My GF and her younger sister

The memory of that afternoon is burned into the back of my eyelids, a permanent film reel that plays every time I close my eyes. It’s been six months, but I can still feel the cool wood of the doorframe under my fingertips, the frantic, guilty hammering of my heart against my ribs, and the heat that flooded my entire body, a heat that had nothing to do with the warm Mexican sun filtering through the hallway window.

It was my sister’s boyfriend, Jack. My older sister, Sofia, the one with the perfect grades and the perfectly curated life, had finally brought home a guy who wasn’t a total bore. Jack was different. He had this energy about him, a quiet confidence that wasn’t loud or arrogant. He’d smile at me sometimes, a quick, genuine flash that made me feel seen, not just like Sofia’s annoying little sister, Maria.

That day, I’d heard them come in, their laughter muffled and hurried as they rushed up the stairs to her room. I was supposed to be studying in my room across the hall. The house was quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the distant sound of a lawnmower. Then, another sound started. A low, rhythmic creaking from Sofia’s room. I tried to ignore it, shoving my headphones in, but a morbid, burning curiosity pulled them out again.

The creaking was faster now, accompanied by a soft, breathy sigh. My own breath hitched. I knew what that was. I’d heard it in movies, read about it in the dog-eared novels we passed around at school, but this was real. This was my sister. And it was Jack.

I told myself I was just going to get a glass of water. That was my alibi, my pathetic excuse as I crept out of my room. The creaking was louder in the hallway, a persistent, urgent sound. And then I heard her. A low moan, unmistakable and raw. My feet carried me forward, step by silent step, until I was standing right outside her door.

It was slightly ajar. Just a crack. A sliver of a view into a world I didn’t know. My hand came up, my fingers resting on the wood, and I pushed it, just a centimeter. The scene inside stole the air from my lungs.

They were on the bed, a tangle of limbs and discarded clothes. Sofia was on her hands and knees, her back arched, her head thrown back. And Jack was behind her, his body moving with a powerful, primal rhythm that made my knees feel weak. His torso was slick with a fine sheen of sweat, muscles in his back and arms coiling and releasing with every thrust. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of intense concentration and pure, unadulterated pleasure.

I was frozen. Petrified. I should have looked away. I should have run. But I was rooted to the spot, my eyes wide, drinking in every detail. The sound of their skin meeting, the low, guttural sounds Jack made in his throat, the way his hands gripped Sofia’s hips, possessive and sure. This wasn’t the awkward, giggly sex I’d imagined people had. This was something else entirely. It was animalistic. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

And then the dog, our stupid, curious golden retriever, Max, nudged the door open wider with his wet nose. Jack’s eyes snapped open at the sound. His rhythm didn’t falter, not even for a second. His gaze, dark and clouded with lust, swept over the dog and then landed directly on me.

Our eyes locked.

Time stopped. The world shrunk to that single point of connection between his eyes and mine. I saw the flicker of surprise, a quick flash of something like alarm, but it was swallowed almost instantly by something hotter, darker. A knowing look. A challenge. He saw me seeing him. He saw the shock on my face, the blush that was surely scorching my cheeks, the parted lips that couldn’t manage to draw a breath. And he didn’t stop. He held my gaze, his hips still pumping into my sister, and a slow, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. It was the most intimate, the most violating, the most electrifying moment of my entire life.

Then I ran. I fled down the hallway, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, and slammed my bedroom door shut, sliding down to the floor, my entire body trembling.

For six months, that look was all I could think about. It ruined every pathetic, fumbling attempt at sex with boys my own age. Their clumsy hands and rushed movements were a pathetic joke compared to the raw, confident power I’d witnessed. Jack had awakened a hunger in me, a deep, aching need for something I couldn’t even name, and he’d done it without ever touching me.

And now, here I am. Standing outside a noisy university bar, clutching my phone. Sofia and Jack broke up two months ago. She said he was “too intense.” I’d found him online after a shameful, hour-long stalk through social media. And I’d messaged him.

“Hey Jack, it’s Maria. Sofia’s sister. We need to talk.”

His reply was almost immediate. “The girl in the doorway. I know a place. Quieter.”

He’d sent an address. Not a bar. An apartment. His apartment.

My thumb hovers over the screen, my breath forming little clouds in the cool night air. This is insane. This is dangerous. This is everything I want. I press send before I can lose my nerve.

“On my way.”

The walk there is a blur of nervous energy and terrifying anticipation. I ring the bell to his building, and the buzzer sounds immediately, unlocking the door. The climb to the third floor feels like walking to the gallows and the altar at the same time.

His door is already open a crack when I get there. Just like before. My heart is a wild drum against my ribs. I push it open.

He’s standing in the middle of the living room, leaning against a small kitchen counter. He looks older, more defined. He’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, and his eyes, those same dark eyes that haunted my dreams, are already on me, taking me in.

“Maria,” he says, and my name sounds different in his mouth. Softer. Dangerous.

“Jack.” My voice is a whisper.

He pushes off the counter and takes a step toward me, then another, until he’s standing right in front of me. He doesn’t touch me. He just looks down at me, his gaze intense, searching.

“Why are you here, Maria?” he asks, his voice low.

I can’t form a coherent sentence. All the clever things I’d planned to say evaporate. “You saw me,” I finally breathe out. “That day. You saw me watching.”

“I did,” he confirms, no trace of shame or apology. “You couldn’t look away.”

I shake my head, feeling the heat rush to my face again. “No. I couldn’t.”

“You’ve been thinking about it,” he states. It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

“What have you been thinking about?” he prompts, his voice a low murmur that vibrates straight through me. He reaches out then, but not to touch my body. His fingers brush a strand of hair from my forehead, the gesture shockingly intimate. His fingertips are rough, calloused. I shudder at the contact.

“I thought about… the way you moved,” I admit, my eyes falling to his lips. “The sound. The way you looked at me. You didn’t stop.”

“Did you want me to stop?” he asks, his fingers now tracing the line of my jaw, tilting my face up to his.

“No,” I whisper, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said.

That’s all the confirmation he needs. His other hand slides around the back of my neck, pulling me to him, and his mouth crashes down on mine. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a claiming. It’s hungry and demanding and everything I knew it would be. I kiss him back with six months of pent-up frustration and desire, my hands fisting in his t-shirt, pulling him closer.

He breaks the kiss, both of us breathing heavily. “This is what you came for,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “You didn’t come to talk. You came for the second part. You came to feel it.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spins me around, his front pressed against my back, exactly like I’d seen him with Sofia. The memory is so vivid it makes me dizzy. His mouth is at my ear, his breath hot. “You stood there and watched,” he growls. “You saw how I take what I want. Now you’re going to feel it.”

His hands are everywhere at once, pulling my shirt over my head, unclasping my bra with an expert flick of his fingers. His palms find my breasts, kneading them, his thumbs circling my nipples until they’re hard, aching peaks. I moan, leaning back against him, my head falling onto his shoulder.

He turns me back around and his mouth descends on one breast, sucking, laving, nipping with his teeth. The sensation is so intense it’s almost painful, a sharp, delicious pain that makes me cry out. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing and carries me to his bedroom, dropping me onto the bed.

He stands at the foot of it, pulling his shirt off, then his jeans and boxers, and finally he’s naked. Fully, completely naked in front of me. I’d seen him before, but like this, up close, with the intent clear in his eyes, he is magnificent. Hard and powerful and all for me.

“Take off your jeans,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

My fingers are trembling so badly I can barely work the button, but I manage, pushing them and my panties down my legs and kicking them off the bed. I am completely bare before him, exposed in every way. His eyes rake over my body, dark with hunger, and I’ve never felt more vulnerable or more powerful in my entire life.

He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between my legs, pushing them apart. “Look at me, Maria,” he says, and I force my eyes to his. “You watch me. You understand? You watch what I do to you.”

And I do. I watch as he lowers his head between my thighs. I watch as his tongue, hot and wet and impossibly skilled, finds the very core of me. I gasp, my back arching off the bed as he licks a slow, torturous path through my folds. He’s not gentle. He’s relentless. He devours me, his tongue circling my clit, flicking against it, sucking it into his mouth until I’m writhing beneath him, clutching at the sheets, a string of incoherent pleas and moans falling from my lips.

“Jack… please… oh god…”

He adds a finger, then two, sliding them deep inside me, curling them, finding a spot that makes me see stars. His mouth never stops its work, and the dual sensation is too much. The coil of pleasure in my abdomen winds tighter and tighter, a spring about to snap. I’m so close, teetering on the edge, my hips bucking against his face.

And then he stops. He pulls away, leaving me empty and aching, hovering on the precipice of a climax he denied me. I whimper, a sound of pure need.

He moves over me, lining his body up with mine. He reaches into the nightstand, sheathing himself in a condom with a quick, practiced motion. He hovers above me, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. His eyes are locked on mine, just like they were six months ago.

“This is what you wanted,” he breathes, and it’s not a question. It’s a truth.

And then he pushes inside me.

I cry out. It’s a stretch, a filling, a claiming. He’s bigger than I imagined, and my body struggles to accommodate him for a brief second before giving way, welcoming him in. He doesn’t move, just stays buried to the hilt, letting me feel every inch of him.

“Look at me,” he growls again, and I do. I see the same intense concentration, the same raw pleasure on his face I’d seen that afternoon. But this time, it’s for me. Because of me.

He begins to move, a slow, deep, punishing rhythm that steals my breath. Each thrust is deliberate, hitting a depth that makes my toes curl. He shifts my leg, hooking it over his arm, and the angle changes, going even deeper. I gasp, my eyes rolling back in my head.

“Eyes on me,” he commands, and I force them open, locking onto his. He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more urgent. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the room, a lewd, beautiful soundtrack. I can feel the sweat between our bodies, feel his muscles straining with every movement.

He lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me fiercely, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his thrusts with my own. I’m climbing again, that coil winding tight, the pressure building to an unbearable degree.

“Jack… I’m gonna…” I pant against his mouth.

“Come for me, Maria,” he grunts, his pace becoming frantic, brutal, perfect. “Come for me now.”

His command is all it takes. The coil snaps. A wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure crashes over me, so intense it’s almost painful. My body convulses around his, milking him, and I scream his name into the crook of his neck, my vision whiting out.

He follows me over the edge with a guttural groan, his own body shuddering as he pours himself into me, his thrusts slowing to a deep, final pulse. He collapses on top of me, his weight a comforting anchor, both of us slick with sweat and gasping for air.

We lie like that for a long time, the only sound our ragged breathing slowly returning to normal. Finally, he rolls off me, disposing of the condom before pulling me against his side. My head rests on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart.

He turns his head and presses a kiss to my forehead. “The girl in the doorway,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “Finally where she belongs.”

And as I drift off, wrapped in the smell of him and sex and fulfilled desire, I know he’s right. The observation was over. The experience had begun.