The Best British Fantasy 2013 by Steve Haynes

Author:Steve Haynes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salt Publishing Limited
Published: 2014-06-11T13:42:10+00:00

SAM STONE

Imogen

Imogen had been blatant that night. She wanted Michael to know how she felt, wanted to share her love, her sex, her emotions, before they bubbled out unchecked for everyone to see. Day after day she was holding it together but the nights were the worst. She wanted him even though she knew it was a sin and no number of Hail Marys was ever going to change that.

Imogen sat in the dark waiting for Michael to return. It was late. He was often home by two, but that night he still hadn’t arrived by four. She was worried. She rubbed her eyes, reached for the cold cup of coffee beside her chair and glanced down at the bare flesh that showed through the slit in her nightdress. Her hand slid over her thigh and her fingers slipped under the fabric until they stroked the bare skin there. She imagined it was his hand, skin slightly roughened from his job as a carpenter that touched the intimate and soft area between her legs.

At some point in the night she had dozed in the chair. It helped to ease the long hours, and it meant she didn’t see the painful bleakness of dawn struggling through the wintery clouds. Sleeping on the job, so they say, was a dangerous game she sometimes played. What would he think if he came home and found her in his chair, with so little clothing on? Nothing probably. That was the thing: he wouldn’t even notice. All he saw when he looked at her was his little sister. But then, how could she possibly expect him to think of her in any other way?

Imogen stood and stretched, the thin shoulder strap of her nightdress fell and the fabric slipped down, revealing one of her pert small breasts. She looked down at it. If only Michael would come home now. She was so ready to show him how she felt. Her hand slipped over the fabric, briefly cupped her breast and then she pulled up the strap, covering herself.

Headlights illuminated the room as a car pulled into the drive and Imogen’s heart jumped in her chest. Her resolve diminished instantly and she ran for the stairs taking them two at a time. At the top she glanced back down before turning and heading straight to her room at the front of the house. She didn’t look out as the engine switched off, but instead slipped into her bed and lay there, heart pounding.

She heard the front door open: although as always, Michael was trying to be quiet. A dull scraping noise told her that the chain was now in place. She lay in the bed, her legs apart, hoping he would come in, but knowing he wouldn’t. For a while longer she could make out the muted sounds of Michael moving around the house.

Work clothing in the washing machine, she thought. Glass of juice from the fridge.

Imogen knew her brother’s routine so well she barely heard the noises but recognised them anyway.

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