Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Again, this story is a little off the wall, but I find that I enjoy those types most of all anyway. In this chapter, Eli gets a little taste for something he never realized he could crave. You guessed it; Clare. If you enjoy it, please post a review! It's encouraging to see an interest or following in a story, otherwise I just tend to let it sit for a while. This chapter is a little short, which I chalk up to being busy with school as of late. Things will pick up with time. Again, I'm always open to criticism, it can only make me a better writer. Enjoy!

I find that I live for the scent of wafting coffee in small cafes across the city. Call me a coffee connoisseur, if you will. Nothing else satisfies me quite as much as the anticipation of waiting for a cup. Except perhaps having sex. I think that beats nearly everything, not surprisingly.

Finally as I get my fix, I turn to the exit to myself out into the busy street. I find it funny how some people look so confused, almost violated as they attempt to navigate the city. Not me. It doesn't pay to lose your cool in such a hustling, bustling place.

My apartment isn't far, about ten minutes away. As I reach the door leading up to the stairwell, I realize I probably should have picked something up for Clare, but I'm not even sure if she likes coffee. I'm not sure about what she does or doesn't like in general, honestly.

Clare is something of an enigma to me. Even when we were little, I found it difficult to figure her out. Perhaps it was because her head was always stuck in a book or maybe I'm just not perceptive enough, didn't pay the necessary amount of attention. Either way, the distance between us seems far too expansive now to build a bridge between, linking her mindset with mine. I'd be lying if I said I didn't regret not getting to know her better, but Toronto would have eaten me alive had I stayed. It did with our parents, it would have with me, and especially to Clare. I'd be damned if I chained myself to that same fate.

Wandering to the bottom entryway to my apartment complex, I can't help but wonder what brought Clare here, to me. Obviously Mom passed. Aneurysm, they said. Absolutely noway to prevent it and nearly impossible to detect ahead of time. It hit her like a bat out of hell, leaving Clare without a guardian since dad left years before.

It always struck me as odd; how it's always been our little cluster of a family. First mom, dad, Clare, and I. Then mom, Clare, and I, then Clare and mom.

And now, down to Clare and I. Perhaps the most unlikely of pairings out of how that could have turned out. Neither of us are overjoyed about it, but there's no choice in the matter. My privacy has been invaded, and while I'm not fond of that, I refuse to run my life differently because of Clare. Adapt or go, that's my rule.

Still I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not getting her something from the cafe, just for the thought behind it. She is my sister, after all.

"Oh god." I stammered, biting down on my bottom lip to stifle my own sounds. Even though Eli isn't home, I'm generally careful about my noise level when pleasuring myself.

Obviously the girl on the screen isn't nearly as concerned about that, moaning and panting with wild abandon as she rides the guy.

Every time I watch porn, I feel so dirty. I say it as though I'm a seasoned pro at watching it, when really this would count as maybe my third time in my life. But since the other night listening to Eli, that feeling won't go away. That pulsing, almost begging throb. I need to release somehow, even if I end up regretting it later. It's like a mechanism of torture almost, or a test of my willpower, which I have none to speak of. I'm not even entirely sure what people focus on while watching this. I just keep watching how he rams his hips into hers as she rides him, how his hand goes to her clit and rubs tirelessly as she throws her head back in ecstasy.

I'm about as wet as I can possibly get, my fingers not moving even nearly fast enough to satisfy me. Something mechanical would do the trick, or something with more girth. The mere thought has me turning a bright shade of crimson.

Flicking my thumb over my clit, I can feel it all coming to a head; my hips bucking up to meet my fingers. It almost feels naughty doing this, knowing I could get caught at any moment-

"I got coffee, none for you though, deal with- Clare?" Eli stammers, eliciting a shrill of fear and embarrassment from me. Embarrassment doesn't even cover it. I'm mortified. I quickly pull a blanket over my lower half.

"Why are you home so soon?!"

"Why are you masturbating in the living room?!" he retorts.

I come up empty on a reply. Probably because the futon is out here and so is my laptop, but I'd like to think his question is rhetorical.

All the while the video is still playing, and the girl finally came. Took long enough, and I'm jealous that I didn't get to.

With his hand over his eyes, Eli goes to his room. "Just, continue if you must. I'll be...yeah." he awkwardly articulates. Even as his door shuts, I know I can't finish. The moment was fleeting, and was killed the moment he barged in. I'm sure I'll be blushing perpetually in his presence from this point on.

Even though I just saw it, I can barely believe that happened. Clare, propped up on the futon with her back arched, her hand between her legs, whimpering quietly. I wish I could get the image out of my head, and in the same way, I don't. I hope it permanently stains my memory because it might be the hottest thing I've ever seen.

For some reason I either can't pinpoint or admit to myself, I put down the coffee and hastily remove my pants and boxers, sitting myself on my bed. This is wrong. In every single way it possibly could be, it's wrong. Seeing her touch herself wasn't supposed to happen, and now jerking off to the thought? If I ever felt twisted and sick in my own life., it was now. But I was already lost in it, my hand pumping up and down my incredibly hard length as I pictured the short lived scene.

I can still hear her whining if I think about it enough, her hips moving up off the seat to get more, to please herself. God she looked sexy with her legs spread like that.

At once I reach my finish with a low, inaudible groan, my eyes fluttering open and closed while I try to wrap my mind around what just happened. My baby sister was in my living room, masturbating for no one's eyes but her own. Yet I saw it and managed to get off on it myself.

I can't even begin to understand what this means so I dismiss it, writing it off as a momentary lapse of judgment on both our parts. She won't make the same mistake twice, not with how furiously she blushed. Though I wish she would, just so I could get a better look next time.