It started with a glance. Not the kind that slips past unnoticed—but one that lingers, heavy and unspoken. I was in the kitchen, barefoot in a silky robe that barely stayed shut. The neckline dipped low, showing off the soft curve of my breasts, just enough to tease without trying. Or maybe… maybe I was trying. Just a little.
He walked in quietly like he always did. My brother-in-law, Daniel. My sister’s husband. Tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man who filled a doorway with just his presence. His voice always had this deep, smooth timbre to it that made even hello feel like something secret. And God, the way his eyes wandered to my chest, then darted away like he knew it was wrong.
“Mmmm… can’t sleep?” I asked, sipping my tea, letting my robe fall just a touch open at the thigh as I leaned on the counter.
“No,” he said, scratching his neck, trying not to look. “Heard the kettle. Thought I’d join you.”
The air between us thickened. It had been growing for months, this tension. Every time I visited, every family dinner, every quick hug goodbye that lingered too long. My sister never saw it. She trusted us both.
But I felt it. In how his hand brushed the small of my back when she wasn’t looking. In how his voice dropped when we were alone. And now, in the way his eyes slowly moved down my body, then back up like he was memorizing something he’d never touch.
Or so I thought.
That night, everything changed.
He came closer, fingers wrapping around the mug I handed him. His touch brushed mine—warm, strong. I didn’t pull away. I met his gaze instead. A long pause. My heart beat faster, fluttering low in my belly.
“You shouldn’t wear things like that around me,” he said quietly, his jaw tight.
I smiled, slow and a little wicked. “Maybe I want you to notice.”
He froze. Time hung in that moment, fragile and hot.
Then—he kissed me.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a clash of mouths and months of repressed want. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me tight, my robe falling open. I gasped, and moaned into his lips. He lifted me onto the counter with ease, his mouth trailing along my neck, my cleavage, and my inner thigh.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
I didn’t. My knickers felt so damp.
He didn’t need to ask twice. My silence was answer enough, wasn’t it? A roaring bloody affirmation. He ripped the silk tie belt of the robe free, the satin pooling around my ankles like a discarded skin. He looked at me then, really looked. Not like polite dinner party Daniel, but something raw, stripped. His eyes devoured me, lingering on the triangle of dark hair peeking out from my knickers, the way my nipples hardened just from his gaze. My breath hitched in my throat, caught somewhere between fear and a desperate thrill.
“God, you’re…” he started, voice thick with lust, and then stopped, unable to finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. I knew. I felt it too. This burning, undeniable pull. He reached down, fingers tracing the lace edge of my knickers. “These are coming off,” he murmured, more a statement than a question, and my hips lifted instinctively, a silent offering.
His fingers slipped beneath the elastic, cool against my hot skin. He peeled them down slowly, teasingly, each inch a fresh wave of anticipation. I watched his face as he did it, intent, almost reverent. When they were gone, discarded on the floor like the robe, he paused again, just looking. No shame, no guilt, just pure, unadulterated desire.
He moved between my legs then, still standing, pressing his arousal against my damp centre. It was excruciating, beautiful torture. I gasped, a sharp intake of breath. “Daniel,” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.
He leaned in, kissing me again, harder this time, teeth scraping against my lower lip. His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me higher on the counter, spreading me open. The kitchen counter, for fuck’s sake. So utterly wrong, so utterly right.
He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against me. I was slick, ready. He pushed in slowly, stretching me, and I gasped again, arching my back. “Mmnnn… fuck,” I groaned, head falling back. It felt… immense. He was thick, heavy, filling me completely. He paused inside, letting me adjust, letting us both just feel.
Then he started to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first, pulling almost all the way out and then plunging back in. “Ahhh,” I moaned, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Yes… like that…” Each thrust was a jolt, a delicious ache spreading through my pelvis. “Mnnngh,” I groaned again, my body starting to move with his, meeting each push, wanting more.
He sped up, the rhythm changing, becoming faster, harder. My head was spinning, my vision blurring at the edges. “Fuck, you feel good,” he grunted, his breath hot against my neck. “So fucking good.” He changed angle slightly, hitting a new spot, and I cried out, louder this time. “Agh… oh God, Daniel… yes… there…”
His moans joined mine, lower, guttural. “Unhh… fucking… tight…” He was completely lost in it, eyes closed, face contorted with pleasure. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to be swallowed whole. The kitchen island dug into my back, a hard counterpoint to the softness opening beneath him.
He was relentless, driving into me with a fierce urgency, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body. “Mmmmm… aaah… deeper… deeper,” I begged, my voice ragged. He obliged instantly, pushing in further, until I could feel him right at the back of my throat. “Ooooh… fuck… fuck me, Daniel… fuck me…”
The moans became shouts, our bodies slick with sweat, moving in perfect, frantic unison. The world narrowed down to just the feel of him inside me, the sound of our ragged breathing, the frantic rhythm of our bodies colliding. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building, tightening, coiling in my core. “I’m… I’m going to…” I gasped, my nails digging into his back, drawing blood.
He groaned, a long, shuddering sound. “Come on… come for me… fucking come…” And then he pushed, one last, earth-shattering thrust, and I exploded. A wave of pure, white-hot pleasure ripped through me, convulsing my body. “AAAAAHHHHH!” I screamed, long and loud, my climax echoing in the quiet kitchen.
He held me tight, still thrusting, even as I came, his own release catching up to mine. He groaned again, shuddering against me, his body going rigid. “Uunnnngh… Ummmm fuck… I am cumin.” He pumped his load into the back of my pussy, spurt after spurt of creamy spunk. He collapsed against me, heavy, breathing hard, his heart hammering against mine.
We stayed like that for a long time, tangled together on the kitchen counter, the silence thick with the aftermath of what we’d just done. The kettle whistled softly in the background, a mundane sound in the wake of such chaos. I was still slick with his come, my body throbbing, pleasantly exhausted. And terrified. But God, so utterly, gloriously alive.