Double
"Mira wants to share him with her identical twin. Sera has always lived in her sister's shadow — until tonight."
Mira is acting strange tonight.
She keeps checking her phone. Straightening pillows that don't need straightening. Smiling at me with something secret behind her eyes.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Perfect." She kisses me quickly. "I have a surprise for you."
Before I can ask what, the doorbell rings.
Mira practically bounces to the door. I hear voices in the hallway — hers and someone else's. Someone who sounds exactly like her.
Then she walks back in, and I understand.
I've seen photos of Sera. Mira has them everywhere — the two of them as kids, teenagers, adults. Always together, always identical.
But photos don't prepare you.
Sera is Mira. Same dark hair, same full curves, same face. She's wearing a soft gray sweater and jeans, and her body fills them the way Mira's does — heavy breasts, wide hips, soft belly. Looking at her is like seeing a mirror image of the woman I've been sleeping with for three months.
Except she's not Mira.
Where Mira is bold, Sera is quiet. Where Mira fills a room, Sera seems to shrink. She's standing in the doorway with her hands clasped, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Sera, this is Jake." Mira's voice is bright. "Jake, this is my sister."
"Hi." Sera's voice is softer than Mira's. Same pitch, less volume. "I've heard a lot about you."
"All good things," Mira adds, wrapping an arm around her sister. "Come in, come in. I'll open wine."
We sit in the living room. Mira pours generously. Sera takes small sips, stealing glances at me when she thinks I'm not looking.
I'm always looking.
I can't help it. She's identical to Mira — every curve, every feature — but she wears it differently. Like a borrowed dress that doesn't quite fit her personality.
"So." Mira settles beside me, her thigh pressed against mine. "I should probably explain."
"Explain what?"
She looks at Sera. Something passes between them — a whole conversation in a glance.
"Sera and I share everything," Mira says. "We always have. Clothes, secrets, experiences." She pauses. "Everything."
I'm starting to understand. "Everything."
"She's never had anyone look at her the way you look at me." Mira takes my hand. "I want her to know what that feels like."
I look at Sera. She's blushing — a deep pink that spreads from her cheeks down her neck.
"Mira, you don't have to—" Sera starts.
"I know I don't have to." Mira crosses to her sister, takes her face in her hands. "I want to. You've spent your whole life in my shadow. Let me give you this."
She kisses Sera. Soft, sisterly — but lingering.
My whole body goes tight.
"This is a lot to take in," I manage.
Mira laughs. "I know. But I've seen how you look at her."
"I wasn't—"
"You were. Every time she's in a photo, your eyes find her." She comes back to me, sits in my lap, wraps her arms around my neck. "It's okay. She's me. How could you not want her?"
"She's not you."
Mira smiles. "No. She's not. That's the point."
She kisses me — deep, familiar. Then she stands.
"I'll be in the bedroom. Take your time. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She winks. "Which isn't much."
Then she's gone, and I'm alone with Sera.
The silence stretches.
Sera is staring at her wine glass, turning it in her hands. The blush hasn't faded.
"We don't have to do anything," I say. "If you're not comfortable—"
"I'm comfortable." She looks up. Those eyes — Mira's eyes, but softer. "I'm just not... used to this."
"Used to what?"
"Being wanted." She sets down the glass. "Mira's always been the one people notice. I'm just... the other one. The quiet one. The one they look through to see her."
"I see you."
She meets my gaze. Holds it.
"Do you?"
I stand. Cross to where she's sitting. Kneel in front of her.
"You're not her," I say. "You look like her. But you're not her. I could tell the difference the moment you walked in."
"How?"
"The way you hold yourself. The way you look at things like you're taking them apart in your head." I reach up, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "The way you're looking at me right now."
Her breath catches.
"How am I looking at you?"
"Like you want something you're scared to take."
I don't kiss her. I wait.
She closes the distance.
Her mouth is tentative at first — testing, questioning. I let her lead, let her find her rhythm. She tastes like wine and something sweeter.
When she pulls back, her eyes are dark.
"Mira was right," she whispers. "You do look at me differently."
"How does she look at you?"
"Like I'm hers. Like I belong to her." She traces my jaw with her fingertips. "You look at me like you're asking permission."
"Am I?"
"Yes." She leans in again. "The answer is yes."
I undress her slowly.
The sweater first, revealing a lace bra that barely contains her breasts. Same breasts as Mira's — I know exactly how they'd fill my hands — but seeing them on Sera is different. New.
"You're staring," she says.
"I know."
"Do you want me to—"
"I want you to let me." I unhook her bra, let it fall. Cup her breasts, feel their weight. She shivers. "Let me see you."
She does. She lets me remove her jeans, her panties. She stands before me naked, vulnerable, nothing like the bold confidence Mira wears like armor.
"You're beautiful," I tell her.
"I look exactly like Mira."
"No. You look like you." I run my hands down her sides, feeling the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. "And you're beautiful."
I lay her on the couch. Take my time.
Mira is demanding in bed — tells me what she wants, takes what she needs. Sera is different. Responsive. Every touch pulls a reaction from her, small sounds she tries to swallow.
"Let me hear you," I murmur against her skin.
"Mira will—"
"Let her hear." I kiss down her stomach, the soft curve of her belly. "Let her know what I'm doing to you."
When my mouth finds her, she gasps. Her hand flies to my hair, gripping.
"Oh god—"
She's sensitive. More than Mira. Every stroke of my tongue makes her shudder. I take my time, learning her — where to press, where to tease, what makes her hips buck.
"Jake— I'm going to—"
"Then come."
She does. Crying out, not holding back anymore. Her whole body arches, trembles, collapses.
I look up at her. She's breathing hard, staring at the ceiling, tears streaming down her temples.
"Sera?"
"I've never—" She laughs, wet and broken. "No one's ever made me feel like that."
"We're just getting started."
I'm inside her when Mira appears in the doorway.
She's wearing a silk robe, loosely tied. Her eyes move between us — her sister spread beneath me, my body joined with hers.
"Don't stop on my account," she says.
Sera stiffens, but I don't pull away. I look at Mira.
"Enjoying the show?"
"Very much." She crosses her arms, leans against the doorframe. "She's louder than I expected."
"She's been quiet too long."
Mira smiles. "Then make her loud."
I do. I move, finding the angle that makes Sera cry out. Her nails rake down my back. She's not hiding anymore — not muffling herself, not holding back.
"That's it," Mira murmurs. "Let go, Sera. I'm right here."
Sera reaches for her sister. Mira crosses the room, takes her hand, sits on the edge of the couch.
"I've got you," Mira whispers, stroking Sera's hair. "I've got you."
Sera comes again with her sister holding her.
Mira sheds the robe.
Same body. Same curves. Same skin. But seeing them together — the subtle differences emerge. A freckle on Mira's hip that Sera doesn't have. The way Mira moves compared to Sera's stillness.
"My turn," Mira says.
She straddles me while Sera watches. It's familiar — Mira's rhythm, Mira's demands — but different now. Sera is there, touching her sister's back, kissing her shoulder.
"You're so good to her," Mira tells me, rolling her hips. "She needed that."
"So do you."
"I know what I need." She leans down, kisses me hard. "And right now I need you to fuck me while my sister watches."
Sera's breath catches. I look at her — still flushed, still trembling — and pull her closer.
"Watch," I tell her. "See what your sister likes."
I learn their differences.
Mira is loud where Sera is soft. Mira takes control where Sera surrenders. Mira comes with her eyes open, challenging; Sera closes hers, lost in sensation.
But they both reach for each other. Twin hands clasped, twin bodies pressed together.
At some point we move to the bedroom. At some point the night blurs.
I'm inside Sera while Mira kisses her. I'm inside Mira while Sera guides my hands to her sister's breasts. They pass me between them like a gift they're unwrapping together.
When I finally come, Sera is beneath me and Mira is whispering in my ear: "Give it to her. She's earned it."
Morning.
I wake between them.
Sera is curled against my chest, still asleep. Her face is peaceful in a way it wasn't last night — the anxiety smoothed away.
Mira is awake, propped on one elbow, watching us both.
"How do you feel?" she asks quietly.
"I don't know." I brush Sera's hair from her face. "How do you feel?"
"Happy." She traces a finger down my arm. "She's never let anyone in like that. I've tried to share before, but she always held back."
"What was different this time?"
"You." Mira smiles. "You actually saw her. Not just my shadow."
Sera stirs, murmurs something, presses closer.
"What happens now?" I ask.
Mira shrugs. "Whatever we want."
"And what do you want?"
She looks at her sister, then at me.
"We've shared everything our whole lives. Why stop now?"
Sera's eyes flutter open. She looks at me, then at Mira. A blush creeps up her cheeks.
"Morning," she whispers.
"Morning." I kiss her forehead. "Sleep okay?"
"Best I've slept in years." She stretches, her body pressing against mine. "That really happened, didn't it?"
"All of it."
She bites her lip. "Can it... happen again?"
Mira laughs, drapes herself over both of us.
"As many times as you want, baby sister."
"By three minutes," Sera mutters. "Three minutes doesn't make you the older one."
"It makes me the wiser one. And I was wise enough to share him with you."
Sera looks at me. Those eyes — softer than Mira's, deeper somehow.
"Thank you," she says. "For seeing me."
"Always."
Mira pulls us both closer.
"Now. Who's making breakfast? I worked up an appetite."
Later, I'm scrambling eggs while the twins sit at the kitchen counter.
Same face, same body. But now I know every difference.
Mira takes her coffee black. Sera adds cream and sugar.
Mira reaches for me when she wants attention. Sera waits to be reached for.
Mira says what she wants. Sera shows what she wants.
Both of them are watching me with identical expressions — heat and hunger and something that might be the beginning of love.
"I know that look," I say. "What are you two planning?"
"Nothing." Mira's voice is innocent.
"Everything." Sera's isn't.
They look at each other and laugh — the same laugh, the same joy.
Whatever this is, it's just beginning.
And I'm not going anywhere.