Sister-in-Law Seduces Me Tonight

So, I’m just gonna lay this out there, ‘cause I’ve gotta tell someone, and I sure as hell ain’t telling anyone I know in real life. This happened a few weeks back, and I’m still kinda messed up about it. I’m Arjun, by the way, just a regular dude, late twenties, nothing special. But what went down at my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party? Man, I can’t even wrap my head around it sometimes.

It started off tense as hell. We’re in this swanky hotel room, right, rented out for the night for Margot’s big send-off into married life. Margot’s my brother’s fiancée, been in the family a couple years now, and let’s just say she’s always been… friendly. Too friendly, maybe. I’m there ‘cause my brother begged me to help keep an eye on things, make sure the girls don’t get too wild. Yeah, right. Like I’ve got any control over a pack of drunk women in glittery sashes. Anyway, the room’s a mess of empty champagne bottles and cheap tiaras, and I’m just trying to blend into the wallpaper, sipping a beer, when Margot corners me near the minibar.

“Arjun, you’re lookin’ all serious over here,” she slurs a little, her eyes glassy but sharp, like she’s been waiting for this moment. She’s in this tight silver dress that’s basically a second skin, and I’m trying not to notice, I swear. “What’s your deal? You don’t wanna celebrate me?”

I shift on my feet, awkward as hell. “I’m celebrating. Just, y’know, from over here. Keeping the chaos contained.”

She laughs, but it’s not a nice laugh. It’s pointed, like she’s daring me. “Oh, come on. You’re always so damn proper. Live a little.” Then she steps closer, way closer than she should, her perfume hitting me like a punch—something sweet and heavy, like vanilla and sin. “Or are you scared of me?”

That got me. Scared? Nah, I ain’t scared. But I’m damn well aware she’s off-limits. My brother’s girl. Soon-to-be wife. And yet, here she is, leaning in, her hand brushing my arm like it’s no big deal, while the rest of the party’s screaming over some dumb drinking game across the room. My gut’s churning with this mix of guilt and something hotter, something I don’t wanna name. I mumble something about getting another drink, but she grabs my wrist, not hard, just firm enough to stop me.

“Don’t run off,” she says, voice low now, almost a whisper. “I’ve been wantin’ to talk to you. Alone.”

And that’s when I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble. ‘Cause the way she’s looking at me, all heat and mischief, I can feel my willpower cracking like cheap glass. I should’ve walked away right then. Should’ve. Didn’t.

We end up on the balcony, the noise of the party muffled behind the sliding door. It’s just us, the city lights blinking below, and her standing too close again. She’s talking about the wedding, about stress, about how she’s not sure she’s ready—bullshit excuses, I know it, she knows it. Then she drops the bomb. “Y’know, Arjun, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like with you. Just once. Before I lock it all down.”

I nearly choke on my own spit. “Margot, what the hell? You’re marrying my brother in, like, two weeks.”

She shrugs, smirking, like it’s nothing. “Yeah. And after that, I’ll be the perfect little wife. But tonight? Tonight I’m still free. And I want you.” Her fingers trail up my chest, slow, deliberate, and I’m frozen, torn between shoving her off and pulling her closer. I can feel the heat of her through my shirt, the way her nails drag just enough to make my skin prickle.

This is wrong. So damn wrong. But my body’s not listening to my brain. It’s listening to her, to the way she’s pressing herself against me now, her hips nudging mine, her breath hot on my neck as she whispers, “No one’s gotta know. Just you and me, right here.”

I’m drowning in it, the want, the guilt, the sheer stupidity of even considering this. But then she’s kissing my jaw, soft at first, then harder, her teeth grazing just below my ear, and I’m done. I grab her hips, not to push her away, but to hold her there, to feel the way she fits against me. “Margot, we can’t—”

“We can,” she cuts me off, her voice all honey and heat. “I want your mouth on me, Arjun. I’ve wanted it for months. Don’t make me beg.”

And that’s it. The line’s crossed. We stumble back into the room, not to the main party but to a side bedroom off the suite, door clicked shut behind us. My heart’s hammering so hard I’m sure she can hear it. She’s pushing me down onto the edge of the bed, her dress riding up as she straddles my lap, but that’s not where this is going. Not yet. She leans back, smirking again, and says, “I want you to taste me. Right now.”

I’m not even thinking straight anymore. Just nodding like an idiot, hands sliding up her thighs, pushing that silver fabric higher until I can see the black lace underneath. She shifts, standing for a second to shimmy out of it, tossing the thong aside like it’s nothing, and then she’s back, guiding me down, her fingers in my hair as she positions herself over me. I’m lying back on the bed, staring up at her, at the way her skin flushes pink, at the glistening heat right in front of me. I shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be here. But the smell of her, musky and sweet, hits me, and I’m lost.

My hands grip her thighs, pulling her closer, and I drag my tongue along her, slow at first, just to feel the way she shudders. She’s so damn wet already, slick against my mouth, and the taste—sharp, tangy, like nothing I’ve ever had before—makes my head spin. I flick my tongue over her clit, light at first, testing, and she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Oh, fuck, yeah, right there,” she mutters, her voice rough, not the polished Margot I’m used to. This is raw, desperate, and it’s driving me insane.

I keep going, lapping at her, sucking gently, then harder when she starts grinding against my face. Her thighs tremble around me, the muscles tensing every time I hit that spot just right. I can feel the heat of her, the way she’s dripping down my chin, the little pulses when I press my tongue inside her, just a little, just to hear her moan. And she does, loud, not caring who might hear through the thin walls. “Goddamn, Arjun, you’re too good at this,” she pants, rocking faster, her breath coming in sharp little bursts.

I’m drowning in it, the taste, the sound, the way her body’s reacting. My hands dig into her ass, pulling her tighter against me, my nose brushing her as I work my tongue in circles, faster now, matching the rhythm she’s setting. I can feel my own ache, hard as hell in my jeans, but this ain’t about me right now. It’s about her, about the way she’s losing it above me, her moans turning into these little whimpers, her thighs clamping around my head like she’s gonna crush me. And I’m fine with that. More than fine.

There’s this moment, right in the middle of it, where I fumble—my grip slips, and I accidentally bite down just a little too hard. She yelps, then laughs, this sharp, breathless sound that cuts through the haze. “Careful, dumbass,” she says, but there’s no heat in it, just amusement, and she’s right back to grinding on me, like it didn’t even faze her. That laugh, though—it’s so human, so real, it makes this feel even dirtier somehow. Like we’re not just cheating, we’re fucking up together, and we both know it.

I double down after that, sucking hard on her clit, flicking my tongue in this tight little pattern that’s got her shaking now, really shaking. I can feel the tension building in her, the way her breathing’s all ragged, the way her hands are pulling my hair so tight it stings. “I’m close,” she gasps, barely getting the words out. “Don’t fuckin’ stop, don’t you dare.” And I don’t. I keep going, relentless, until she’s arching back, her whole body going stiff for a split second before she lets out this broken cry, coming hard against my mouth. I can feel it, the way she pulses, the rush of heat, and I don’t stop until she’s pushing me away, oversensitive, collapsing forward with her hands braced on the headboard.

We’re both panting, her still half over me, my face wet with her, the taste of her still on my tongue. I’m a mess, mentally and physically, guilt slamming into me now that the haze is clearing. I just ate out my brother’s fiancée. At her bachelorette party. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? But before I can spiral too hard, she slides off, sitting beside me on the bed, her dress still hiked up, her chest heaving as she catches her breath.

She looks at me, eyes still dark, a little smirk playing on her lips. “So,” she says, voice husky, “you gonna tell me you didn’t enjoy that?”