Greek Temptation

Katarina stood at the gate with her carry-on between her feet, forty-two and already done with the week she was leaving. Her husband had not looked up from his phone when she said she was going. Fabian waited by the window, thirty-eight, unmarried, boarding passes in one hand. He was her stepbrother, not by blood, and the only person who had noticed how quiet she had gotten at the dinner table.

"You look like you already regret saying yes," he said.

"I regret the suitcase," she said. "Four days in Greece and I packed like I was going to a funeral."

He smiled. "You packed like a woman who hasn't been looked at in a year. That'Katarina different."

"That'Katarina rude."

"It'Katarina accurate." He handed her the pass. "Your husband can keep the couch. You get the sea."

On the plane she took the window. Fabian took the aisle. After takeoff the cabin dimmed and she turned her head and found him already watching her.

"Don't," she said.

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like I'm a problem you can fix."

"I'm looking at you like a woman who joked about her own body before we left the ground," he said. "You said the black dress made your ass look tired. It doesn't."

Heat climbed her neck. "Fabian."

"Katarina." He said her name carefully. "You're allowed to hear that without turning it into a marriage crisis."

She faced the window. "My marriage is already a crisis. I don't need my stepbrother auditioning for the other side of it."

"I'm not auditioning. I'm sitting next to you."

It was not only that. She felt the inch of space between his knee and hers, and she kept noticing that she had not moved her leg.

They landed in late light. The taxi smelled like warm plastic and citrus. The hotel gave them adjoining rooms and a shared terrace. Katarina stood on the tile in her travel clothes and listened to the water.

"Beach or sleep?" he asked from the doorway.

"Beach. If I sleep I'll dream about the grocery list."

She changed into a one-piece bought three summers ago. In the mirror her hips looked heavier and her breasts sat lower than she remembered. She walked out anyway. Fabian was on the sand in trunks, sunglasses pushed up. He looked once, then again, slower.

"Say it," she said.

"No lie," he said. "You look like a woman. Not a before picture. Not a wife on vacation. A woman."

She sat, and the suit pulled across her stomach. "My husband stopped saying things like that around year six. He says 'you look fine,' which is what men say when they've already looked away."

Fabian was quiet a moment. "Then he'Katarina an idiot."

"He'Katarina my husband."

"Both can be true."

The water was warm. She waded to her waist and felt the suit cling. When she came back he had not looked away. She lay on her stomach. His shadow fell across her calves and stayed longer than it needed to.

"Tomorrow," she said into the towel, "I'm wearing the other suit. The one I almost didn't pack."

"Good," he said.

That was day one. The tension was small and already had a pulse.

On the second morning she came out in the bikini. Thin straps, dark fabric, more skin than she had shown anyone in years. She caught Fabian looking and did not cover up.

"Don't get polite on me," she said, spreading her towel. "You started this."

"I started telling the truth." He sat beside her. "That suit is doing exactly what you wanted it to do."

"And what'Katarina that?"

"Making me look."

She laughed, then stopped, because the sound had come out lower than she meant. A couple walked past. She waited until they were gone. "My husband would say I'm too old for it."

"Your husband isn't here."

"No." She rolled onto her side, facing him. The top shifted. "He hasn't touched me in four months. Not really. He kisses my cheek like I'm his mother and then he falls asleep. I lie there and I think about hands. That'Katarina pathetic, right?"

"It'Katarina honest." Fabian'Katarina eyes stayed on her face, then dropped, then came back. "You don't look like a woman who'Katarina done wanting."

She reached for the bottle of water between them and her fingers brushed his wrist. She left them there a second longer than an accident. "Careful. Compliments are turning into something else."

"They already did," he said. "Yesterday."

They swam. In the water her leg slid against his under the surface, skin on skin, and neither of them pretended it was the current. Back on the sand she watched his chest rise and felt her own pulse in her throat. At dinner she wore a short dress and crossed her legs under the table so her calf rested against his shin. He did not move away. They talked about nothing and about the marriage, and every sentence had a second meaning sitting under it.

"Do you ever think about what you missed?" she asked over grilled fish.

"All the time."

"I mean sex. Real sex. Not the polite kind."

He held her look. "Yes."

"Me too," she said. "Lately I think about it in the shower. I think about a mouth. I think about being wanted so badly somebody forgets to be careful."

His hand found her knee under the tablecloth. Just rested there. Warm. "Katarina."

"I'm not asking for anything," she said. "I'm telling you what my body does when nobody'Katarina using it."

"I hear you."

On the third day the teasing got worse and better. She wore a dress that ended high on her thighs and bent over the terrace railing on purpose, knowing he was behind her. She touched his arm when she laughed. At the beach she asked him to put lotion on her back and then, when his hands were already there, she said, "Lower."

He went lower, palms slow over the small of her back, stopping at the edge of the bikini. "Here?"

"There is fine." Her voice had gone rough. "God. Do you know how long it'Katarina been since a man put his hands on me like he meant it?"

"I'm meaning it."

She turned her head. Their faces were close. "I know. That'Katarina the problem."

"Is it a problem?"

"It will be if we keep going." She sat up. Sand stuck to her skin. "My marriage is bad. That doesn't make this clean."

"Nothing about this is clean," he said. "I'm your stepbrother. You're married. We're on a terrace in Greece because I wanted you out of that house, and now I can't stop looking at your mouth."

She swallowed. "Then look. Just don't kiss me yet."

"Yet."

"I said yet." She stood, and the dress clung to her ass. "I need one more night of pretending I'm only flirting."

He let her go inside. She heard him breathe out like a man who had been holding it.

The fourth day was the last. They walked the old streets, ate late, and came back to the terrace with a bottle of wine. One glass each. She was clear-headed. So was he. The sea was black and the air was warm on her bare shoulders. She had chosen the shortest dress in the suitcase and no bra. When she leaned on the railing her nipples showed through the cloth. Fabian saw. She wanted him to see.

"Last night," she said.

"Yes."

"I've been teasing you for three days. Shorter clothes. My hand on your thigh in the taxi. All those stories about what I want in bed." She turned to face him. "I wasn't joking."

"I know."

"I want you." She said it plain. "Not as a joke. Not as a maybe. I want my stepbrother to take me to bed tonight and fuck me until I can't think about my husband. I want that. I'm choosing it."

Fabian set his glass down. His eyes were dark and steady. "I want you too. I've wanted you since the airport, and it'Katarina gotten worse every hour. If we do this, we do it because we both said yes while we were sober and sure."

"I'm sure." She stepped in until her breasts brushed his chest. "Are you?"

"Yes."

"Then take me inside."

He opened the door. She went first.

In her room the lamp was low. He shut the door and she was already against him, mouth open, kissing him like she had been starving. His hands found her waist, her ass, the bare skin under the hem. She made a sound into his mouth and pulled his shirt up. They broke apart only to get the clothes off. Her dress hit the tile. His pants followed. She looked at his cock, hard and thick, and her cunt clenched.

"Come here," she said.

They fell onto the bed still kissing, hands everywhere. He palmed her breasts, thumbs dragging over her nipples until she arched. She wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked, slow, feeling him throb. "I want you inside me. I want to ride you first."

"Then get on."

She swung a leg over and sank down onto him in one long push. The stretch made her gasp. He filled her completely, hot and deep, and she stayed there a second with her eyes shut, adjusting, loving the weight of him. Then she started to move. Up, down, a grind of her hips that rubbed her clit against him. Fabian sat up enough to get his mouth on her breast. He sucked one nipple, then the other, hands massaging her tits, squeezing, lifting them to his tongue. She rode him harder. The bed creaked. Her ass slapped his thighs.

"Touch me," she said. "My clit. Don't stop."

His hand slid between them. Two fingers found her clit and rubbed in tight circles while she bounced on his cock. The combination wrecked her. Wet sounds filled the room. She braced her hands on his chest and fucked herself down onto him, taking every inch, her tits bouncing in his other hand.

"Look at you," he said, voice rough. "Taking my cock like you were made for it. This cunt is so tight. So wet for your stepbrother."

"Yes." She ground down, chasing his fingers. "I've been wet for you for days. In that bikini. At dinner. I wanted this cock in me while I was still pretending I didn't."

He pinched her nipple and rubbed her clit faster. She came the first time like that, shaking, clenching around him, a broken cry in her throat. She didn't stop moving. The orgasm rolled through her and she kept riding, greedy, until her thighs trembled.

"Turn me over," she said. "I want it from behind. Deep."

He pulled out. She got on her hands and knees, ass up, looking back at him. He gripped her hips and pushed in hard. The angle hit deep. She moaned into the pillow and pushed back to meet him.

"Fuck me," she said. "Don't be gentle. I want to feel it."

He fucked her in long, heavy strokes, then faster, the head of his cock dragging over the spot that made her see white. One hand stayed on her hip. The other reached under and found her clit again, rubbing while he pounded her. She was loud now. She didn't care.

"I want you," she said, voice shaking with every thrust. "I want this. I want my stepbrother'Katarina cock buried in me. I've wanted it since you looked at me on that beach. Harder. Yes. Like that. God, Fabian, you feel so good. Don't you dare stop."

"I'm not stopping." He slapped her ass once, not hard, just enough to make her clench. "Listen to how wet you are. This pussy is sucking me in. You love being fucked like this."

"I do." She dropped to her elbows, back arched, taking him deeper. "I love it. I love your cock. I want you to use me. I want to feel you come in me later. But not yet. Fuck me like this until I can't talk."

He gave her that. Deep, steady, relentless. Her second orgasm hit while he was all the way in, her cunt pulsing around him, her fingers clawing the sheet. She said his name over and over. He slowed only when she started to shake too hard to hold herself up.

"On my back," she said. "I want to see your face when you come."

He pulled out. She rolled over, legs open, and pulled him down between them. He slid back in, face to face, and she locked her ankles behind his back. This was slower. He kissed her while he thrust, deep and full, and she held his jaw so he couldn't look away.

"Eyes on me," she said. "I want you to watch me take it."

"I'm watching." His forehead nearly touched hers. Sweat shone on both of them. "You feel incredible. I'm close."

"Good." She rolled her hips up to meet every stroke. Her clit rubbed against him. "I want you to come inside me. Not on me. In me. Fill me up. I want your cum in my cunt. I'm asking. Do it."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Come in me, Fabian. Give it to me. I want to feel you shoot it deep."

He groaned and drove in harder, the rhythm breaking. She held his face and stared into his eyes while he fucked her toward the edge. Her own climax built again, tight and hot, right under the place where he was hitting her. She clenched on purpose, milking him, and watched his mouth fall open.

"Now," she said. "Come inside me. I want every drop."

He buried himself to the hilt and came. She felt the first thick pulse, then another, hot spurts flooding her cunt while he stayed deep and shuddered. The feeling tipped her over. She came with him, crying out, her pussy gripping his cock and pulling more cum out of him. He kept thrusting through it, small desperate strokes, emptying himself inside her while she shook and soaked them both. She felt it, warm and heavy, filling her, leaking around his shaft even while he was still hard and still coming. He groaned against her mouth and gave her the last of it, hips jammed tight, cock jerking as he pumped her full.

They stayed locked like that, breathing hard, his cum already slipping out around him and down onto the sheet. She didn't let him pull out yet. She squeezed, feeling the mess inside her, loving how full and used she was.

"Stay in," she said, voice wrecked. "I want to keep it in me a minute."

He stayed. His cock twitched. More of his load leaked out, sticky and hot against her ass and the sheets. She reached down, touched where they were joined, and brought her fingers up shining with his cum and her wetness. She looked at them, then at him.

"That'Katarina what I wanted," she said. "Your cum in my married cunt. I don't regret a second of it. This stays between us. Our filthy little vacation. Nobody else gets this."

He nodded, still inside her, still breathing hard. "Ours."

She clenched again so another thick ribbon of his cum squeezed out and ran down her skin, and she smiled like a woman who had gotten exactly what she begged for. "Good. Now look at the mess you made in me. I'm dripping your load all over this bed, and I want you to fuck it back in before either of us sleeps."