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A busty mother and well hung son get closer over a week.

I would die for those lips. There was something arousing with the taboo of messing with the twin of whomever you're dating. Either that, or I'm a cheating bastard. Your call.

My hand went around her back as my lips melted into hers, pulling her deeper into me. My mind was still debating whether this was ethical or not, my girlfriend was just a thousand miles away, but my body had no trouble identifying a potential mating partner. My cock rose from the sheer intensity of the kiss. Radcliffe should've done it on the film set and called it an accident.

'Not now.' Emma said breathlessly as she pulled away a little. 'But I liked that, if, uh, if that means anything.' She paused for a breather. Of course it meant something, but I just didn't know what.

'Yeah...' I paused to think. 'Work relationships and all. Gotta keep it professional, eh.' I said with false assurance.

'Right.' She replied, her voice dying off near the end.

After a few seconds of us staring at each other, I broke the silence by handing her the envelope from the receptionist. She seemed relieved when the distraction appeared.

'From the CIA, presumably.' I said. 'Did you rent this room under Mr Watson?'

'No, but whoever did was thinking ahead. Mr. Watson rents a room? Oh, just an English gentleman. Emma Watson rents a room? Well bloody hell, call the paparazzis! Free publicity for the hotel! Do you get me?' Emma waved her hand around for exaggeration around the paparazzi part. Even off camera she still maintains a little bit of a stage persona.

'Alright, alright, I get it. Take the envelope now.' She took it, and tore the top open. Inside was a photo of Emma, sleeping quite peacefully. She looks beautiful from any angle.

'I don't remember taking this photo.' She said, then realising how potentially dumb that statement was. She held the photo near my face. 'Did you take this?'

'Nah.' I shrugged. Interestingly, in spending some time with Emilia, who was American, I seemed to have lost a little of my British accent.

'What, that's it? Nothing else?' I asked. She seems to be asking that as well, as she shook the envelope upside down, hoping for more than just a picture.

'Clerical error or something, these American systems don't work at all. Hey, someone's getting fired at the CIA.' She shrugged, mimicking my reaction.

'Now I want some sleep. Shoo.' She motioned me away. As I slept last night during the road trip, I couldn't immediately fall asleep. I looked around the room, only to find a freeze frame of Emilia riding on top of me displaying on the TV. High definition as well.

'We've come so far.' I silently thought to myself. Guilt came back to me as I replayed the recent memories. How would Emilia react if she saw what happened just then? Emma is not Emilia. Stop it. A fundamental thing to remember about dating twins is that your penis can't tell personality. It sees, it wants.

I closed my eyes, hoping for an escape.


'Em... come with me.'

'No.' She replied, tears forming in her voice. She walked away.

'Emilia.' I yelled after her.

She split into two, both turning back, mirroring each other's movements.

'Who?' Both figures whispered back.

Their voices were soft, clear. One figure disappeared into thin air.

'Am I yours?' The remaining figure questioned. She walked closer.

She wanted answers.

I had no answers.


My body shot up perpendicular to the bed. It was still dark. Another confusing dream. Or a nightmare. Lying down again, I looked to my right, where Emma's bed was. Even in the blinding darkness, I could sense her. I imagined her lying in her bed, perhaps having a pleasant dream about puppies or something.

My phone on the bedside table was flashing. I rolled right, hoping to reach my phone. Oof. Something was in the way. I tried to move it, thinking it was a bundle of sheets or similar.

'Stop...' The object spoke weakly. I switched a light on.

It was Emma.

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