Ten years as his sister-in-law. Four years before that as just his younger brother's sweet little girlfriend. That's how long he's been off-limits. Fourteen years of holidays. Birthdays. Family beach trips. Fourteen years of his eyes flicking over me just a second too long. Of lingering hugs. Inside jokes. That fucking nickname, Sissy, that he's called me since the wedding. He has no idea what it does to me. And now I'm sitting across from him at a quiet breakfast spot--just the two of us. My husband's sleeping late. I volunteered to sort out the plans for their mom's retirement party. And Luca showed up late, all stubble and quiet smirks in a fitted black t-shirt that clings to his tattooed biceps. He smells like cigarettes and skin.
I'm trying to focus. I am. But his leg brushes mine under the table. He doesn't move it. And then I make the mistake of filling the silence with the story I shouldn't tell. "Last night," I say, spearing a piece of fruit, "he asked me what my darkest fantasy is." Luca raises a brow, sipping his coffee. "Bold move for my brother." His mouth quirks up. "I'm guessing you gave a PG answer?" I shrug. "I told the truth." He tilts his head, interest sharpening. "Which was?" I glance around. The café is quiet. No one close enough to hear. I lean in. "I said... a threesome. With him." A pause. "And his brother." For a heartbeat, Luca doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. And then everything shifts. The air between us crackles. I can see that I've thrown him off-balance for once. His eyes light up with surprise. His mouth curves, slow and dangerous. Like a lion realizing the cage door's open.
"That's... specific," he says. His voice has dropped half an octave. I take a long sip of my drink. Press my thighs together beneath the table. "Oh, it's just a fantasy," I say, attempting lightness and failing. Luca leans in, forearms on the table, eyes locked on mine. And now I see it--what he's been hiding all these years. That heat. That want. That raw, unspoken ache. "You've always liked teasing me, Sissy," he says, his voice low and velvet-dark. "But now I'm starting to wonder if you've been begging for it." The nickname lands differently now. He says it like a threat. A promise. A claim. And he still doesn't know it makes my panties damp every time he says it. Not yet. But he will.
We don't talk about it again. Not the fantasy. Not the way his voice dropped when he said my name like it was a dare. Not the heat that coiled low in my belly when I realized he wanted me--maybe always had. Instead, we finish our breakfast like two people pretending everything is perfectly normal. He asks about the party guest list. I ask if he still has the old slideshow from their dad's retirement. Our voices are steady. Our faces polite. But our bodies are betraying us. His knee keeps brushing mine under the table. I don't move away. He doesn't either. When we stand up, the air between us feels thick--like it's holding its breath, waiting to see who will break first. We hug goodbye, like we always do. But this time... his hands slide lower on my back than they should. His mouth is right by my ear. And when he murmurs, "See you soon, Sissy," it's not a joke anymore. It's a promise.
[Later that day, texting]
Luca: You caught me off guard this morning
Me: Which part? The waffles or the fantasy?
Luca: The fact that you've been thinking about me like that. For how long?
Me: Would it make you feel cocky if I said... years?
Luca: Sissy. You're gonna make me hard in the middle of a grocery store.
Me: Good. I hope it hurts.
Luca: You're playing with fire. And you know it.
Me: That's what makes it fun.
[The next day]
Luca: I keep thinking about your mouth wrapped around my cock. My brother's sweet, nerdy, sexy little wife on her knees for me.
Me: I've thought about that too. More than I should admit. I'd look up at you while I did it. I'd let you grip my hair and call me a good girl.
Luca: Fuck. You're killing me. Tell me what you want.
Me: I want your hands on me. Rough. Controlling. I want you to pin me down and fuck me so hard I forget I ever said I'd be good.
Luca: You'll beg. You'll cry. You'll say please, big brother, I need it, I can't take it anymore.
Me: I'll say anything you want. Just... take me. Finally.
[Later that night, alone in bed]
I'm soaked. Buzzing with everything we've said, and everything we haven't. He hasn't touched me yet. Not really. But I've never felt more owned in my life. I imagine his hands on my hips. His voice in my ear. That filthy nickname between gritted teeth as he finally slides inside me and makes me his.
My phone buzzes again.
Luca: Tomorrow I want to hear you say it out loud.
***
I catch him alone for just a second--on the back deck, away from the noise. The sliding door between us and the rest of the crowd keeps our secrets safe. He lights a cigarette, the glow catching the edge of his jaw, the sharp tension in his shoulders. He doesn't turn around, just says, "You wore that for me."
My dress. Thin. Low in the back. No bra.
"You think I didn't notice?" he asks. "You think I didn't watch your nipples get hard every time I said your name across the table?"
I bite my lip. Step closer. Still no touching. We can't. But I want to. God, I want to.
"You looked," I whisper.
He laughs--quiet, low, dangerous. "Sissy," he says. Growls it. And I throb between my legs.
"You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me."
He finally turns. We're inches apart. His eyes are wild with heat. His breath is unsteady. His free hand twitches at his side like he's barely holding himself back.
"You know the second I get you alone," he says, voice rough with restraint, "I'm going to destroy you, right?"
I nod, breathless.
"Say it," he murmurs, his eyes flicking to my mouth. "Say you want to be ruined."
"I do," I breathe. "By you."
That's when it happens.
He drops the cigarette. Crushes it underfoot. And then he's kissing me.
Fierce. Desperate. Like he's starving and I'm the only thing that's ever fed him. His hand tangles in my hair, the other gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him. I gasp against his mouth and he swallows the sound, devouring it. Devouring me.
The kiss is everything we've been pretending not to feel. It's ten years of longing unleashed in one blinding, electric moment. It's reckless and wrong and so fucking perfect I could cry.
And just as suddenly as it started, it stops.
Someone calls my name from inside.
We break apart, panting, stunned. My lips are swollen. His pupils blown wide. The air between us vibrates.
We don't speak.
We step apart. Back into the lie. Back into the family we're still pretending to belong to.
But now we both know: we've crossed the line.
And nothing will stop us next time.
***
I'm supposed to be at work. I told them I had a headache. It wasn't entirely a lie. The ache is real. It's low in my belly. Deep between my thighs. And only he can fix it. Luca.
I pull into his driveway, palms sweating on the steering wheel. The sun is sharp through the windshield, but I'm cold. My whole body humming with anticipation and nerves and heat that's been building for over a decade. I text him: "I'm here."
The front door opens before I even put my phone down. He stands there barefoot, in a faded black t-shirt and low-slung jeans. His hair messy. His expression unreadable. But his eyes... God, his eyes. He looks like he's barely holding himself together. I step inside, and the door closes behind me. It's quiet. Dim. Empty. I glance around. Boxes stacked near the wall. Pictures missing from the shelves. No bed in sight.
"She took it," he says, reading my mind. "The ex."
I nod. "Just the couch, then?"
He steps closer. "It'll do."
And suddenly he's on me. Mouth hot, hands rough, starving. Kissing me like he's making up for every year he's had to pretend. I moan against him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails dragging down his back. He walks me backward until my knees hit the couch. We fall together, mouths still locked. His hands are everywhere--thighs, waist, under my blouse. I arch into him, gasping as he finds my bra clasp and pops it with one practiced flick.
"I've imagined this so many times," he growls, lips on my neck. "Pulling your shirt up. Feeling these tits in my hands. Sucking on them until you beg me to stop." I whimper. He's already got his hand under my skirt, fingers dragging along my soaked panties. "Already wet?" he murmurs. "Such a filthy little thing, Sissy. You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?" I nod. Breathless. Panting. Drenched. "Say it," he demands.
"I've been thinking about your cock," I whisper. "How big it is. How hard. How badly I want it inside me." He groans deeply and yanks my panties down. "Turn around," he growls. "Hands on the cushions. Knees on the floor." I obey, heart slamming in my chest. I hear the sound of his zipper. The rustle of his jeans dropping. The rustle of him stroking his cock behind me. Then the head of it brushes between my folds.
"You ready?" he says, suddenly gentle.
"Yes," I whisper. "Please." He thrusts in -- deep, rough, perfect. I scream in pleasure. He holds my hips, slamming into me, the sound of skin on skin echoing off bare walls. "Sissy," he growls. I cry out again -- louder, needier. The couch rocks beneath us. His hand slides around to my clit, rubs in fast, ruthless circles. I fall apart, clenching around him, coming again and again. He fucks me through it. Doesn't stop. Just grips tighter and keeps going.
"Whose pussy is this?" he growls. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasp. "Only yours."
He pulls out just long enough to flip me onto my back. Lifts my legs over his shoulders. Slides back in and fucks me even deeper. I feel everything. And when he comes -- thick and hard, buried deep inside of me -- he collapses on top of me. Breathless. Shaking. Ruined. The couch creaks beneath us. His lips find mine again, softer now. We tremble against one another as our skin cools.
***
The next time is riskier. Quieter. We meet in a parking lot an hour outside the city and check into a cheap roadside motel. No IDs. No paper trail. The kind of place where no one asks questions. I don't let him kiss me right away. I push him onto the edge of the bed, drop to my knees, and tell him to keep his hands at his sides. He looks down at me, eyes wide, lips parted. His cock is already hard beneath his jeans. I unfasten him slowly, deliberately, dragging his pants and boxers down just enough to free him. His cock springs forward -- thick, heavy, straining. I stroke him once, twice, just to feel the weight of him in my palm. Then I lick the head -- slow, teasing. He groans.
I take him into my mouth inch by inch, keeping eye contact the entire time. My tongue traces the vein on the underside as I suck him deeper. He's panting now, trying to stay still like I told him, but his hips twitch. I pull back with a pop, then swirl my tongue around the head again before plunging back down.
My fingers drift lower, to his balls. I cup them gently, massaging while I work his cock with my mouth. Then I go lower. I drag my nails behind them and press against that sensitive spot beneath. He gasps. "Sissy..." I hum around him, the vibration making him shudder. I lick and suck and tease until he's a wreck above me, barely holding it together.
And then I go further. I drag my finger lower, slow and deliberate. When I reach the rim of his asshole, I circle it lightly once. He stiffens, breath catching.
"You can tell me to stop," I murmur between licks. He shakes his head, breathless. "Don't."
