5 Times a Day

**Chapter 54**

I was still “helping” Mira in her room, mostly standing around while she clicked through something on her laptop, when Sara walked in and stopped short at the sight of me.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Moving bed and stuff,” I answered sarcastically.

Mira shot me a look that could have curdled milk, then turned to her twin. “Ross is here.”

That single sentence was apparently all the explanation required. Sara nodded once. “I see.”

Twins.

“Anyway.” Sara faced me fully. “Tyler, I need to talk to you. You got a minute?”

“Sure.”

I followed her out. I could feel Mira’s eyes on the back of my neck the entire way down the hall, but I told myself it was only paranoia. If she had actually overheard anything the night before, a mere stink-eye would have been the least of my problems.

Sara’s room was quiet and neat. She opened her mouth to speak; I raised a hand and stopped her.

“Look,” I said. “I thought about what you told me this morning. The whole point of us doing… stuff… was so things wouldn’t stay awkward between us. So far we’ve only managed to make it worse.”

A faint flush rose in her cheeks at the word *stuff*. When I pointed out the new layer of awkwardness, a flicker of guilt crossed her face. I kept going.

“With that in mind, I don’t want things to get difficult because of some one-sided desire on my part. If you want the physical side, I’m more than happy to keep that going. Just as long as you and I still get to be… us.”

The last part came out quieter than I intended, carrying a thin thread of hope I couldn’t quite hide.

Sara listened in silence. After a moment, she nodded.

“I was going to say something pretty similar,” she admitted. “Since that’s where we both landed, I guess that’s how it is.”

For a second I could have sworn she looked faintly disappointed. I almost asked what she had originally planned to say, but a knock interrupted us.

“You guys done?” Mira’s voice came through the door.

“Yeah,” Sara answered before I could. She stepped closer, brushed a quick, almost chaste kiss against my lips, barely long enough to register, and murmured, “See you at lunch.”

The familiar spark of mischief was back in her eyes. I smiled despite myself. Pushing for anything more right then would have been stupid. We were still finding the edges of whatever this was.

~~

An hour later, I was sitting on the floor of Mira’s room with a paintbrush in one hand and a strong desire to be anywhere else.

Sara and I were locked in the same awkward silence we had been trying to escape. Mira had drafted us into helping with a club project the moment she collected me from Sara’s room. Ross had followed her in, only for his face to fall the second Mira announced that Sara and I would be handling the design boards while she and Ross worked on the written portion and the presentation.

Their topic was a restaurant concept. Our job was to produce the visual boards. In Ross’s eyes, we had become the primary obstacles between him and any private time with Mira. I couldn’t even blame him.

Three hours later, the boards were finally finished, mostly because Mira found fault with every single draft we produced and kept us revising until the colors and layouts met whatever standard she was holding in her head. By the time we were released, Ross looked like a man who had watched his last hope walk out the door.

Lunch was a masterclass in polite avoidance. Everyone ate as though nothing unusual was happening. Sasha had already finished with her private lesson and sat at the table in her tennis clothes; the rest of the women still needed to change. Ross attempted conversation with Mira several times. She either gave one-word answers or deliberately pulled Sara and me into the discussion so the talk never stayed between the two of them.

When the meal ended, Tom announced he was heading to the basement to watch basketball and invited Ross along. Ross accepted with the enthusiasm of someone who had run out of better options. He asked if I was coming; I was halfway through an answer when Aunt Elise spoke up.

“Tyler, you’re welcome to join us for tennis if you’d like.”

Under ordinary circumstances, the invitation would have been difficult to refuse. The mental image alone, Aunt Elise, Sara, Mira, and Sasha in tennis skirts, stretching, lunging, sweating, was enough to make my cock stir under the table. The problem was the lust meter already sitting at orange even after the morning’s release. Aunt Elise’s pink haze had grown denser and heavier over the last few days, thick enough that simply standing near her made concentration difficult. Watching her move in athletic clothing felt like a risk I did not need to take.

“I think I’ll stick with basketball,” I said. “I’m not any good at tennis.”

Or most sports, for that matter.

We stood to leave. Aunt Elise and the girls went ahead toward the bedrooms to change. I stayed a few steps behind and let my imagination fill in the details I was deliberately avoiding in person.

Sasha would already be in her kit: a tight white tank that clung to her perky, full breasts and rode up slightly whenever she raised her arms, paired with a short pleated skirt that barely reached mid-thigh. Every time she bent to pick up a ball, the hem would lift and show the lower curve of her round, firm ass and the edge of whatever tiny shorts she wore underneath. Her legs were smooth and soft despite the constant practice, and the socks pulled high only emphasized the shape of her calves.

Sara’s version would be cleaner and somehow more dangerous. A fitted polo stretched across her chest, the fabric thin enough to hint at the outline of her bra, paired with a skirt that sat low on her hips and flared just enough to flash the soft underside of her ass when she moved. Her blonde hair would be pulled back, leaving the line of her neck and the small beads of sweat at her temples visible. The lean muscle in her thighs would flex with every lateral step.

Mira, ever practical, would choose something similar but slightly more covered—still short enough to show the length of her legs, still tight enough across the chest to make the shape of her breasts obvious when she reached for an overhead ball. The stoic expression she usually wore would only make the occasional flash of skin more noticeable.

And Aunt Elise…

I forced the thought away before it could fully form. The haze around her was already problematic at a dinner table. Seeing her in a tennis skirt that would ride up those long, creamy thighs and cling to the heavy, natural weight of her big ass and F-cup breasts was a level of stimulation I did not trust myself with today.

Tom’s voice pulled me back to the present.

“Hope you like basketball.”

The man whose eldest daughter I had been inside the night before, whose youngest daughter had spent the morning in the shower with me, whose wife’s panties I had stolen and lost, was inviting me to sit on a couch and watch sports like nothing in the world was wrong.

The basement was exactly as awkward as expected. Three minutes into the game, I was already restless. Looking at Tom without the urge to laugh felt like being at the same level as Rox’s harsh training. I lasted as long as I could before standing.

“Anyone want a beer?”

The basement fridge was well stocked. We each worked through three or four bottles. The alcohol did nothing to my system, but the ritual of drinking still took the edge off the social tension. Everything was manageable until a commercial break filled the screen with a woman in very little underwear. Tom let out an appreciative noise.

“Now that’s a beauty.” He turned to Ross. “What about you, son? Any interesting lady in your life?”

Ross looked like he wanted the couch to swallow him. “Not at the moment, sir.”

“You’ve got to up your game. Otherwise the good ones get taken.” Tom’s attention shifted to me. “How’s your romance life, Tyler?”

“I do all right.”

“Attaboy. Get what you can while you can. Married life comes later—one woman, then kids. Don’t get me wrong, your aunt is plenty amazing. This past week she’s been on me about things more than usual. No idea what’s gotten into her, but I’ve been too busy to keep up.”

I had no safe reply.

Tom chuckled. “You probably don’t want me talking about your aunt like that, huh?”

From him, no. In general, hearing that Aunt Elise’s sex drive had been higher than usual sent a fresh pulse of heat through me that had nothing to do with the beer.

I stood up under the excuse of a bathroom break and left the basement.

I did not go to the bathroom.

The house above was empty; the distant sounds of tennis still drifted in from the court. I went straight to the master bedroom. The moment I opened the door, the concentrated scent of Aunt Elise’s haze hit me like a physical wave, thicker and sweeter here than anywhere else in the house. I moved to the laundry hamper with single-minded focus.

It was empty.

No discarded panties, no everyday underwear, nothing. Either she had already done laundry, or she had grown cautious after the previous disappearances, or, most tantalizing and least likely, she was simply going without one.

The last possibility alone was enough to make my cock harden fully. I left the room empty-handed and disappointed.

I was halfway back toward the basement stairs when the exterior door opened, and the women came in from the court.

I kept my eyes carefully neutral and made a vague comment about the guys waiting downstairs. In reality, I was fighting the urge to look directly at any of them.

Sasha’s white tank was translucent with sweat in places, the fabric plastered to the soft shape of her breasts and the small points of her nipples. Her pleated skirt sat high on her hips; every step threatened to show the lower curve of her ass. Sara’s polo clung to her chest in the same way, a dark line of perspiration running down the center of her sternum, her skirt shifting against the smooth skin of her thighs. Mira looked slightly more put-together but no less affected by the heat, cheeks flushed, legs bare and gleaming. And Aunt Elise…

I refused to let my gaze linger.

“Go on and catch the rest of your game, Tyler,” she said. Then, to the girls: “Come on, girls. Showers.”

They headed for the main stairs. Aunt Elise took the shorter flight that led up to the master suite. I made the mistake of watching her for one second too long, watching her heavenly ass sway in that tennis skirt.

On the first step, she glanced back over her shoulder, caught my eye, and, before I could look away, lifted the back of her tennis skirt just high enough for me to see.

What I saw did not excite me.

It horrified me.

Why?

Stay tuned.