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Rebecca Star is devastated when her beloved twin brother, Richard, is murdered. Her life feels over. How can she go on without her soul mate? Best friend, Hayley, tries to help when Becca tells her deepest secret: that she and Richard were lovers. Becca pines for Richard, pleading with God to bring him back in this passionate tale that will have you by turns weeping, aroused and laughing for joy.

So—my monkish brother wasn't made of stone after all. Though it for damned sure looked as if one big part of him certainly was.
"Talking of Siegfried, we're really more like his parents, Siegmund and Sieglinde, you and I," I said softly.
"Ah," he said, sighing, "the brother and sister who are twins, separated at birth. They meet as adults and fall in love. And soon Sieglinde gives birth to Siegfried."
"Yes," I whispered.
He paused.
"Careful what you wish for," he said quietly.
We presently moved up to the head of my bed. We lay back on the propped-up pillows. Or, more precisely, Richard reclined upon them, and I lay my head across his chest. I moved his shirt up, and he didn't protest as I absently moved my fingers across his lower chest, lightly stroking his incredibly taut abdominal muscles as he in turn ran his own fingers through my long, dark hair. For long years, we had dreamily relaxed in this manner on countless occasions, and it had been all very chaste: just two twins who were naturally very close and loved each other deeply, indeed with a profound depth of feeling that others little dreamt of. We knew such behaviour was perfectly natural for twins—quite common, in fact. And it had never progressed beyond the close bonds of mere sibling friendship.
Neither of us could truly put our shared finger on just what we were precisely. We were best friends, yes, yet so much more than that. We were linked inextricably in the bonds of an agape love that few people on this planet ever enjoyed. And now—as I contemplated Richard's own selfless disregard, his love for me so deep that he would clearly risk his own life for mine, to-gether with the fact that I would soon be losing him to the army, not long after graduation—I wondered: could that agape love metamorphose into the love of eros?
From his firm lower chest, my hand drifted down to Richard's crotch. I let this happen slowly and, I hoped, naturally. I had never dared to touch my brother in this way before. He could read my mind, and I, his. He had to know how I felt about him. Without a word, I moved my hand across the top of his trousers.
He was hard as a rock.
"Oh, Becky," he said, his voice so gorgeous and soft. "Oh, darling. No—don't."
I ignored him and pressed my hand even harder into his crotch, rubbing his hard phallus even faster through the fabric.
"I can't hear you, dear brother," I said saucily. "Your body is talking too loud!"
"Becca, please. Becca."
"Ritchie, I love you. I want you."
He suddenly reached down and withdrew my hand. He shifted upon the pillows and gently grabbed my chin. I thought he would kiss me—truly kiss me—at long last. My lips parted, and I looked at my beautiful, godlike brother, my eyes brimming with hope.
"Becca," he said, "my dearest, sweetest Becca, I can't do this. I simply can't. I love you too much! I don't—I don't want to hurt you!"

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