That Night I Went Into My Older Brother’s Room

That January we arrived at the house in the mountains like every summer, with heavy suitcases and the same old routine: my mother assigning rooms, my father checking the water tank, Mateo carrying the bags from the trunk to the door without taking off his sunglasses. I watched him from the porch, pretending to organize my backpack, while a feeling I didn’t want to name settled in the pit of my stomach—and lower, between my legs, a wet throb that had not gone out for a year.

I had spent an entire year thinking about the last night of the previous summer.

We had come back late from a barbecue at the neighbors’ place. I was twenty-one; he was twenty-six. We walked along the dirt road to the house, dark beneath an immense sky, and on one of those curves his hand grabbed my arm so I wouldn’t trip over a hole. His hand was warm, steady, holding on a second longer than necessary. I didn’t let go either. We got to the door like that and, before going in, he leaned in as if he were going to say something. He said nothing. He only looked at me—we both knew it—and then went up to his room.

Twelve months thinking about that look. Twelve months sticking my hand inside my panties in my bed in the city, biting the pillow so I wouldn’t scream the name I wasn’t supposed to, coming alone thinking about my brother’s cock.

—Is your brother still with his girlfriend? —my best friend Camila had asked me sometime in the winter.

—They broke up in April.

—Ah.

That “ah” from Camila held all the questions I wasn’t asking out loud. I stayed quiet and changed the subject, but inside I was doing the math. Four months alone. Then six. Then ten.

***

The first afternoon in the mountains was the worst.

Mateo had put on a white T-shirt washed a hundred times, his shoulders broader than I remembered, and came down to the living room barefoot, his hair still wet from the pool. The shorts outlined the bulge without shame, a heavy bulge that shifted as he walked, and I clenched my thighs in the armchair, trying not to show it. He sat across from me, in the other chair, and held my gaze a moment too long before reaching for the remote. I lowered my eyes to the book in my lap and read the same paragraph three times without understanding a word, my cunt soaked under my cotton skirt.

Please let this be all in my head, I thought. Please let it go away.

It didn’t go away.

That night, during dinner, his leg brushed against mine under the table. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe not. He didn’t move away either, and neither did I. When my mother asked him for the salt, he leaned in front of me and, for a second, I felt the warmth of his body close to mine and a scent of glycerin soap that was almost unbearable. My nipples hardened under my T-shirt and I quickly crossed my arms, praying no one would notice.

—Are you okay? —my mom asked me.

—Yes, yes. It’s the heat.

The heat was a convenient excuse. The whole house was thirty-two degrees, the cicadas were going crazy outside, and I couldn’t explain to her that what was burning me had nothing to do with summer, that I was leaking down the inner side of my thigh every time he breathed beside me.

***

At eleven I was in my room, lying on my back, watching the ceiling fan go round and round. The blades clicked every time they passed a certain position, and that click had become the metronome of my own indecision.

Tick. No.

Tick. Impossible.

Tick. What if I go downstairs to the kitchen for water?

Tick. What if I get lost on the way?

I sat on the edge of the bed. The old T-shirt I slept in clung to my chest with sweat; underneath I had nothing on, no panties or bra. I ran a hand over my stomach and without thinking went down to my pubic mound: my fingers sank into something hot and viscous. I was already wet just from thinking about it. Outside, the crickets wouldn’t shut up, as if the whole mountain knew what I was thinking and had started commenting on it.

I stood up.

The tiled floor was cool beneath my feet, a marble caress in the middle of the oven. I walked to my bedroom door and pressed my ear to it, not knowing what I expected to hear. Nothing. The whole house was asleep.

I went out into the hallway.

***

My parents’ room was in the other wing, separated by the living room, by the kitchen, by two heavy doors. That gave me courage. That, and an entire year thinking about Mateo’s hand on my arm.

The hallway was lit only by the moon coming in through the window at the end. I walked barefoot, one hand brushing the wall to guide me, and reached his door.

It was slightly ajar.

Not wide open, not locked. An inch of darkness inviting me or challenging me—I wasn’t sure which.

I pushed it.

The door gave way without a sound. The room smelled like him: that mix of soap, dried sweat, and something warmer I couldn’t name. Mateo was sleeping on his side, his back to me, the sheet tangled up to his waist. Moonlight lit the outline of his shoulder, the curve of his biceps, the line of his spine. He was naked under the sheet: I could see the start of his ass, the firm curve of a cheek, and lower down, between his half-open thighs, the heavy shadow of his cock resting against the sheet. I stayed at the door for a few seconds, trying to recognize in that sleeping body the brother I had known since I was born.

I didn’t recognize him.

He was someone else. Or rather, it was him, but seen from a place I had kept shut tight for years.

I moved closer.

Each step cost me. Not because I was afraid of waking him—by then I almost wanted to wake him—but because I was aware I was crossing something that afterward couldn’t be closed again. A door, yes, but also something inside me. An inner room being opened that night.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped a millimeter. He drew a different breath. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His breathing changed only slightly, and that confirmed two things for me: that he was awake, and that he wasn’t going to be the one to start.

It was going to have to be me.

I rested my hand on his arm.

***

His skin was hot, hotter than mine. The skin of people who don’t sweat. I ran my fingers along his forearm, slowly, feeling the fine hair, the hardness of muscle underneath. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t turn over yet either. He let me do it, as if agreeing to a silent pact: you decide how far, I won’t move until you decide.

My hand went up to his shoulder.

Down his back.

Kept going, under the sheet, to the curve of his ass. I squeezed it without thinking, and he drew in a sharp breath, a tiny gasp slipping out through his nose. I pulled the sheet down a little farther and there it was: his cock already awake, thick, curved against his belly, the tip shining with a bead that had escaped. My mouth went dry. A year imagining it and it was bigger, darker, more beautiful than in any of my nights alone.

I closed my hand around it.

Mateo jerked around, eyes open in the dimness, and looked at me as if he had been waiting for that touch for the same twelve months I had.

—I knew you’d come —he whispered.

—When did you know?

—A year ago.

I squeezed his cock harder and he let out the air against my neck. I felt it pulse in my fist, hard as a hot stone, and I started moving my hand up and down slowly, pressing the tip every time I got to the top, spreading the liquid all over the head.

—You’re going to make me come already —he whispered in my ear, and bit my earlobe.

—Not yet.

***

I climbed onto the bed on all fours and tore the sheet off him completely. There he was in full, my brother, naked on his back, his erect cock pointing at his navel. I stayed still for a second, looking at it, giving myself permission, and then I lowered my head and took it into my mouth.

I sucked him deep. I felt his back arch, his thighs tighten, how he grabbed my hair with one hand without daring to push my head. I licked the tip slowly, circling the head with my tongue, then took him in all the way again until my throat closed around the glans and a gag filled my eyes with tears.

—Fuck —he groaned through clenched teeth—. Fuck, little sister, you suck it so well.

The word shot through my cunt like a current. I worked him harder, sucking with hollowed cheeks, one hand around the base, the other stroking his heavy balls already tightening against his body. Another longer groan escaped him and he pulled me off his cock, tugging gently on my hair.

—Stop. I’ll come in your mouth if you keep going.

—I want you to come in my mouth.

—Later. Come here now.

He lifted me on top of him. He yanked my T-shirt off over my head and stayed there staring at my tits for a moment, mouth slightly open, as if he could hardly believe they were in front of him. He took one in his whole hand and squeezed it, and with the other brought the tip of my breast to his mouth. He sucked my nipple hard, circling it with his tongue, biting it softly, and I came undone over him with a moan I had to smother against his shoulder.

My wet cunt pressed straight against his hard cock. I started moving instinctively, grinding against it, leaving a trail of slick all along its length. He grabbed my hips and guided me, sliding the tip between my open lips, brushing my clit with the head on every pass.

—You’re soaking —he whispered—. You’ve been like this all day, haven’t you? The whole fucking dinner like this.

—The whole fucking dinner —I answered in his ear—. The whole fucking year.

I grabbed his cock with my hand and set it at my entrance. I lowered my hips just a little and felt the tip sink into me, felt my cunt opening around the hot flesh of my brother. We both moaned at the same time, and we both covered our mouths at the same time, laughing with our eyes from fear and pleasure.

I took him all the way in.

I felt him hit me deep inside, against a spot I didn’t know existed. I stayed still for a second, his cock buried to the base, feeling my cunt stretch to take his thickness. He was breathing in short gasps beneath me, hands gripping my ass, not moving yet, waiting.

I started moving.

Slowly at first, rising and lowering myself the full length, feeling him slide in and out centimeter by centimeter. The mattress creaked softly and we both froze for a moment, listening, until the house’s silence reassured us no one had woken up. Then he found my mouth again, pushing his tongue in deep, while he drove his hips up under me, meeting mine on every descent.

It wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t desperate.

It was meticulous, almost careful, as if we both knew we wouldn’t be able to talk about it the next day and so everything had to be said right there, in the skin. Mateo moved my hips with his hands, setting the pace, lifting me and lowering me on his cock with a patience that nearly hurt. Moonlight came in through the window enough to see it, enough for him to see me riding him with my breasts bouncing against his face.

—Stop if you want —he whispered in my ear.

I didn’t want to. I shook my head, forehead against his cheek, and he understood.

***

He turned me over.

Without pulling out, he turned me onto my back against the mattress and got on top of me, his cock still buried all the way inside. He took both my hands and held them above my head, while he started fucking me harder, driving into me slowly but deep, hitting bottom with every thrust. The pleasure was unlike anything before, because it came charged with twelve months of waiting and the certainty that this could not happen again. Every movement had the density of a first time and a last time at once.

—Look at me —he said softly.

I looked at him.

He was my brother and, in that moment, he was also a man who had known my name before I could even say it. That contradiction didn’t push me away: it sank me deeper into what we were doing. I closed my eyes for an instant because the thought made me dizzy, and opened them because not looking at him made me dizzy too. He fucked me staring into my eyes, without looking away, while he drove his cock all the way to his balls.

—Tell me I’m your brother —he whispered against my mouth.

—You’re my brother.

—Again.

—You’re my brother, Mateo. It’s your cock fucking me. It’s your sister riding it.

He groaned low against my neck and sped up. He put one leg over his shoulder, opening me wider, and started pounding into me from above with all the force he dared without making noise. The mattress barely moved; the wet sound of our bodies crashing together, however, seemed deafening to me. I bit the back of my own hand more than once so I wouldn’t scream. He pulled my hand away and held it against the mattress.

—Don’t cover yourself. I want to hear you.

—They’ll hear us.

—Quietly. For me.

I moaned against his ear, softly, every time the tip struck deep. He slid a hand between our bodies and found my clit with his thumb. He began rubbing it in circles to the rhythm of his thrusts, and I felt a hot abyss open up in my belly.

—I’m going to come —I warned him, terrified of my own voice.

—Come on my cock. Come now.

I came.

I came with my mouth open against his shoulder, biting him so I wouldn’t scream, my cunt clenching around his cock in spasms I couldn’t control. I felt everything contracting inside me, the fluid slipping down my thighs to the sheet, my vision blurring as I looked at him from so close.

He kept fucking me through my orgasm, teeth clenched, holding on, until the shaking passed and then he pulled his cock out suddenly.

—In your mouth —he panted—. You said in your mouth.

I slid down. He knelt over my face, cock in hand, dripping with me, and I took him all the way in. I ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, sucking him hungrily, tasting myself on him, and he gripped the headboard so he wouldn’t fall.

—Swallow it —he whispered—. Swallow all of it.

He came a few seconds later. I felt the first hot jet against the roof of my mouth, then another, and another, while he bit his fist to keep from crying out. I swallowed every drop, eyes locked on his, and kept licking the tip until he shuddered from sensitivity and gently pulled me away, kissing my forehead with his semen still between our lips.

***

When we were done, I stayed still on his chest.

His hand drew slow circles on my back. Outside, the crickets kept on exactly the same, as if nothing had changed for the night, though for me everything had changed. I heard his breathing return to normal, his heartbeat settle down, and I knew I would remember that sound for years. I could still feel the warmth of his semen in my throat and the delicious sting of my cunt, open and used.

—You have to go back to your room —he said after a while.

—I know.

—Not for me. For you.

—I know, Mateo.

***

I dressed in silence. He stayed lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his cock still shiny between his thighs, and when I leaned over the bed to give him one last kiss—on the forehead, not the mouth; a gesture I’m not entirely sure why I made—he held my face with both hands for a second and looked at me with a seriousness that left me warm until the next morning.

—I spent a year thinking about this —he said.

—Me too.

—Tomorrow I’ll act like nothing happened.

—Me too.

I left the room.

I made my way back down the hallway like a sleepwalker, my brother’s semen still sliding down my throat and my juice dripping down my thighs. The house remained in its warm silence, my parents asleep in the other wing, the crickets making their endless music outside. I got to my bed, collapsed onto my back, and stayed staring at the fan until the violet light of dawn began to creep in through the window.

***

The next morning, I pretended.

I ran into Mateo in the kitchen. He was pouring coffee, wearing the same T-shirt from the previous afternoon, and he said “good morning” to me in a voice identical to every morning of my life. I answered “good morning” with the same normal tone. My mother came in a minute later and asked if we had slept well.

—Well —we both said at the same time.

Mateo reached me the sugar bowl without looking at me.

That was the only gesture he allowed himself. And I thanked him for it in silence, because anything else would have given us away.

That was the first and the last time.

Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself every time January comes back and I feel my cunt throb just thinking about him.