple as the one Benji understands. "I meant, I'm thinking of something else and I can't stop doing it, even though I'm trying to."

I almost said, "Someone else" but managed not to.

I lay down my stack of papers with the play lines too. "Tell me, Benji, do you know what this play is about? Is there a Juliet in your life?"

He looks at me like I've lost my mind again. "I'm not really Romeo. It's just a made up story. I'm just an actor."

Can't argue with that either. "I was wondering if you like any of the girls here?"

He's been living here for eight years now. The garage apartment I'm staying in now was actually built for him after he turned twenty-one, but it quickly became apparent he needed to be with his peers. He’s never had a girlfriend, at least not one he told me about.

He blushes like he always does when I try to talk to him about girls, his pale cheeks turning a rose gold color.

"I can tell there is," I say, smiling even wider. "Come on, spill it. Who is she? What's her name?"

"You're making fun of me," he protests.

"Not in the least," I say, fighting the urge to smile again, since that's what's throwing him off.

"I like Violet," he says sheepishly.

"She's the one playing Juliet, right?"

"Yes, but I liked her before too," he says. "And now I will have to kiss her."

He blushes again after saying that and looks down at the floor like he did something wrong.

"Yes, you will have to kiss her," I say, smiling widely again. “That’s a good thing.”

"But she dies at the end of the story, and so do I," he says, a confused look on his face like he's trying to figure out what that means. I'm not sure what exactly he's trying to say. Maybe he thinks his feelings for her will be doomed too because of it.

I was outraged when I heard that they were performing Romeo and Juliet. That kind of tragedy isn't something my brother can fully understand, and I'm sure most of the wards here can't either. But I only managed to upset Mom by talking about it, so I stopped. I would've spoken to the organizers about it, had they not already started preparing for it by the time I arrived here from New York. I won't make a fuss now, since Benji likes his leading lady, and I'd be doing more harm than good by arguing.

"Romeo and Juliet is a very old story. A classic story," I explain. "It's sad, but it teaches us that fighting for true love is more important than anything else. Even if your family doesn't approve, even if no one approves, you should still follow your heart. If you don't, nothing will ever be alright."

At least that's how I always made sense of that senseless ending.

From the puzzled expression on his face, I can tell my explanation didn't cure his doubts. He's probably thinking, "How can you follow your heart if it's inside you?". Which is exactly why this play is to complex for him.

"If you love someone, you should be with them no matter what," I say. "So I think you should tell Violet how you feel about her."

He blushes a deep red this time. "No," he mouths more than says.

"Sure, why not?" I say. "You get her a gift, like maybe some chocolates, or one of those cute keychain toys, and you tell her, ‘I like you, Violet. I think you're the prettiest girl in the whole world. Will you be my girlfriend?’"

"Oh, it's that simple, is it?" Tank's deep, rumbling voice asks from the doorway. It vibrates right through me, just like the humming of his bike did when he took me for a ride.

This time I must be the one blushing as I turn to smile at him. My face sure is hot enough. "Yes, it is."

He looks at Benji. "Don't ever believe girls when they say that. It's never that simple getting one of them to like you back. First you have to talk to them a lot, and tell them you like their dresses, and the way they do their hair. After that, you can start bringing them gifts and asking them if they want to have some juice with you or something. And only after that do you tell them you like them. And if you're lucky, you'll get a kiss at the end of all that."

Benji is listening to him very intently, more intently than he ever listens to me.

"What if you don't get a kiss?" Benji asks.

"Then you keep trying, of course. And eventually you will get that kiss," Tank says in a tone that suggests there can be no other outcome.

Benji nods like he now has it all figured out. "Violet has to kiss me. It's in the play."

Tank grins at him. "Then you already have a head start. Now go put on your high tops. I came to fix your basketball hoop, and then we can play some one-on-one before dinner."

Tank winks at me as he says it, and yes, I would love some one-on-one with him too. Very much. Right now. But this is no place for it. I walk to him while Benji is busy lacing up his sneakers, and brush my hand across his chest as I motion him to follow me into the hall.

He's so close, and he smells so good, the heat he's giving off better than the first sunshine of spring. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. But this is no place for that.

"You never told me you like what I'm wearing," I say coyly.

"That's because you'll always look better naked," he counters, wrapping his arm around my shoulders under the guise of moving me out of the way of a group of girls on their way to somewhere. But he leaves it there after they're gone. "Besides, we sped right past those first few stages."

"Oh, those are stages, are they?" I ask, grinning at him. "And I suppose you've mastered every one of them."

I also think he never had to wait long for a girl to kiss him.

"Wouldn't be giving advice about it, if I hadn't," he says.

"I'm ready," Benji announces, bobbing in place next to us.

"Then let's go," Tank says, guiding me forward with this hand still around my shoulders.

"If Kimmie is playing too we need another person for two-on-two," Benji says, looking around like he's searching for someone to ask along.

"I'll just watch you guys play," I tell him, since I'm wearing my heels again today, because I wanted to look good in case Tank showed up.

"And then later, we'll get some dinner," Tank announces. "Maybe burgers."

"Or Chinese," Benji suggests. "I never get to eat that, but we have burgers all the time."

"Whatever you want," I tell him, casting a glance at Tank who nods and smiles.

Maybe he knows the fastest way to my heart is through my brother. Maybe this is just one of those stages he's so knowledgeable about. Though I'm also pretty sure his stages end with the girl taking off those clothes he kept complimenting. And I already did that. But he's still here, still coming back, still has his arm around me. So maybe he does want more than that. Maybe he does want to find his way into my heart.

* * *

We did go for Chinese and then we came straight to my place after we dropped Benji off at the home.

My head's resting on his chest, which is still heaving from the orgasm we just shared. Sweat’s cooling on my back and he has his invincibly strong arms wrapped around me so tight, it's hard to catch my breath. But I don't want to catch my breath. And I don't want him to let me go.

I raise my head a little and gaze into his eyes. They look like the ocean at midnight under a full moon right now.

"Thank you for spending time with my brother," I tell him. "And for taking him out to dinner."

He grins at me. "Well, you're the one who took us."

It's technically true. I was the one who drove us, since we wouldn't all fit on his bike.

"You know what I mean," I say softly. "Benji really likes spending time with you. I saw that today. And being the person who should be the one spending more time with him, I really appreciate it."

He looks at me a little sadly, a little questioningly, a little like he cares. "You have your own life away from here. Benji understands that. He talks about you a lot, so you're clearly a big part of his life. Besides, I like spending time with him, and with all the other ones too. Did you know some have families that never visit? Just the other day, when I was helping with the stage, one of the girls was telling me how she hopes her parents will come for the play, because they never visit otherwise. That just fucking breaks your heart, hearing that, doesn't it?"

I nod, can't quite find the right words to say since that water in his eyes is raging right now, flowing fast, and it doesn't look like it'll ever stop.

"You know what that's like, don't you?" I ask.

"Sorta, yeah," he says, rather harshly and noncommittally like he wants to stop talking about it.

"I know too. Sorta," I tell him to make it easier on him. "My dad died when I was seven years old, and for a long time I didn't understand that he was gone forever, that he'd never be back. For a long time, I waited for him to come home. I still sometimes catch myself waiting for him. I mean, I snapped out of it pretty fast, since I had my little brother and my mom to take care of, but still…"

I don't know where I meant to take the rest of that sentence, or why I even told him all that. But being back home has stirred up all sorts of memories, and he looked genuinely heartbroken when he spoke about his heart breaking. I don't know many people who’ve lost parents when they were young, or who truly understand that kind of pain. But I think he might be one of them.

"That couldn't have been easy for you," he says, loosening his tight hold on me and brushing a strand of hair off my face.

"It wasn't, but I was doing what I had to do," I admit. "And it took me a long time to realize it might have been too much. That I left myself so far behind I couldn't even see what I wanted anymore."

"So you left," he says. "And that was probably a good thing. Benji is just fine at the home. They treat them well there."

"I know," I say. "And I don't know why I'm telling you all this. Sorry."

He cups my cheek and stares very deep into my eyes, so deep I feel like I'm drowning in his. "Why are you sorry? What's the point of living if you can't do exactly what you want to do and say whatever you feel like saying?"

Logically, there's plenty wrong with what he just said. But it's exactly what I needed to hear and exactly what I've deep down always believed to be true.

"That's how you live your life, isn't it?" I ask, though I already know the answer. From the moment I met him, I've known the answer. There was no apology, no "may I", no hesitation, in the way he chased me, the way he caught me, the way he took me and continues to do it.

He nods and grins at me. "Does that scare you?"

"No," I say. "It impresses me."

"Good," he says and smiles smugly. "I like to impress women."

"I bet you do," I say and snuggle even closer to him. "Like Jessica, for example, when she came to watch you and Benji play basketball and wouldn't stop cheering. Or stop talking to you after the game."

"Were you jealous?" he asks and slides his hand down my back to my ass.

"I wouldn't go all the way to jealous…" I say and leave it at that.

"Just so you know, I'd take a redhead over a MILF any day," he says and squeezes my ass.

"What about a redheaded MILF?"

He narrows his eyes like he's considering it, but I've come to understand that playful, mischievous light in his eyes. He already knows his answer and is just toying with me. I like being his plaything. So I gasp in outrage and play along.

"Nah," he finally says. "I'd still take you over a redhead MILF."

"You have a thing for redheads, don't you?" I ask, smiling at him.

He chuckles. "I thought that was obvious by now."

I shrug by way of answering.

"Yeah, I have a thing for redheads. Kinda like some people have a thing for feet."

I smack his arm, my eyes bulging, genuinely taken aback this time, since I can't believe he just said that. "What? I'm some sort of fetish for you?"

"No, you're fire, through and through, even your hair is like flames," he says grinning again. "And I like playing with fire."

He pulls me down for a kiss just as I was about to play the outrage card on him some more, dousing the flames of my reply, just as he rouses others, more searing.

Before I know it, he's on top of me, my legs spread wide around his waist, and I don't understand how his weight isn't crushing me, but it isn't. It's exactly perfect.

Our lips and our tongue are sealed together, perfectly locked, as he pushes his cock into me, hard and unapologetically like everything about him is. I gasp into the kiss, but then just keep kissing him, keep wrestling with his tongue even as his thrusts get deeper, harder, faster, wilder, and all I really feel is the explosion building deep within me, the one only he can cause. Bliss, pleasure, searing hot need and desire are forming a spinning ball of lava inside me that keeps growing ever bigger, spins ever faster. The explosion is not far. It's so close I can almost feel it already.

But I still wasn't ready for it when it comes, tearing through me like a million sharp pins, poking holes then sealing them with intense pleasure that could make me lose my mind, if it lasts too long. But at the same time, I've never felt more in the moment, more present, more like myself—my true self—than I do as the orgasm he's giving me washes over the last of my conscious awareness.