Chapter 1

The digital clock on the nightstand flicked from 3:00 AM to 3:01 AM, an eerie glow casting long shadows across Clara’s bedroom. She stared up at the ceiling, her blonde hair splayed out on the silk pillowcase, yellow eyes reflecting the dim light from the bedside lamp. Her body, still warm from another unsatisfying encounter, lay exposed under the thin sheet. She sighed, her breath misting in the cool air, and rolled over to her side.

“Another one bites the dust,” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper.

She reached for her phone, the screen illuminating her face as she scrolled through her social media feeds. The usual suspects were there - friends from high school, old teammates, and a handful of ex-lovers. She paused at a picture of her and her latest fling, a chiseled jaw and a charming smile that had once made her heart flutter. Now, it just made her yawn.

She tossed the phone back onto the nightstand and sat up, the sheet falling away to reveal her toned body. She stretched, her back arching like a cat’s, and padded over to the window. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the garden below.

Clara’s eyes traced the familiar path of the picket fence that bordered her home, the ivy creeping up its posts like a living vine. She could see the flower beds, now dormant in the cool night air, waiting for the warmth of spring to bring them back to life. The sprawling lawn, once a vibrant green, was now a patchwork of brown and gold, the remnants of a long, hot summer.

She leaned against the window frame, her eyes drifting to the sprawling oak tree that stood sentinel in the corner of the yard. Its branches stretched out like welcoming arms, beckoning her to climb, to escape.

She was quiet, bored. Trying to understand the world around her because nothing else made her feel alive.

The grace, the brilliance that she had seen in her former companions was now nothing more than the liminal emptiness of space.

The void.

That’s what Clara felt, a vast emptiness that no amount of sex, no matter how kinky, could fill. She’d tried it all - the casual flings, the one-night stands, the whips and chains. But it was all just ... empty.

She turned away from the window, her gaze landing on the mirror that hung on the wall opposite her bed. Her reflection stared back at her, a beautiful woman with short blonde hair, yellow eyes that seemed to hold a universe of secrets, and a body that was the envy of every woman and the desire of every man. Yet, there was a hollowness in her eyes, a restlessness that she couldn’t shake off.

She was like a fine wine, aged to perfection, but left uncorked, her bouquet untasted, her flavor untapped.

She walked over to her dresser, the drawer creaking softly as she pulled it open. Her fingers traced the edge of a small, worn notebook, a relic from her teenage years. She picked it up, flipping through the pages filled with her girlish scrawl, dreams, and desires. Her eyes landed on a passage she had underlined, a quote from Anaïs Nin - “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

She closed the notebook, a sense of determination in her eyes.

She knew what she wanted, what she needed. She needed to feel alive, to feel something other than this gnawing emptiness. She needed to take a risk, to step out of her comfort zone.

She walked back to her bed, her steps echoing in the quiet room. She sat down, her fingers tracing the edge of her phone. She knew what she had to do.

She opened her browser, her fingers flying over the keys as she typed in the website she had visited earlier that night. The one that had led her to this moment, this decision. The one that had shown her that her deepest desires were not so different from others.

In a desperate attempt, Clara took a silly internet quiz on fetishes, trying to find something that would give her life and sparkle.

She answered a series of questions, all of them more profound or serious, but in the end the website gave a curious answer.

“Your dominant fetish is incest.”

The words stared back at her, stark and bold, like a neon sign in the dark. She blinked, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a shock, a revelation that sent a shiver down her spine. But there was something else, something more. A thrill, a sense of forbidden excitement that she couldn’t ignore.

She closed the browser. She had always known that her younger brother had feelings for her, had seen the way he looked at her, the way his eyes followed her around the room. But she had never acted on it, never even considered it.

It was taboo, forbidden, a line she had never thought to cross.

But maybe it’s just the thing she needs to make her life make sense again.

To make her feel alive.

Clara took a deep breath, her mind made up. She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found Matthew’s name. She hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over the call button. This was it, the point of no return. Once she made this call, there was no going back.

In a fit of madness, she angrily throws her cell phone at the wall. Not knowing what to do, desperate, just wanting to feel something other than sleepy.

She gets up from where she was sitting, her body almost like a painting of Ancient Greece casting a shadow on the floor from the moonlight coming in from her window. She picks up her cell phone from the floor, decides that she will think long and hard before doing this, and that perhaps waiting to make contact in person during the day would be the ideal.

She walks over to her window, the cool night air brushing against her skin, and looks out into the darkness. The moon is still high in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the garden below. She can see the outline of the oak tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze.

It was time to sleep.

Clara knew that the ideal was to sleep, but she simply didn’t want to, she was too depressed, and sleeping perhaps increased that feeling.

She wanted to feel something other than this emptiness, this void. She wanted to feel alive, to feel a spark, a connection. She wanted to feel something other than the cold, empty sheets beside her.

She lay down on her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind racing.

She thought about Matthew, his blonde hair, his brown eyes, he was perfect for making her feel live again, he wasn’t ugly, he was her younger brother, and had desires for her.

Convincing him to fuck me wouldn’t be difficult at that point, she thought.

And she wasn’t quite wrong.

Matthew had always been a bit of an enigma to her. He was her brother, after all, and they’d never been particularly close. He was a few years younger than her, and while they’d shared a house growing up, they’d never really shared much else. He was always more of a bookworm, his nose buried in some classic or another, while she was the cheerleader, the life of the party. But she’d seen the way he looked at her, the way his eyes followed her around the room. She’d seen the way he blushed when she caught him staring, the way he stammered when she spoke to him.

She always heard him calling her name in the bathroom during long baths. A low but clear voice. he clearly had desires for her, questioning that was out of the question.

Clara sighed, her fingers tracing the edge of the sheet. She knew this was wrong, taboo, but the thought of it sent a thrill down her spine. She wanted to feel alive, to feel something more than this emptiness. And right now, Matthew was the key to that.

She turned over onto her side, her eyes drifting shut as she let sleep take her. But her dreams were restless, filled with images of Matthew, his hands on her body, his mouth on hers. She woke up with a start, her heart pounding in her chest, her body aching with a need she couldn’t deny.

The dream was still fresh in her mind, the feel of Matthew’s hands on her skin, the taste of his lips on hers. She could still hear his low voice calling her name, could still feel the heat of his gaze on her body.

She looked at the clock. It was just past 7 AM. She had a few hours before Matthew would wake up and she could use that time to plan. She threw off the sheets, her body still tingling from the dream, and padded to the bathroom.

As she turned on the shower, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her yellow eyes were dark with desire, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly swollen.

She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly kissed, thoroughly loved. But it was all a lie, a figment of her dream. She stripped off her pajamas, her body still warm from the dream, and stepped into the shower.

She showered and dressed, then went straight to the kitchen to prepare for her plan to seduce Matthew.

She was going to make him breakfast, something she hadn’t done since they were kids. She wanted to catch him off guard, to make him feel special.

As she cooked, she could hear Matthew’s footsteps on the stairs. He was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he entered the kitchen, his hair disheveled and his face unshaven.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” Clara replied, turning to face him with a smile. “I thought I’d make you breakfast.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Really? Why?”

Clara shrugged, trying to keep her voice casual. “Just thought it would be nice.”

Clara turned back to the stove, flipping the pancakes with a practiced ease. “Coffee’s on the counter if you want some.”

Matthew hesitated for a moment before pouring himself a cup. He took a sip, his eyes watching Clara as she moved around the kitchen. She was dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, her hair still damp from the shower, but there was something different about her today. She seemed ... softer, more approachable.

“Here you go,” Clara said, placing a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Eat up before they get cold.”

Matthew sat down, his eyes widening at the sight of the food.

“Wow, Clara, this is ... really good,” Matthew said, his voice filled with genuine surprise. Clara just smiled, taking a seat across from him with her own plate.

“So, Matt,” Clara began, her voice casual as she cut into her pancakes. “How have you been? It feels like we haven’t really talked in ages.”

Matthew looked up from his plate, his brown eyes meeting hers. “I’ve been good, I guess. Just been working on my thesis, so that’s taken up most of my time.”

Clara nodded, taking a bite of her pancakes. “That’s right, you’re working on that big history project, aren’t you? How’s that going?”

Matthew shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.

“It’s going alright, I guess. It’s a lot of work, but I’m enjoying it.”

Clara nodded, her eyes sparkling with interest. “That’s great, Matt. I always knew you were going to do something amazing with that big brain of yours.”

Matthew blushed at the compliment, his eyes dropping to his plate. Clara watched him, a small smile playing on her lips. She had always loved making him blush, it was such an easy thing to do. But today, she wanted more than just a blush. She wanted to see him squirm, to see him lose that cool, collected demeanor.

“So, Matt,” Clara began, her voice taking on a more sultry tone.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about something lately.”

Matthew looked up from his plate, his eyes meeting hers. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Clara leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving his. “I’ve been thinking about how much I’ve missed you around here. You’ve always been so quiet, so reserved. But I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Matthew shifted in his seat, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “What do you mean?”

Clara took a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving his. “I mean, I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes. Like you have something you want to say, but you’re holding back.” Clara’s voice was soft, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that Matthew couldn’t ignore.

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking away from hers for a moment before returning to meet her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Clara,” he said, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart.

Clara smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Oh, come on, Matt. You can’t fool me. I’ve seen the way your eyes follow me around the room. The way you blush when I catch you staring.” She paused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ve even heard you ... calling my name in the bathroom,” Clara said, her voice dropping to a low whisper.

Matthew’s face turned a shade of crimson that Clara had never seen before. He looked like he was about to burst into flames right there at the kitchen table. “Clara, I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his hands shaking slightly as he picked up his fork.

Clara chuckled softly, her eyes never leaving his face.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m not going to judge you.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’ve always known there was something between us, Matt. I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you ... touch yourself when you think I’m not looking.”

Matthew’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he dropped his fork with a clatter.

“I don’t know what to say.” he stammered, his hands shaking as he pushed his plate away.

Clara reached across the table, her hand resting on his.

“It’s okay, Matt. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here because I want to know what you’re feeling.”