Seducing My Husband's Brother

Behind the Sheer

PURITY

••••••••••

Over the years, I've come to realize that Ryan's kindness is nothing but second nature to him.

Don't get me wrong, that man is brutal. I've never seen him in action, but he has a reputation. He's like the cooler, calmer version of Ryat. Where his brother is an active volcano, he's a ticking time bomb—dormant.

It's why I didn't let his kindness get to me. Not when he was the brother present through my pregnancy, and the one there for my labour, I didn't feel the need to attach too much importance to any of these.

So, yeah, it was quite stupid that I started feeling important after that club incident. A real eye opener was when he disappeared close to my second labour, but that incident in his office was the final straw—the one that broke the camel's back.

Can't believe it's been four f*****g days, and I'm still thinking about this!

I grip the device between my legs and the buzz intensifies.

"Ooh!" I slap a hand over my mouth, arching my back. "F-uuck!"

Click.

The buzz mellows down once again.

I should forget the incident. I should stop thinking about it. I should get that image out of my head—the image of his c**k.

I squeeze the device again and yelp.

"Argh!"

My breathing is laboured, sweat coating my entire skin.

My thoughts drift again, travelling to that one moment. Picturing Ryan. Naked in his office, a blond w***e kneeling between his legs. His c**k hardening at the sight of me.

Or maybe that was a reaction to something else.

I move the device just a little to the top, right at that spot. "Uuuhhh..." The vibrations penetrate not just my body, but my soul, sending a wave of pleasure up my thighs.

"Hummm!" My teeth sink into my lip, almost ripping the soft flesh apart.

Pressing that button that makes it go crazy, the pressure-build in my core breaks, my entire body shaking to the intensity of my release.

"Huh!" I retrieve my hand and lay sprawled on the bed, left with nothing but the heat and slight tingle in my c**t, my eyes fixed on the white ceiling.

How much I miss the warmth of a man. I let the air escape from my lungs, releasing the stress.

Okay, so if you are wondering about operation 'tu casa es mi casa', it failed woefully.

Marco—with the rolled 'r'—that's his name, has decided to be a real party pooper. All my advances, all my attempts to lure him in, all of them have failed. More like they’re thrown back at my face.

Like this certain time—that was yesterday. I was being particularly bold with it all, wearing a see-through dress, with absolutely nothing underneath. I whispered erotic requests into his ears, touched him in different places, just to get him high. But the moment I grabbed his d**k, that was when he sprung up, incentivized, threatening he'd report to Ryat if I continued.

Welp!

I'd be feeling bad and absolutely unattractive if I truly believed that I didn't affect him.

More times than once, I've seen the prints of his c**k as it pressed against his jean, raging to f**k this p***y.

Slowly, my fingers trace the outline of my wet cunt. This single act causes a new wave of desire to swell in my core, the sensation spreading through my body yet again.

Oh, how heavenly it would be to have a man hit it from behind.

One finger slips in, my juice smearing on my palms, leaving behind a sticky sweetness.

Bringing my hand to my mouth, I swallow that finger, tasting myself, imagining it's a d**k—not Ryan's, not Marco's—just any d**k pushing down my throat.

"Arrgh!" I wretch as my finger goes too deep, but the chill burst of saliva afterwards make it all worth it.

My other hand finds my cunt, playing with my inner lips just before spreading them open for action.

I pull my legs up, spreading them wide, so wide, imagining a man instructing my actions. "Wider, Miso."

"Ugh!" I grunt at the memory of his voice, but remain touching myself, unwilling to let anything ruin the mind-blowing orgasm that would follow this little treat that I'm preparing for myself.

Slowly, I slip two fingers in, my walls grip them, and my c**t throbs with excitement. I unsuccessfully try to add a third finger, but my entrance is too tight to take it. I wonder why this always happens—I'm pretty sure I've taken d***s larger than three of my fingers combined, I mean, I had a whole baby. Why is this so hard?

Two feels too little, yet three seems too much.

Pft.

A sizzling sweetness erupts from my n*****s as I pinch it—hard. This singular action successfully takes my mind off anything else. I do it again and squirm, my hand desperately twisting and turning the hard nut. Flicking it, capturing it better two fingers and pinching. "Urhh! Yeah!"

I keep the tempo with my tit, grabbing the mold of my breast and squeezing as hard as I can, then returning my attention back to my nip, rolling a finger over the rock hard center area.

Just as I begin to increase the trust of my fingers in my p***y, a certain shuffle makes me glance down—and I freeze.

Marco is there, just a few feet away, his face averted, like he's respectfully avoiding indulging in something.

He shields the side of his face—the side to me—with one hand, the other still clinging to the sheer curtains that shield my bed from the rest of the room. "I'm so sorry, ma'am, please, forgive me."

There's a certain urgency in his voice that has me softening, my own surprise ebbing away until the heat on my face cools, giving way for the buildup of heat somewhere else, my p***y throbbing.

"It's okay." I manage to squeeze from my throat. "It's fine."

He nods rapidly, all the while avoiding my eyes.

Mine drops to his shorts, tracing the visible prints in the middle part of the flimsy fabric that hides his nakedness. My body adjusts a little to him, my p***y squirming, I need that!

"I will leave now." He turns to go, and before I know it—

"Wait!" My voice scraps against my dry throat, making the sound rough.

He obeys but keeps his face averted, his palm blocking me from that freckle-dusted face—the only soft part of his features.

"Am I that ugly?" I swallow in a desperate need to water my scraping throat.

He shakes his head, still shielding his face.

Grabbing a fistful of the duvet, I push a little forward. "Then look at me."

He doesn't.

He keeps his hand in place; neck twisted in a way I know must hurt, eyes looking anywhere but at me.

"Look at me, Marco." I sit up but keep my legs wide open. "You wouldn't keep holding the curtain apart if you didn't want to look"—your d**k wouldn't be holding your cheap shorts up like that—"Look. At. Me."

Slowly but surely, he turns, his green gaze settling between my legs.