Seduced by My Brother-in-Law: Secret Touches and Pleasure Under the Same Roof – Part 2

Read previous part: Seduced by My Brother-in-Law: A Cheating Wife’s First Forbidden Encounter – Part 1

Irica woke up with a guilty throb between her legs. The memory of last night’s kitchen encounter and the way she had fingered herself to orgasm while her husband slept beside her made her cheeks burn. Tom was already up, showering. She could hear the water running. Down the hall, the guest room door was slightly ajar. She wondered if Patric had slept at all… or if he’d been stroking that thick cock she had felt pressed against her, thinking about her.
She slipped on a soft, oversized t-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh and a pair of loose cotton shorts. No bra. Her full breasts moved freely underneath, nipples already slightly stiff from the cool morning air and nervous anticipation.
Downstairs, the smell of coffee and bacon filled the kitchen. Jasmine was chatting brightly with Tom. Patric stood at the stove, flipping eggs, wearing a tight black t-shirt that stretched across his powerful back and shoulders, and those same low-hanging grey sweatpants. The moment Irica walked in, his eyes locked onto her. They dropped straight to her chest, then slowly down her bare legs, before crawling back up. A hungry smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Morning, Irica,” he said, voice rough with sleep and something darker. “Sleep well?”
“Not really,” she replied, trying to sound casual as she reached for a mug. “Kept waking up… hot.”
His smirk deepened.
Breakfast was torture. They sat at the small table, knees brushing constantly. Every time Patric passed her the butter or reached for more coffee, his arm grazed the side of her breast. Once, when Jasmine and Tom were laughing at a story, his hand boldly slid under the table and squeezed her bare thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh dangerously high up. Irica nearly dropped her fork.
The rain had eased into a grey London drizzle, perfect for a day out. They took the Tube to Camden Market. The streets were busy with tourists and locals hunting for vintage clothes, street food, and antiques. Irica wore a fitted cream jumper that hugged her curves and tight dark jeans that made her round arse look incredible. Patric walked beside her most of the time while Tom and Jasmine wandered ahead, hand in hand.
At one point the crowd pushed them close. Patric’s big hand settled on her lower back, then slid down until his fingers rested possessively on the top curve of her arse. He leaned in, breath warm against her ear.
“You look so fucking good in those jeans,” he murmured. “Been staring at your arse all morning. Tom’s a lucky bastard… but he doesn’t fuck you the way you need, does he?”
Irica’s breath hitched. She should have pulled away. Instead she felt herself getting wet again. “Patric… we can’t,” she whispered, but her body leaned into his touch.
“Can’t what?” he teased, giving her arse a firm squeeze before letting go as Jasmine glanced back.
They stopped at a busy pub for lunch. Dim lighting, loud chatter, wooden booths. Somehow Patric ended up sitting right next to her. Under the table, his large hand rested on her thigh the entire time. As the others ordered drinks, his fingers crept higher, stroking the seam of her jeans right over her pussy. She was soaking through the fabric. When she tried to close her legs, he pried them open slightly with his strong hand and pressed two fingers firmly against her clit through her clothes, rubbing in slow, maddening circles.
Irica bit her lip hard, pretending to study the menu while her brother-in-law secretly molested her in the middle of a crowded pub. Her hips gave tiny, involuntary rocks against his hand. The risk made it a thousand times hotter.
By the time they got home that evening, the tension was unbearable. Everyone was tired and slightly tipsy from the pub. Tom suggested board games. They pulled out Monopoly and settled on the big sofa in the living room. Jasmine and Tom took the armchairs. Patric and Irica shared the sofa with a big fleece blanket over their laps “because it’s chilly.”
The game started innocently enough. But under the blanket, Patric’s hand immediately found her thigh again. This time he was bolder. He popped the button on her jeans and slowly pulled the zipper down. Irica’s heart hammered so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it.
“Patric…” she breathed, barely audible.
“Shhh,” he whispered back, eyes on the board as he rolled the dice. “Just relax.”
His hand slid inside her jeans, over her damp panties. He groaned softly under his breath when he felt how drenched she was. Two thick fingers pushed her panties aside and stroked along her slippery slit. Irica gripped the edge of the sofa, trying desperately to keep a straight face as her sister laughed at something Tom said.
Patric’s middle finger found her swollen clit and circled it expertly. Then he pushed lower and slowly sank one thick finger deep inside her tight, aching cunt.
Irica’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. He began fingering her slowly, curling his finger against that sensitive spot inside her while his thumb worked her clit. The wet sounds were barely masked by the rain and conversation. She was dripping down his hand.
Tom looked over. “You okay, babe? You look flushed.”
“Just… the wine,” Irica managed, voice shaky.
Patric added a second finger, stretching her. He fucked her steadily with them under the blanket while they all played Monopoly like a normal family. Irica’s thighs trembled. Her pussy clenched greedily around his invading fingers. The forbidden pleasure built fast and dangerously.
She came hard.
Her orgasm crashed over her without warning. Irica gripped Patric’s wrist under the blanket, biting the inside of her cheek to stay quiet as her cunt spasmed and flooded his fingers with her juices. Wave after wave rolled through her body. Her toes curled. She could feel her juices soaking through her panties and onto the blanket. Patric kept slowly pumping his fingers through it, drawing out every pulse until she was a trembling mess.
When it finally subsided, he withdrew his hand, brought his glistening fingers to his mouth under the blanket, and licked them clean while staring straight at her. The look in his eyes was pure animal lust.
The game ended shortly after. Jasmine yawned. “I’m shattered. Coming up, babe?”
Patric nodded. “In a minute.”
Tom kissed Irica goodnight and headed upstairs with Jasmine. The moment their footsteps faded, Patric turned to Irica like a predator.
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. Their mouths crashed together in a hungry, desperate kiss. Tongues tangled instantly. He tasted like wine and sin. His big hands roamed everywhere - squeezing her arse, sliding up under her jumper to grope her bare breasts, pinching her stiff nipples.
Irica moaned into his mouth, grinding down on the massive bulge in his sweatpants. She could feel how thick and hard he was. His cock throbbed against her soaked jeans as she rocked her hips, dry-humping him shamelessly.
“Fuck, Irica,” he growled against her lips. “You’re so fucking wet. I felt you coming on my fingers like a needy little slut. You want my cock, don’t you?”
“Yes…” she whimpered, losing all control. “God, Patric, I shouldn’t but I do…”
He yanked her jumper up, exposing her heavy breasts, and sucked one nipple hard into his mouth while grinding his thick erection against her pussy. The friction was incredible. Irica rode him faster, the seam of her jeans pressing against her sensitive clit. She was going to come again.
They were both panting, grinding, groping like teenagers when they heard a creak on the stairs.
They froze.
Irica scrambled off his lap, yanking her top down just as Tom appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Forgot my phone charger,” Tom said sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
Patric casually adjusted the blanket over his obvious erection. “No worries, mate.”
Irica’s heart was about to explode. Her face was flushed, lips swollen from kissing, nipples visibly hard through her top. If Tom had come down ten seconds earlier he would have seen her grinding on his brother-in-law like a whore.
Tom grabbed the charger and went back upstairs.
The second he was gone, Patric pulled Irica back in for one last deep, filthy kiss, his hand roughly squeezing her pussy through her jeans.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered hotly against her mouth. “I’m going to fuck you properly. I don’t care how risky it is. This pussy is going to be mine.”
Irica nodded breathlessly, too turned on to speak.
She crept upstairs on shaky legs, pussy still pulsing from her orgasm, lips tingling, and her brother-in-law’s taste still in her mouth. Tom was already asleep again. She lay beside him, heart racing, body aching for more.
Down the hall, Patric was probably stroking his thick cock, thinking about her.
The visit still had five more days to go.
And Irica already knew she was completely addicted.