“I brought you coffee.”

Emma was roused from her lazy Sunday morning sleep-in by the voice on the opposite side of her bedroom door. “Paul? Just a sec. I’m not dressed.” She scooted up on the pillow, her bare breasts lolling to the side.

“Hurry,” he laughed. “It’s burning my fingers.”

Her shirt and jeans were clear across the room, where she had dumped them in the chair the night before. “Never mind,” Emma shouted, and pulled the bed-sheet higher to cover her nipples. “Come in.”

The door opened and the smell of fresh coffee wafted into the bedroom and into her nose. Paul came forward and quickly placed a hot mug on the side-table. He wore a shorty-robe, beachwear, and it occurred to Emma that it was the first time she had ever seen his legs. They were lightly muscled, shapely, and quite hairless. Damn, she thought. I have girlfriends that would blow a homeless wino for legs like those.

“And here, a couple of short-breads,” Paul added, placing a napkin beside the mug.

“Gee, thanks. This is a treat. Rick would never think to bring me coffee in bed.”

“Well, he’s gone.”

Emma shifted against the headboard to help hold the bed-sheet in place as she reached for the coffee. “Sure. It’s Sunday. Rick has a standing commitment for eight. He plays pick-up ball with his buddies.”

Paul straightened and grinned. “You always look this good in the morning? You’re quite radiant.”

“Who are you trying to kid? I look like a flippin’ Eskimo.” Her face was roundish and with a short bob of black hair, Emma thought her looks were akin to someone who slept in an igloo. But Emma was pretty– pretty enough to make other women think of her as the competition.

“Beauty radiates from within,” Paul said.

Emma was conscious of the conversation taking a weird turn and felt a bit queer, being she was in bed, naked and speaking with her husband’s kid brother. Paul was staying with them while he got himself enrolled in the local college and found accommodations.

Paul took a moment to glance around the room, a rare look into his brother’s personal life. He saw football trophies, framed newspaper clippings, photos of his brother arm-in-arm with glamorous women, one of him in his uniform accepting a kiss from a cheerleader, a diploma, and of real interest, a boudoir-style photo of Emma in black lingerie and heels. He imagined he could see her nipples through the thin fabric.

Emma followed his gaze. She saw he was focused on her photograph and felt the heat in her cheeks.

On close inspection, she knew her nipples were clearly visible through the silk of the negligee and that, if you looked lower, a few curls of pussy-hair stood out against a creamy thigh. The photo had been for Rick’s private enjoyment, not for Paul to gloat over, and that’s the reason it was secreted away in the couple’s bedroom.

“Rick’s done pretty well for himself,” Paul said, not quite hiding a sneer of jealousy. “He’s lucky.”

Paul lived in the shadow of his older brother and the feelings of inadequacy had been a constant dilemma for him. A lapse in timing had brought Paul into his parent’s world when they should have been planning for retirement. An obvious mistake and his mother had over compensated, showering Paul with affection. At least that was Emma’s view, but, never having had a child, she wisely kept her opinions to herself.

Emma drew her eyes from the dirty photograph and threw off the feeling of awkwardness. “Paul, you’re only eighteen. Give it some time. Rick has a dozen years on you. He’s gone to college, landed a good job and with that came a house, a nice car, the boat...”

“And you,” Paul interrupted.

Emma got the queer feeling again, in the pit of her stomach. Paul’s gaze had drifted from her photo, across the room to the chair where her red lace underpants hung from the upholstered arm like a tell-tale sin. Damn, she thought. If he had wondered about her state of undress beneath the bed-sheet, he now had his answer.

“How do I compare? With Rick, I mean.” He turned back to where Emma still sat propped against the pillow; the sheet tucked about her breasts and held in place with a free hand.

She sipped at her coffee in an effort to sidestep the question. “That’s not fair,” she finally conceded. “How am I supposed to answer that? You’re asking me to compare you with my husband.”

He came closer. “C’mon. It’s a simple question. Don’t snow me.”

Emma noticed he had closed the bedroom door and she had to wonder if he had intentions beyond delivering the morning coffee. Her nerves started to jangle and she took a breath to steady herself. “Alright ... alright.” She set the mug one side. “There’s the obvious: Rick is rough and tumble, you are gentle. Rick plays football, you play the guitar. Rick is big and dark, you are slight and blonde.”

His expression clouded. Emma could tell it wasn’t what Paul wanted to hear. “Rick,” she continued, “has had lots of women ... And you?” Emma watched the color rise in his neck.

She had tossed the question at him in an effort to turn the tide. To make him feel uncomfortable– enough to make him want to leave. It didn’t work. Paul just humped a shoulder and gave her a funny smile.

“What?” Emma couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re eighteen and you’ve never been with a girl?”

The manic shy smile again. “Maybe you could help with that. How do I compare with Rick ... here?”

Her breath caught, lungs paralyzed like in ice. Paul pulled aside the opening of his robe, exposing himself. Emma’s eyes fell on a long, slack penis nestled between two heavy testicles. The pubic hair was fine and fair.

“Paul,” she finally managed, “I ... I think it’s time you got outta my bedroom. I need to dress.” But he had already shrugged his robe from his shoulders and it dropped to the carpet with a quiet thud. “God no,” Emma gasped, but hesitated when she took in the length of his body. He was a beautiful boy. Italian marble couldn’t do justice to those slender limbs, the delicate curves, the girlish hips. And the long penis with the soft vein running down the length, swaying gently as he took a step closer.

“You’re family. Please, Emma, who else can I ask?” His penis was still swinging, she noticed, like a damned church bell. “Well?”

Emma felt the sweat break out across her forehead and desperately searched for something to say. “You have an adorable penis,” she blurted out. “Not like Rick’s.”

Realizing she had encouraged him, Emma wished she could suck back the words but it was a lovely penis, soft and velvety, not like Rick’s stout appendage that, at times, seemed more like a weapon than an instrument of his affection. Emma embarrassed herself when she realized moisture was seeping out from beneath her tongue. And the longer she looked, the wetter her mouth became. And when Paul reached out with a hand, she felt powerless to stop him.

He reached for a breast.

Emma swallowed. “Don’t,” she mumbled. But even to her, it sounded like a half-hearted effort, meant more to appease her guilt than to fend off Paul’s advances.

Maybe later, she could convince herself that she had at least tried. But when the bed-sheet slipped, and she felt his fingers close on a pining nipple, what she could “convince herself of later” didn’t seem to matter much. All that mattered was where he placed her hand, and the feel of the silky smooth skin that sheathed his cock. He pressed her fingers around the length. “It’s a lovely penis,” Emma whispered again. And she had the sudden, and overwhelming desire to hold it inside her mouth.

“Please,” he murmured, “you can if you want...”

Emma nodded, dully aware of the consequences. She thought of Rick and what he would say if he could see her now, her fingers firmly encircling his younger brother’s cock as her mouth worked, repeatedly.