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Helena stiffens instinctively as the bathroom door creaks open, freezing for only a split second before she forces her hand to keep moving in its careful reapplication of lipstick. She keeps her eyes fixed on her reflection, a picture of perfection, only betrayed by the imperceptible wobble of her hand and ever-present tightness in her shoulders.
She can’t afford to slip here, can’t allow herself to be seen as anything less than her father’s faultless daughter, primed to take over as the CEO Lumon at once should the need arise. She can’t let anyone see that she’s anything but faultless, instead riddled with a noxious rot that slowly eats her from the inside out, festering like an open wound. She isn’t allowed to bow under the pressure, isn’t allowed to put a single foot wrong—not like her sister who can do no wrong in their father’s eyes, even with her spirit of fire that begs otherwise. Spared of the burden of duty, allowed to pursue her own desires, allowed to want in a way Helena isn’t.
But despite it all, Helena has never been able to bring herself to feel anything but an all-consuming love for her sister. Helly could easily have abandoned her by now, taken her trust fund and fucked off to New York like she’s always dreamt of; instead she stays glued to her side, never using their father’s favouritism against her, only ever to her advantage to keep her safe. Helena feels a gross, desperate loyalty towards her for it, uncomfortably aware with every waking moment that she could lose her only salvation.
She tries to trust that Helly wouldn’t do that to her—she assures her of it every day, murmuring into her hair while her hand moves in soothing circles over her back—but the fear is pervasive and incessant.
Helly goes to great lengths to prove it to her; she isn’t even required to attend company events like these, is in fact discouraged from it given her propensity to cause trouble, and yet she talks their father round every time. She follows Helena around at a safe distance, always keeping her within eyesight, ready to intervene within seconds if she needs it. Whenever their father materialises beside her, Helly is there seconds later, flashing a wide smile and smoothing out the hatred that burns for her and her alone.
It comes effortlessly to Helly despite her hatred of it. She can charm investors in a way Helena could never hope to, with her well-timed quips and winks, that full-bodied laugh that draws people in like a siren. Helly doesn’t mean to do it, Helena knows that, but it always leaves her struggling hopelessly to live up to the same standard, too often slipping beneath the surface and drowning in the same way that haunts her dreams.
“Shirking your duties, heiress?”
Helena’s head snaps to the side to see Helly leaning against the wall, arms folded casually over her chest, an amused smirk tugging her lips upwards. She’s ditched her blazer somewhere, leaving her in an inappropriately oversized blue shirt, the silk fabric hanging off her shoulders with an effortless chic Helena envies. It’s unbuttoned far too much for a work event, enough to reveal pale skin and the shadow of her breast bones, but Helly gets away with it. She always does.
Helena lifts an eyebrow and shifts, resting her hip against the edge of the counter. The bone digs in just enough to ground her, a reminder not to let her eyes stray too low. “A girl can’t go to the bathroom anymore without being hunted down?”
Helly snorts. “Not if it involves leaving her poor sister alone to be groped by sleazy old men.”
Something flares within Helena’s chest, hot and sharp. Something that makes her hand tighten around her lipstick, knuckles whitening, nails carving crescents into the soft flesh of her palm. She doesn’t react beyond that, but she knows Helly catches it by the way her eyes flash in response.
“Mr Beasley?” Helena asks, measured.
She turns her attention back to her reflection and continues touching up her lipstick to stop herself doing something dramatic and irrational like clawing at her arms until there’s skin under nails and blood beading at the surface. It’s never faded, that urge to hurt herself at the mere thought of her sister being hurt. Helly says it’s normal—she used to carve a line into her thigh for every meal Helena skipped—although it feels anything but. It squirms inside her, wretched and urgent; it’d be impossible to fight if not for her lifelong pursuit of self-control.
“Mm,” Helly hums. “You too?”
Helena nods once, mechanical. “Within the first five minutes of arriving.”
She can still feel his hand squeezing her bicep too tight, fingers sliding down to the crook of her elbow, then brushing very purposely over her breasts before lowering his hand with a pinch of her hip. He’d offered no apology, only a light chuckle, mouth stretched unnaturally wide to reveal too-white teeth.
“Cunt,” Helly spits, bristling. She shifts her weight off her hip to stand straight, hands falling from across her chest to curl into fists by her sides. “I’ll break his fucking hand.”
Helena’s heart flutters, a pleasant warmth dripping like honey through the spaces between her ribs. She’ll never admit it, but it delights her to know that Helly’s eagerness to defend her still burns bright, an instinct forever ignited at the smallest hint of threat.
And it’s not just talk, either—Helly has always been her greatest protector, always there with a fist raised when girls at school teased her, always stepping between her and their father, a shield for his violence. Helena knows with certainty that if she asked her to, Helly would break the hands of every man at the gala, and she’d take her punishment with a smile.
“No, you won’t,” Helena says, pointed—a warning, a reminder to behave. Helly’s matured enough by now not to cause a scene unprompted, but it still sometimes feels like she’s a dog on a leash, barking and gnashing at everyone who so much as looks at her wrong. The possessiveness of it all is suffocating and Helena loves it, needs it.
“I might.” Helly bares her teeth, pearly and white, glinting under the bright lights. “And his dick. I’ll shove it down his throat and watch him choke on it.”
Helena rolls her eyes. “Must you always be so violent?”
Helly smirks, then, the tension falling from her body, and slides her hands into her pockets. “Why would I stop when I know it turns you on?”
Helena meets her sister’s gaze in the mirror, the sight of her smug self-assurance shooting straight between her legs. It’s infuriating, how easily affected she is by it all, a perpetual reminder of just how much influence Helly has over her. She can try to ignore it, tamp it down, pretend she exists for herself, but a single glance will always undo her before she’s even realised she’s unravelling. And Helly knows it, too—it’s in the amusement on her face, the way she stares at her like she knows Helena’s trying not to press her thighs together to relieve the building pressure.
But they can’t, not here—and that’s exactly why Helly is looking at her like she wants to bend her over the counter.
“Watch yourself,” Helena grits out, jaw twitching.
Helly’s voice drops, low and gravelly. “Or what?”
Helena doesn’t offer a response, just leans forward into the mirror to finish making herself presentable. She moves with more certainty this time, sticking her hips out in a way she needn’t, just because she knows it’ll draw Helly’s eye. She shouldn’t, knows she’s only making Helly’s hunger worse, but she’s too addicted to the way it makes her feel to stop herself.
It’s a wonder, what her sister’s attention does to her, the way she just preens under it. The way Helly stares is so unabashed, so possessive. It makes Helena’s stomach flutter in a way that thrills her and makes her nauseous all at once. The shame of wanting Helly to want her this way has always clung to her, lurking, creeping up her spine and digging its sharp nails into her every time her mind slips into such depravity. And yet no amount of time spent heaving over the toilet, fingers shoved to the back of her throat, will ever get her to stop encouraging it.
Once she’s satisfied, she straightens up and slides the lid onto her lipstick. She gives herself a final once over, tongue running over her teeth, and takes the time to tuck it back into her purse before looking up at Helly through the mirror.
And she’s right—Helly is still watching her intensely, eyes dark.
“Helly,” She warns, a futile attempt to pre-empt what she knows is going to happen anyway. “We can’t. Not here.”
Helly ignores her, instead crossing the short distance between them to stand behind her, arms gravitating around her waist as if they belong there. Her touch is hot, scorching through the thin material of Helena’s dress to imprint into her skin as she presses up against her back. “But you look so good, baby. I’ve been thinking about you all night.”
Helena melts back into her like warm putty, molded by Helly’s words and the throb between her legs that seems to materialise whenever her sister touches her like this. Cheeks flushed, she watches Helly’s hands in the mirror as they slide across her stomach, skating over the faint ridges of her ribs that poke through black satin.
She drags her eyes up to meet Helly’s. “Did you not just hear what I said?”
Helly leans closer, dropping her mouth to Helena’s neck, lips brushing over the curve where it meets her shoulder. The contact is fleeting but electric, a spark against her bare skin that makes her entire body twitch.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” Helly murmurs, lifting her head to whisper the words right into Helena’s ear. Her breath curls over the shell of it, warm and soaked with champagne.
Helena opens her mouth to say it, but she can’t even get the words to form on her tongue. They lay dormant, discarded, never once uttered around her sister. It would be pointless, anyway, because they both know Helly wouldn’t stop even if Helena asked her to, not when her body is responding so eagerly to her touch and wetness is already pooled between her thighs.
Helly smirks, sliding a hand higher, fingers grazing just under her breast. “Having a hard time finding your words?”
Heat creeps up Helena’s neck as her nipples harden at the teasing touch, straining against tight material. The fact she can see it happening makes it all so much more humiliating, but Helly loves her like this, flushed with embarrassment and trying to deny her desperation.
“I hate you,” Helena says, scowling, but it’s half-hearted at best and fools neither of them.
“Ah, there they are.” Helly punctuates the cooing words with the pinch of a nipple, voice dripping with condescension. “What a big girl.”
In any other circumstance, Helena would bite out a retort that she’s the eldest, that Helly should know her place as the younger twin, but now her breath only hitches. Everything around her seems to fade away, as though her head is being held underwater without reprieve. Helly knows what it does to her when she talks like that, knows it’s the quickest way to reduce her into a hungry, needy thing, so driven by her own desire that she can think of little else. Her mind fills with Helly and only her—the low hum that reverberates in the back of her throat, her hand groping her breasts, the circling of her thumb over her jutting hip bone.
Helena arches into it, even as she forces out a weak, “Get off me,” that means nothing. She has to say it, has to protest if only to assuage her own guilt, the shame that curdles inside her like spoiled milk whenever they do this.
Helly doesn’t deign her with a response, instead kissing the sensitive skin behind her ear, then lower, making a trail down her neck. It’s slow, measured, each press of her lips intended to set Helena’s skin alight. The fire licks down her spine and spreads across the expanse of her back, twisting and curling down her hips and around between her legs. She grips the edge of the counter, the colour bleeding from her knuckles, and tries not to stare at her reflection too closely. The version of her that looks back is far too wrecked than it should be considering Helly has barely touched her, lips parted and cheeks swept with pink.
“Helly,” she tries again, but the intended protest comes out breathy and desperate, closer to a plea than anything.
Helly finally pulls her lips away, her breath ghosting over the smooth skin. She looks up at Helena in the mirror, hands still wrapped around her like she can’t bear to let go, one playing absently with her breasts, the other grasping her hip. Her eyes are dark, possessive, pupils blown. Her lips curve into a smirk.
“No.”
“This is assault,” Helena says weakly, voice thin and high in a way that betrays her.
Helly grins, then, wide and predatory. “Okay.”
And then her hands are moving down, grabbing Helena’s hips with both hands and flipping her around hard without regard for the way her tailbone slams against the edge of the counter. Helena yelps softly, sucking in a harsh breath as Helly presses right up against her, hips mirroring her own, jutting bones knocking against Helly’s softer ones.
She can feel the heat of it—the heat of Helly’s bruising grip, of her breath in her face, of her core through her trousers.
Helly leans forward, shifting a hand up to Helena’s back to force her closer, and brings her mouth right to her ear. “You’ll have to make sure to tell Father.”
Helena barely suppresses the moan that bubbles inside her. She chokes it back with a hard swallow, throat bobbing painfully. The fear of their father finding out about this—about what they do, how they touch each other, fuck each other—has always followed her around like the shadows she sees in the corners of her room when she’s stressed. It circles around her mind as she’s falling asleep, forces her down onto her knees to purge what little is in her stomach, ties her stomach into knots every time she catches Helly looking at her. It destroys her, yet the secrecy of it all, how forbidden and dirty it is just thrills her.
She’s sick and she fucking loves it.
“Of course…” Helly hums, tongue darting out to her earlobe, catching the cool diamonds of her earrings, and curving up the shell. “You’ll have to add the part where you enjoyed it.”
She pulls back, her grin wolfish, and shoves her thigh between Helena’s legs.
“I’m not enjoying this,” Helena lies, even as she fights to stop herself grinding down onto her sister’s thigh.
The throbbing between her legs is almost unbearable, her underwear completely soaked through, clit begging for even the smallest relief. Her hips twitch, driven forward by instinct but restricted by the very last of her self-control. It’s futile, pretending like this isn’t going to end with Helly’s fingers knuckle-deep inside her at a Lumon gala, but the guilt is always worse when she doesn’t pretend to fight it. At least if she argues, even this pathetically, she can convince some tiny part of her that she isn’t completely depraved.
“No?” Helly cocks her head, thumb pressing into Helena’s hip. Her amusement at the resistance is apparent; it’s a pattern that has repeated since they were teenagers, this ridiculous push and pull Helena worries they wouldn’t know how to live without. “That’s not the impression I’m getting.”
Helena draws her bottom lip between her teeth, another useless attempt to stifle the pitiful noises Helly’s so skilled at drawing out of her.
“It’s true.” A poor, embarrassing attempt at a defence, made horribly worse by the audible wobble in her voice, but it’s all Helena has in her to give. She doesn’t even know why she’s still trying; the more she protests, the more Helly doubles down. That’s the way it’s always been.
“Mm, I’m sure,” Helly sighs, mocking, like she believes her. Her hand travels up her back, slowly, teasingly, until she cups the back of Helena’s head and tilts it to the side to display the milky expanse of her neck.
And then her lips descend, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the smooth column of it. Helena hears Helly inhale deeply as her nose grazes the perfume-soaked skin, feels the way her lips curl upwards into a pleased smirk. Her stomach flips before Helly even speaks, cheeks warming in anticipation of what she knows she’s about to say.
“You’re wearing it,” Helly murmurs, never lifting her lips from Helena’s neck.
Helena wants to respond, tell Helly yes, she is wearing the perfume she bought her directly after their father gifted her a bottle that smelt of soft cotton and something sickeningly girlish. Wear it when I visit you, he’d requested, and she’d complied, because it wasn’t really a request. Helly had thrown it against the wall when she’d found out, watched the sticky liquid slide down the wall with a terrifying smile on her face while Helena watched, wide-eyed and fearful of the repercussions. Two new bottles had appeared in her bedroom the following day—a replica of the one their father bought her, replaced only to stave off any punishment, accompanied by an entirely different one. A decadent mix of white peach and bergamot with subtle undercurrents of jasmine and sandalwood that Helena had subsequently discovered cost millions—and was one of only ten bottles to exist in the world. A clear display of dominance and possession that made Helena want to drown herself in the golden liquid.
No words leave Helena’s mouth as Helly’s tongue darts out, licking at the perfume. She can only moan softly, the quiet noise echoing in the cold bathroom, and reach out to grip at her sister’s arms to steady herself. The silk fabric of Helly’s shirt provides little purchase, but she grips at it anyway, wraps her fingers around her bicep and squeezes as she presses further into the kisses Helly’s so insistent on leaving.
Helena lasts only moments longer before she grows too restless, the reluctance that twists in her gut as she pulls away from Helly’s lips only momentary before her hand curls around her sister’s bicep and she crashes their lips together.
It’s deep and hard and their teeth clash like they’re trying to eat each other alive. Helena thinks they just might be—this craving to consume each other has been present before she can even remember, some kind of instinctual drive to be whole, to be one that’s impossible to ignore.
Helly’s grip on her hip tightens, cruel and bruising, as she licks harshly into her mouth. Her thigh presses closer, more insistent, encouraging Helena to do exactly what she’s been fighting.
“Fuck,” Helena gasps, no longer able to control herself, hips freed of the invisible chains she kept them in and rolling down to connect with her sister’s thigh. The drag of her clit through soaked fabric is delicious as it is frustrating, drawing a needy gasp from low in her throat.
Helly grins and then draws the flesh of Helena’s bottom lip between her teeth, biting down until it stings. The skin breaks, giving way to tiny droplets of blood that slide down against her gums, tangy and metallic. Helly’s thigh against her core is an unyielding pressure, designed to ruin. “Enjoying yourself yet?”
“No,” Helena lies, moans, a terrible imitation of resistance. “Fuck, Helly. I want—”
“You want me to touch you, sweet girl? Is that it?”
Helena almost chokes, hips jumping against Helly’s thigh. They buck upwards with her permission, seeking out friction her sister has yet to allow her—and she’ll only ever take what she’s allowed, never demand more than what Helly thinks she’s deserving of. She wants so desperately, so wholly, that whatever her sister allows her is the sweetest nectar she could possibly be offered.
She whines, a choked sound that spills out without her meaning for it to. “Helly…”
“Say please, then.” Helly tears their mouths apart to nip at her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but with enough force that Helena’s self-control slips away without argument. “Use those big girl words.”
A sick part of her wishes Helly would leave a mark, even knowing that their father would beat her for it. Perhaps his hands against her skin would be exactly what she needs, a reminder of her place, of what awaits her for the rest of her life. She deserves that, deserves everything he gives her, deserves it all if it means absorbing the hatred that could be directed towards Helly. It never would be, she knows that deep down, but the pretense that she’s protecting her from it makes it easier to take. Each night Helena spends awake, limbs locked in fear, heart a drum in her chest, waiting for something that stopped happening when she was twenty, is worth it for the knowledge that her sister hasn’t had to feel their father’s touch like that since she was a young child—before he decided Kier shone brightly in her and focused his sick vitriol on the twin who’d never put a foot wrong.
Giving herself up to Helly like this is the only way she can stop feeling him, his large, calloused hands replaced with her sister’s softer ones. The touch is often no less rough—Helly is forceful and demanding and takes without consideration—but there’s a deep, choking love within everything she does that makes Helena crave more. She holds her afterwards, strokes her hair, tells her what a good girl she is in a sweet, crooning voice that makes Helena’s world shrink.
And that world is just as narrowed now, her clit pulsing painfully against Helly’s thigh and insistent lips against her neck all she can make sense of. That, and the wailing, thrashing need that roars within her.
“Please, Helly,” she begs, warbled, hand pawing at Helly’s arm. It’s pathetic, but she’s past caring.
“Are you going to be quiet?”
Helena nods frantically. “I will, I will.”
Helly hums, pulling her mouth away from Helena’s neck to look up at her. She’s slightly shorter now, forever refusing to sacrifice her comfort for the heels their father demands Helena cram her feet into everyday, but the look in her eye makes Helena feel as small as she did when she was a little girl gazing up at statues of Kier.
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
A whine slips past Helena’s lips. Helly’s right to doubt her—she’s notoriously awful at choking down the sounds her sister draws from her—but the idea that she might be deprived of what she so desperately needs tears her in two.
“Please.” Her voice wobbles. “I need it.”
Helly lifts an eyebrow, thumb digging impossibly harder into her hip. “It?”
“You,” Helena chokes out. “You, Helly, I— Please. Please touch—fuck me. Fuck me.”
Helly’s go black, pupils swallowing glowing hazel, and the grin that splits her lips in two is beyond predatory. “Better,” she growls out, hand finally releasing Helena’s hip to slide lower, gathering the satin fabric of her dress up to search for the smooth skin it hides. “Good girls get their reward.”
Wetness floods between Helena’s legs at the praise, but she somehow manages to straighten up, legs shaking like a newborn foal. She reaches for Helly’s hand, ready to tug her backwards into one of the bathroom stalls, but she meets unexpected resistance.
“Nuh uh.” Helly shakes her head, wrapping her fingers around Helena’s wrist to keep her close. “If you want me to fuck you, it’s out here. No hiding.”
“Helly…” Helena gazes at her, eyes wide.
It’s so Helly to demand something like this, to test her limits so brazenly, so smug in the knowledge she’ll give in with far less fight than she should. But this is dangerous in a way that shouldn’t even be considered; if anyone were to see them Helly would surely be sent away, cushioned by her trust fund, but forbidden from ever returning. Helena knows she would not be so lucky—being disowned would be preferable to the way their father’s grip on her would tighten, hands perpetually around her neck, watching her every move. They can’t risk it. They can’t.
“We can’t—” Helena trembles, her entire body thrumming with fear. “Please, we can just—”
“Ah.” Helly’s lip curls, expression hardening into something nasty. “You don’t want me to fuck you, is that it?”
Helena’s stomach lurches. “I do! I just—”
“You get one option, heiress,” Helly sneers, the accolade poison on her tongue, an agonising reminder of the fate she can’t escape. “It’s out here or not at all.”
Helena pauses for longer than Helly wants her to, she can see it in rapid souring of her expression, the way the grip on her wrist turns painful, her sister’s fingers crushing the bone. She doesn’t have a choice. If she tries to say no—god forbid, if she tries to leave—Helly simply won’t let her. Her mind is made up, that much is clear; she wants her, and she’ll do anything to have her.
And so Helena stops fighting it, allows herself to give into the sick, twisted yearning that curdles in her stomach. It’s easier than it should be to let everything fade away, to curl her free hand around the back of Helly’s neck and crash their lips together like she’s starving.
Helly responds without hesitation, pleased by the eagerness, moaning into Helena’s mouth with the kind of lust that gives her away. She’s not doing this simply to dominate, she’s doing it because she wants to, because the thought of fucking her sister sends a thrilling jolt through her she can’t ignore.
The enthusiasm draws something primal from Helena’s throat, a moan that shouldn’t be allowed to escape.
“Quiet, baby,” Helly breathes, lips dropping to her jaw, ghosting over the sharp bone. “It’s as if you want them to hear us.”
The idea of it is awful, truly, and yet the horror of it shoots straight between her legs in a way it shouldn’t. The sound that leaves her mouth is sinful, everything it shouldn’t be, but it slips out without her permission.
“Oh, you do.”
“I don’t,” Helena pants—the truth masked almost completely by the thrill of the forbidden.
Their relationship is built on fear and secrecy and shame, branded so far into Helena’s skin that it sits deep within her very existence. It used to grip her so terribly that she’d only ever let Helly touch her under the covers in the middle of the night, a clumsy hand rubbing her clit through her clothes or rutting against each other’s thighs with girlish desperation. But Helly is Helly—fearless, shameless, with no regard for consequences—and so as time passed, she slowly coaxed Helena into allowing her more.
Silent trysts in the darkness of night turned into frantic make-outs in corners of the house; fingers soap-soaked and slippery in the shower, sliding against swollen clits; grinding against wet thighs underwater in the swimming pool. Every interaction, even Helly’s hand on her waist in public, the pretense of sisterly touch, became fraught with tension. They’ve flirted the line too much over the years, so much that Helena wonders if their father does know what they do and is somehow willing to turn a blind eye, but she’s not willing to find out for certain.
And yet here she is, letting Helly coerce her into this. It’s alcohol-fuelled and brazen, a display of possession driven by Helly’s inability to accept that other people—men— get to want her so openly. But Helena has never been able to deny her sister anything, not even when her head is screaming at her to push her off. She’s a victim of her obsessional desire and she loves it.
“Dirty girl.” Helly’s teeth scrape along her jaw. “What would Father think, hearing you moan for me like this? Your own sister?”
Helena’s legs tremble, hands grasping desperately at the counter to steady herself. “I—I—”
“His precious little heiress, all wet for me in the public bathroom like a wanton slut?”
“I’m not—”
Helly finds the slit of Helena’s dress and slides her hand up her thigh, fingers cool against burning skin. They travel up, torturously slow, until they finally meet the sopping fabric of her underwear. Helena’s hips jump at the light pressure, so eager the embarrassment of it makes her flush, and she almost chokes in her haste to swallow the moan that threatens to break from her throat.
Her sister pulls back, eyebrow raised, her amusement mocking. “Don’t try and lie to me, Helena. You always betray yourself.”
Helena’s mouth falls open as Helly moves her fingers against her clit, her touch barely there, but circling in a way that has her grinding down to chase the contact. “P-Please, I—”
“You’re disgusting.”
Helena nods like her sister’s words are gospel and she’s praying on her knees. She is disgusting, loving this so much, so addicted, and yet the accusation only makes her wetter. She pushes her hips down, seeking out whatever she can, entirely starved and gasping for it.
“Say it,” Helly demands, ceasing her touch.
“I’m disgusting,” Helena whimpers, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She feels dizzy, unable to comprehend anything but the hot, unbearable need that sets her alight, the agonising emptiness that makes her ache as her sister’s fingers move against her but never anywhere that gives her true relief. She’s cruel like that—always has been. She only ever gives when she deems fit, when she thinks Helena’s deserved it, and Helena will live in service of her trying to gain that approval.
Helly’s lips curve into that familiar smirk, rewarding her with a hard press against her clit. “Good girl.”
Helena barely has time to process the praise before Helly flips her around, hands firm on her hips, shoving her against the counter. The slam of her protruding hip bones against marble is agonising, but the pain is quickly forgotten when Helly’s fingers move beneath her dress and slip her lacy underwear to the side with skilled ease.
Helly’s spare hand comes up to her neck, palm flat against her windpipe, and forces her to arch back against her body. Her thumbs dig up underneath Helena’s jaw and her mouth moves against her ear. “I want you to watch as I fuck you.”
She obeys without hesitation, eyes snapping to her reflection in the mirror. Her perfectly styled updo has almost come loose, hair falling down around her face, and her lipstick is smeared around her mouth. Even her waterproof mascara has smudged, rimming her eyes with something desperate and pitiful.
She looks ruined.
And then three fingers enter her without warning, tearing her apart, burning, the pace brutal.
Helena gasps, the slick heat of her cunt pulsing around Helly’s fingers, and she shakes violently with the effort not to moan. It’s everything she’s been craving and more, split open by her sister and at her mercy.
Helly’s fingers curl, palm flat and harsh against her clit as she fucks into her. She doesn’t mean for it to—really, she chokes on it, keeps her mouth shut for as long as she can bear—but she’s helpless against the filthy moan that rips her lips apart. It echoes around the cold bathroom in a way that’s sinful, vibrating against the hand at her throat.
“Be quiet,” Helly snaps.
The tight grip on her neck prevents her from nodding, but agreeing would be futile anyway—she’s incapable of silence and they both know that. It’s exactly why Helly does this to her, because she gets off on the idea of someone hearing them and it all being her fault.
And when Helly’s fucking her like this, harsh and cruel and everything she craves, Helena doesn’t think she’d mind their dirty secret getting out. The pleasure eclipses all rationality, has her hips meeting every thrust in a frenzy, chasing the rapture that coils low in her gut.
She’s so dizzy with it that she’s close already, dripping around her sister’s fingers, down her wrist. She throws her head back against Helly’s shoulder, eyes squeezed tightly shut when—
Helly stills her thrusts all of a sudden, suspending Helena on the precipice, and tightens the pressure on her neck. “I want you to look, sweet girl. Look how ruined you are for me.”
The pet name is mocking, an echo of the things she calls Helena when she’s at her smallest—but is she not now? Here, pressed against the bathroom counter, her sister’s hands around her throat and carving her open all at once, is she not the smallest she’s ever been?
“Look, Helena. Don’t deny me.”
Helena forces her eyes open at the demand, the sight of her reflection only confirming the feeling bubbling in her chest. Her chest heaves, her hair a spectacular fall from grace, the slight catch of Helly’s teeth against her skin visible just below her ear.
“See how ruined you are for me,” Helly rasps in her ear, thumb finally moving against her clit again. It’s not enough, though, light and fucking agonising, designed only to drive her crazy. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it. Tell me you’re my dirty whore.”
Helena opens her mouth, driven by the ingrained need to obey, eyes locked onto Helly’s dark ones. “I’m—I’m your—”
She means to say it—wants to say it, because the thought of denying her sister anything makes her feel a kind of nausea that makes her want to stick her fingers down her throat—but it’s impossible without making the very sounds she’s been so intent on holding in.
“Say it,” Helly growls.
“I’m y-your dirty—”
Helly withdraws her fingers just slightly and then shoves them back inside her, curling and twisting and—
“Fuck!” Helena cries, unable to help it. It’s everything Helly warned her not to do, loud and echoing, a sinful noise that reverberates throughout the bathroom, but it feels so good to let it break free.
“Oh baby,” Helly mocks, teeth bared in delight.
She doesn’t soften her touch, only fucks harder, digging deep within Helena, trying to draw out something buried deep within her. Helena grinds down, shaking, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she chases an almost untouchable ecstasy.
But she’s close, so fucking close, and if she just—
The door to the bathrooms starts to creak.
They both inhale at once, sharp, freezing for only a split second before Helly’s yanking her fingers from Helena’s cunt and dragging her backwards into a stall. Helena doesn’t even have time to process the aching emptiness, the way she drips around nothing—all she’s aware of is her heart pounding in her chest at the fear of being found.
It’s close, so sickeningly close, but the stall door slams shut, lock shoved into place, just as the intruder enters the bathroom.
Helena lets her head fall back against the partition, panting softly. The relief is immense, her heart thundering with it, but the fucking thrill of almost being caught is undeniable. She knows she shouldn’t feel this way, knows that the ramifications of such a thing happening would be devastating, but the exhilaration of it grips her nonetheless.
“Miss Eagan?”
Natalie.
“Shit,” Helena hisses under her breath, eyes wide as they dart up to look at her sister.
Answer her, Helly mouths. She rests one hand against the partition, leaning her weight against it, and brushes over Helena’s waist with her other.
Helena glares at her in warning, all too aware of where this is going, but Helly only smirks in response and slides her hand lower, trailing over the gentle curve of her hip.
“Y-Yes?” She forces out, voice cracking as Helly finds the slit of her dress and slips her fingers beneath it.
Amused, Helly rolls her eyes, refusing to cease her touch. Her hand keeps moving, creeping higher and higher until her knuckles brush Helena’s clit.
“Is everything alright?” Natalie asks.
And then Helly’s fingers are inside her once more, pressing in slowly in a way that forces Helena’s hand to her mouth to stifle the whimper that almost slips out. She looks frantically to Helly in a silent plea to answer for her.
For a moment she almost thinks her sister will deny her and make her answer herself, surely exposing them in the process, but something in her despairing gaze must persuade Helly to take pity on her. Or maybe it’s the way she grinds down on the fingers curling inside her as she does it, expression wrought with pleasure.
“We’re fine, thank you, Natalie,” Helly calls, voice clear and smooth. “Helena’s just feeling a little sick. Too much champagne, I think.”
“Oh.” Natalie’s surprise bleeds into her tone, evidently not having noticed the two pairs of shoes peeking out beneath the stall door. “Of course. I’m just here to let you know your Father is looking for you. Helena, I mean.”
The instinctive dread that swarms inside her at those words lasts only moments before it’s swallowed by the feeling of Helly’s thumb grazing over her swollen clit. The small, frightened part of her still holds it at the back of her mind, grasped tightly, too driven by fear to be overtaken by such pleasure. But their father is going to hurt her regardless of this, regardless of the pleasure that consumes her now—he always has, and now, at almost thirty, it’s no different—so should she not allow herself this equally terrifying act of rebellion?
“Tha—Thank—” Helena starts, immediately breaking herself off to drop her head down into Helly’s shoulder to stifle a moan, teeth sinking in through thin silk.
Helly sighs. “Tell him she’ll be there in a minute.”
A pause.
“Sure. Okay.”
And then Natalie is gone, footsteps retreating and the sound of the bathroom door closing echoing throughout the cool space.
Helly’s lips curl upwards. “That could have been embarrassing, couldn’t it?”
Helena drags her head up from her sister’s shoulder and lets it thud back against the partition.
“You shouldn’t have—” Helly slowly pulls her out before thrusting back in, this time with three fingers, palm slamming against her clit. “Oh. H-Helly—”
“You better hope she didn’t suspect anything, hm? Imagine her running to Father, telling him of her suspicions? His poor, sweet daughters fucking in the bathroom at his precious gala. Oh, how scandalous.”
Helena shakes her head as if it’ll wipe the thought from her mind, but the unforgiving thrust that punctuates Helly’s words make it impossible. She isn’t sure she’s fully processing anything anymore; her head is spinning, her hips stuttering as she chases the pleasure swelling low in her gut. Her vision is hazy and fizzing, but she’s still aware of the way Helly is watching her, hungry.
“Mm, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Filthy girl. You’d like him to walk in here while I’m knuckle-deep inside you.”
Helena gasps as her sister’s fingers brush that sweet spot deep inside her. “Fuck.”
“What would he think, knowing I touch you like this? That it’s me making you moan like this, me who gets to see you come apart so prettily?”
“I—I—”
Helly leans in, lips brushing the lobe of Helena’s ear, breath hot. “I should mark you, make sure he knows you’re mine, not his. Would you like that, wearing my teeth on your neck for everyone to see that you belong to me? Your own sister?”
All it takes is Helly thrusting once more, twisting and curling, for Helena to fall apart. The moan that leaves her throat is filthy, disrupted by a choking sob as her sister adds a fourth finger at the last moment. Her back arches, hand clawing at Helly’s back, nails sliding helplessly against silk as her legs shake with a violence that almost makes her collapse.
“Oh, there we go,” Helly coos as Helena writhes against the wall. “That’s it. Good girl.”
She works her through it, holding her up with a bruising grip on her hip, until Helena collapses into her, boneless and whimpering.
Helly lets her enjoy it, pressing close against her, lips brushing over cheek. She feels dizzy, almost sleepy with it, so thoroughly torn apart that her body can hardly comprehend it.
But then Helly pulls her fingers out, quick and harsh, drawing a pained whine from Helena’s mouth, until it’s suddenly filled with the very digits that fucked her into oblivion.
Helena moans around the intrusion, tongue swirling over the tips of Helly’s fingers and down along the length. The taste of herself is sweet and tangy as it always is, forever pleasant when coating her sister’s fingers. She delights in this, watching Helly’s eyes darken as she moans softly, cleaning away the evidence of her pleasure with an enthusiasm that can’t be faked.
Helly allows it for a minute longer and then reluctantly pulls her fingers from Helena’s mouth, a string of saliva connecting them for a long moment before she lowers her hand. “How do you taste?”
“Good,” Helena mumbles, tongue darting out to lick her lips of what remains of her orgasm.
Pleased, Helly smiles and straightens up. The sudden space between them is a chasm, tugging at Helena’s heart that makes her lean forward, forever craving her sister’s close presence. It’s always especially present at times like this, her body seeking out the one so like her own, the loss inside her cavernous and aching.
“Off you go, then.” Helly inclines her head towards the door. “You don’t want to be late for Father.”
It’s sobering, the way her sister’s words douse all remnants of pleasure lingering within her. Dread surges in its place, familiar but overwhelming. Their father’s requests to speak to her aren’t like they used to be, his hands rarely straying below her waist anymore, but his words are no less poisonous. The disgust in his eyes, the way his lips twist with hatred—they hurt more than him deep within her, splitting her open without mercy.
Her expression must betray her, because Helly’s hand is quick to come up to cup her cheek, dominance giving way to something painfully tender. “Hey,” she says softly, fingers curling around her chin and lifting her head gently. “You want me to come?”
As much as she wants to agree, Helena shakes her head. Helly’s presence would save her to an extent, but a sick part of her craves his cruelty. She needs to feel punished for what they do, needs his words to carve deep into her flesh in a way she can’t, needs the guilt to burn her alive and force her fingers down her throat.
Helly will never understand it, not when her memories of their father being anything but benevolent towards her date back to their childhood, but Helena fears the desperation for such subjugation at his hand will always burn within her.
She quirks her lips, a wry attempt at seeming unaffected. “He said me, didn’t he?”
As expected, Helly sees through it straight away, brow furrowing with concern. “Sure, but it’s not like he’ll tell me to leave if I come with you.”
“It’s okay,” Helena insists, forcing a smile she knows is less than convincing. It’s pointless, to keep up such a pretence, but she doesn’t know what else to do other than collapse in her sister’s arms and beg her to take her home. And Helly would, consequences be damned—that’s what makes it so painful. “I’ll find you afterwards?”
“You better.” Helly strokes her cheeks, eyes soft. “I love you, okay? No matter what he says, I’m here and I’ve got you.”
Helena’s world shrinks, as it always does when Helly speaks to her with such tenderness. It only makes things worse, really—her father’s presence reduces her into nothing as it is—but it’s so different when she’s around Helly. It makes her feel so sickeningly helpless but safe all at once, her entire world narrowed to whatever her sister wants of her. She needs this, needs the clemency she’s afforded, needs the feeling of love that consumes her.
“I love you too,” she says, small and shy in a way only Helly can make her.
Helly’s hands cup her cheeks, smooth against hot skin, and her lips press ever so gently against her own. Helena loses herself in the feeling of her sister’s soft lips against her own, the way it consumes her secondary to the looming threat of their father’s reproach. He becomes unimportant, insignificant. Helly has always been more, and Helena willingly embraces it.
And then Helly pulls away, still holding her face like it’s precious, and presses their foreheads together. “You’re mine, okay? Not his. Never his.”
Helena nods. When she’s here, so close to her sister they become one, she knows.