Chapter 2: The Sunscreen Tease: A Forbidden Mouth on the Patio
The week passed in a haze of fractured focus. Luc sat through board meetings where the buzzwords blurred into meaningless noise. He scrolled through dating apps, the curated smiles of strangers feeling like artifacts from a planet he’d left. His sleep was thin, punctuated by the phantom sensation of a hand on his wrist, a thigh against his, the illicit grip under the table. It wasn’t arousal that haunted him; it was the crack in his own foundation. The intrigued, terrified part of him that had watched his own morality splinter and done nothing to stop it.
So when Jay’s text arrived on Friday afternoon—“Come over. Ditch the suit. We’re grilling. Just us.”—Luc’s first instinct was to refuse. He typed out three different polite declines. He deleted them all.
The hollow ache in his loft was louder than his conscience.
He arrived in jeans and a dark t-shirt, feeling oddly undressed without his professional armor. Jay greeted him at the door with a cold beer and a bear hug. The house smelled of charcoal and marinade.
“Vero’s out back setting up,” Jay said, leading the way through the bright, airy living room. “She’s in one of her moods. You’ll see.”
The “mood” was immediately apparent. Vero stood on the sun-drenched patio, her back to them as she arranged citronella candles on a low table. She wore a tiny, string-tied bikini the color of burnt orange. It was less a garment than a suggestion. The sun glowed through the thin fabric of the sarong loosely knotted at her hips. Her hair was piled in a messy, deliberate knot, exposing the long line of her neck.
She turned, and her smile was a slow sunrise. “Luc. You made it.” Her eyes swept over him, taking in the casual clothes with an appreciative glint that felt more invasive than any touch so far.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Luc said, the lie smooth on his tongue. He took a long pull of his beer.
The afternoon unfolded with a strange, suspended normalcy. Jay manned the grill, expounding on the perfect sear. Luc forced laughter at the right moments. Vero moved like a lazy cat around them, her presence a constant low-grade hum under the conversation. She’d bend over to grab a platter, the sarong gaping. She’d stretch, arching her back, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Each motion was a punctuation mark aimed solely at him.
The sun beat down, fierce and unrelenting. Luc felt a trickle of sweat trace his spine.
“God, it’s brutal today,” Vero said, fanning herself with a magazine. She untied the sarong, letting it puddle on the chair beside her. The bikini was obscene in its simplicity. She stood, stretching again, her hands going to the knot of her bikini top. “I’m burning. Jay, be a love, run inside and grab the big bottle of sunscreen from the fridge? The coolness helps.”
Jay, flipping a burger, nodded absently. “Yeah, sure. Don’t let my masterpiece incinerate.” He handed Luc the spatula. “Two minutes a side. Trust me.”
He disappeared inside.
The silence he left behind was absolute and heavy. The only sounds were the sizzle of meat on the grill and the distant whine of a lawnmower.
Luc stared at the burger, his grip tight on the spatula handle.
He heard the pop of a cap, the squirt of lotion.
“My back is fine,” Vero’s voice came, soft and conversational. “But I always miss a spot.”
He couldn’t not look.
She had squeezed a generous stream of white lotion into her palm. She wasn’t asking for help. She was giving a performance. Starting at her collarbones, she smoothed the lotion down her chest, her palms sliding deliberately over the swells of her breasts. Her eyes were locked on his, a challenge and an invitation. Her thumbs brushed over her nipples, already hardened into tight peaks, circling them slowly through the thin, damp fabric. A soft, barely-there moan escaped her lips, a sound meant for the intimate air between them.
Luc’s mouth went dry. His blood felt like it was roaring in his ears, drowning out the lawnmower, the sizzle, the world. He was hard, instantly, painfully, constrained by his jeans.
She saw it. Her gaze dipped, a flicker of triumph flaring in her eyes. She took a step toward him, her movements liquid. “You’re missing your brother’s two minutes,” she murmured, a wicked smile playing on her lips.
She was close enough now that he could smell the coconut and her perfume, a sun-warmed musk. Her lotioned hand, glistening and slick, came up. Not to her own body this time.
Her palm pressed flat against the front of his jeans, over the rigid bulge there.
The contact was electric, jolting, shameless.
Luc gasped, a short, sharp intake of breath. He dropped the spatula onto the grill with a metallic clatter. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into the delicate bones. “Vero,” he choked out, a warning, a plea.
“Shhh,” she whispered, her smile never fading. Her fingers curled, gripping him through the denim, a slow, pulsing squeeze. “He’s just in the fridge. He’ll be a while.” She leaned in, her lips a breath from his ear. “You’ve thought about this. I know you have. Every night since I touched you.”
He had. God help him, he had. His grip on her wrist was the only thread holding him to sanity. He could push her away. He should.
Her other hand came up, cupping him fully, weighing him through the fabric. A groan was torn from him, low and guttural, filled with self-loathing and pure, undiluted need.
“See?” she breathed. “You don’t want me to stop.”
His resolve, already cracked, shattered. His hand fell from her wrist, hanging limp at his side.
It was all the permission she needed.
In one fluid motion, she sank to her knees on the warm stone of the patio. Her hands went to his belt buckle, fingers nimble and sure. The click of the release was obscenely loud. She unbuttoned his jeans, tugged down the zipper. The sound was a garrote tightening around his last shred of decency.
She didn’t pull them down. She simply freed him, springing his hard, aching cock from the confines of his briefs. The sun felt shockingly intimate on his skin.
She looked up at him, her eyes dark and hungry. “Look at you,” she said, her voice husky. “All that proper, brotherly restraint… for this.”
Before he could speak, before he could even process the devastating exposure, she leaned forward.
Her mouth, open and wet, closed over the thick head of his cock through his jeans. The fabric was a rough, maddening barrier. He could feel the heat of her mouth, the desperate promise of it. Her tongue lashed against him, a swirl of pressure and wetness mapping his shape. She hummed, a vibration that went straight to his core.
Luc’s head fell back, a strangled curse dying on his lips. His hands flew out, bracing himself against the edge of the hot grill. The metal seared his palms, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the sinful pleasure. He watched, trapped, as she took more of the denim-covered length into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with obscene suction. Her hands kneaded his thighs, her nails digging in through the fabric.
She pulled off with a lewd, wet sound. Her lips were slick. She gazed up at him, panting slightly. “You taste like want,” she said, her voice filthy and low. “You taste like a secret.”
From inside, a door slammed. Jay’s voice, faint but growing nearer. “Can’t find it, babe! Which shelf?”
Vero’s eyes never left Luc’s. A slow, devious smile spread across her face. She didn’t scramble. She didn’t panic. She held his gaze, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, as she deliberately, slowly, tucked him back into his briefs and zipped his jeans up.
The sound of the zipper was final. A guillotine dropping.
She stood up, graceful as a dancer, just as Jay’s footsteps sounded on the patio tile. She snagged her sarong from the chair and deftly re-knotted it around her hips.
Jay emerged, holding a bottle of white wine. “Sunscreen was behind the chardonnay. Weird.” He glanced at the grill. “Smells like something’s burning.”
Luc looked down. The burger was a blackened husk, smoke curling into the blue sky. He hadn’t even felt the heat on his hands anymore.
“Shit,” he muttered, his voice raw, alien to his own ears.
“Distracted?” Jay laughed, clapping him on the back. The touch made Luc flinch.
Vero smiled, picking up her magazine. “Just a bit of sunstroke, I think.” She glanced at Luc, her eyes gleaming with shared, ruinous knowledge. “You should sit down, Luc. You look… overwhelmed.”
“Distracted?” Jay laughed, clapping him on the back. The touch made Luc flinch.
“Just a bit of sunstroke, I think.” Vero smiled, picking up her magazine. She glanced at Luc, her eyes gleaming with shared, ruinous knowledge. “You should sit down, Luc. You look… overwhelmed.”
Luc managed to nod, turning to the grill’s smoking ruin. “I’ll fix it.” His voice was gravel. He scraped the charred patty into the coals, where it flamed with a bitter smell. The physical action grounded him, a simple task to occupy his trembling hands. He could still feel the wet heat of her mouth through the denim, a brand on his skin.
Jay, blissfully unaware, poked at the other burgers. “No worries, brother. Plenty more where that came from.” He fetched another patty from the kitchen, whistling.
The sun bled into the horizon, painting the sky in violent oranges and deep purples. Long shadows stretched across the patio, swallowing the bright heat of the afternoon. The air cooled, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine from a neighboring yard.
Jay frowned at the grill’s dying embers. “Gonna need more flame for this one. Don’t go anywhere.” He grabbed the lighter fluid and turned his back, wholly focused on his culinary resurrection.
Vero watched him for a moment, then stood. “It’s getting chilly,” she announced, stretching her arms above her head. The movement pulled her bikini taut. “I’m going to change.” Her eyes slid to Luc, holding him for a beat too long. “Be right back.”
She disappeared inside, a silent whisper of fabric and intent.
Luc stared at the city lights beginning to prick the twilight. He tried to assemble his thoughts, to rebuild the wall she kept dismantling brick by brick. The memory of her on her knees, the shameless suction of her mouth, the sheer audacity—it should have disgusted him. It did. Underneath the disgust, a darker current pulled, a riptide of want so profound it felt like vertigo.
Jay poured more fluid. A soft whoosh of flame erupted, illuminating his satisfied face. “There we go. Perfect.”
Minutes stretched, taut and silent except for the crackle of new fire.
The sliding door whispered open.
Luc turned.
Vero stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the warm interior light. She had changed. The bikini was gone. In its place was a single piece of fabric, a swimsuit so tight it seemed painted onto her skin. It was a deep, liquid black, cut high on the thighs and so low in the front that the swell of her breasts threatened to spill over with every breath. The material shimmered faintly, clinging to every curve, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was not an invitation. It was a declaration.
Jay whistled, low and appreciative, not looking up from the grill. “Now that’s a look.”
Vero didn’t acknowledge him. Her gaze was fixed on Luc, a challenge in the set of her jaw, a promise in the slight part of her lips. She walked toward the pool, her movements slow and hypnotic. The suit gleamed under the patio lights, highlighting the delicious dip of her waist, the ripe curve of her ass.
She stopped at the pool’s edge, her toes curling over the coping. She looked over her shoulder, directly at Luc. “Water’s still warm,” she said. Her voice was a low thrum.
Then she dove. A clean, silent slice into the turquoise water.
She surfaced yards away, at the deep end, smoothing her hair back. Water streamed down her face, over the slick black fabric plastered to her chest. She floated on her back, a languid, living sculpture of provocation.
“Burger’s almost done,” Jay called out, squinting through the smoke. “Vero, you eating?”
“In a minute,” she called back, her voice echoing off the water.
Luc couldn’t move. He was a statue, rooted to the warm stone. The tight, dark fabric, the way it revealed everything and concealed nothing, it was a more potent violation than the lotion or the touch. It was her, unabridged and undeniable, a visual scream that drowned out his racing thoughts.
She turned in the water, swimming with slow, easy strokes back to the shallow end near them. She emerged halfway, the water lapping at her waist. The wet black fabric became translucent, clinging to the dark shadows of her nipples, the precise divide between her legs. She rested her arms on the pool’s edge, her chin on her hands, looking up at Luc.
Jay flipped the burger, his back still turned. “Luc, grab me the pepper, will you? On the table.”
Luc didn’t hear him. The world had narrowed to the water beading on her skin, on the shiny fabric stretched over her breasts.
“Luc?” Jay turned, pepper grinder already in his hand. “You okay, man? You’re staring at that pool like it’s gonna tell you the meaning of life.”
“Fine,” Luc rasped, wrenching his eyes away. He felt dizzy, unmoored.
Vero smiled, a small, secret thing. She pushed off the wall, swimming away again with a gentle kick.
The burger was served. They ate at the patio table, the candles now essential in the deepening dark. Luc tasted nothing. He answered questions on autopilot. His entire awareness was pulled toward the pool, where Vero now floated quietly, a dark shape in the shimmering water.
Jay finished his food, wiping his mouth with a satisfied sigh. “That hit the spot. Gonna run these plates in and check the game. Ten minutes.” He gathered the dishes, leaving the empty, quiet patio.
The sliding door clicked shut.
Silence, complete and absolute, rushed in.
Vero moved. She swam to the steps and rose from the water. The one-piece, utterly soaked, was a second skin. It glistened under the moonlight and candle glow. Water cascaded down her body in rivulets, tracing the paths a tongue might follow. She didn’t reach for a towel. She walked, slowly, dripping, toward Luc.
He stood up, his chair scraping loudly. A flight reflex, primal and pure.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice a command. She kept advancing.
He was trapped between the table and the glass wall of the house. He could see the blurred flicker of the television inside, Jay’s shadow moving in the kitchen.
She stopped an inch from him. The smell of chlorine and her perfume was overwhelming. Her skin gleamed. The wet fabric of the suit was shockingly cold where it brushed against his t-shirt. He could see every detail—the hardened nubs of her nipples, the precise shape of her.
“You’ve been thinking about my mouth all week,” she stated, her eyes drilling into his. It wasn’t a question.
Luc said nothing. His breath came in short, sharp pulls.
Her hand lifted, dripping pool water. She placed it on his chest, over his pounding heart. Then she slid it down, over his stomach, lower. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans. “Last time was just a tease,” she whispered, her lips curling. “A fucking appetizer.”
She popped the button. She dragged the zipper down, the sound catastrophic in the quiet.
He should stop her. He had to stop her.
His hands came up, but not to push her away. They found her waist, the wet, slick material of the suit, and he pulled her against him. A groan was torn from his throat, a sound of pure surrender.
She smiled, victorious, and sank to her knees. The cool stone bit through his jeans. Her wet hands yanked his jeans and briefs down to his thighs in one rough motion. His cock sprung free, fully hard, aching and exposed to the night air.
“Fuck, look at you,” she breathed, her hot breath washing over him. “So desperate for it.”
She didn’t tease. She took him into her mouth all at once, deep, her throat opening around the head of his cock. The sensation was a lightning strike—hot, wet, suffocating pleasure. Luc’s head slammed back against the glass wall with a dull thud. His fingers tangled violently in her wet hair.
She moaned around him, the vibration traveling straight to his balls. She pulled back, saliva stringing from her lips to his tip. “You like that, you fucking hypocrite?” she spat, her voice ragged. “You like your brother’s wife sucking your dick?”
Before he could answer, she swallowed him again, her head bobbing faster. One of her hands cupped and roughly kneaded his balls, the other gripping the base of his shaft, working him in tandem with her mouth. The wet, sloppy sounds she made were filthy, obscene, louder than the distant game on the TV.
Luc was losing his mind. His hips jerked involuntarily, fucking her face. She took it, gagging slightly, then diving back down. “Yeah,” she gasped, pulling off for air. “Use me. Do it.”
He was close, a tight coil of pressure in his gut, the shame fueling the fire. She felt it. She pulled her mouth away with a lewd pop and stood up swiftly. Her eyes were wild.
“Not like that,” she panted. She turned her back to him, bending over the patio table, her hands flat on the wood. The black fabric of the one-piece was a thin, ineffectual barrier. She reached back, hooked her thumbs in the high-cut sides, and peeled the soaking suit down, past her ass, baring herself to him. “Now. Fuck me now. Before he comes back.”
The sight of her, bent over, exposed and glistening, broke the last restraint. Luc shoved his clothes further down his thighs. He stepped forward, his hand guiding the head of his cock through her wetness. He was rough, angry, lost. He pushed into her with one hard, deep thrust.
She cried out, a sharp, choked sound of pleasure-pain, her back arching. “God, yes,” she hissed, pushing back against him. “Fucking finally.”
He set a brutal, driving pace, his hips slamming into the soft flesh of her ass. The table shook, the candles trembling. Each thrust was a punishment—for her, for himself, for the whole sick, beautiful lie. Her tight, wet heat clenched around him, pulling him deeper into the betrayal.
“You feel that?” she grunted between thrusts, her head bowed. “That’s what you wanted. That’s what you are.”
He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, holding her steady as he pounded into her. The world was reduced to the slap of skin, her ragged gasps, the blinding white need coiling in his spine. He was going to come. He was going to come inside his brother’s wife.
A light flicked on inside. A shadow moved toward the sliding door.
Vero’s body clenched in a sudden, fierce spasm around him. “He’s coming,” she whispered, a frantic edge in her voice, even as she pressed back harder against him. “Don’t you dare stop.”
The shadow loomed larger behind the blurred glass, a distorted shape moving through the living room light.
Luc froze, buried deep inside her, every muscle coiled wire-tight. The animal panic of discovery was a cold splash over the burning need. He tried to pull back, to disengage from the wet, clinging heat of her.
Vero’s hand shot back, her nails digging into the flesh of his hip. “I said don’t stop,” she snarled, her voice a guttural whisper. She slammed herself back onto him, forcing him deeper, a ruthless claiming. “He’s just grabbing a drink. Fuck me like you mean it.”
The shadow paused, then turned away, moving toward the kitchen. The television volume increased, a sudden burst of crowd noise.
It was a reprieve, thin and temporary. The danger sharpened the act, twisting it into something even more desperate. Luc’s hesitation shattered. A brutal, red haze descended.
He drove into her again, a punishing, rhythmic piston. The table legs screeched against the stone patio with every thrust. He gripped the slick fabric of the suit still tangled at her thighs, using it as leverage to yank her harder onto his cock. Each impact was a raw, meaty slap of skin.
“Yes,” she hissed, pushing back against him, meeting his violence with her own. “Just like that. God, you’re such a fucking liar.” Her words were punctuated by his movements. “All that… quiet… brotherly… bullshit.” She gasped, her forehead pressed to the cool wood. “It’s just… this.”
Luc couldn’t speak. His world had narrowed to sensation and sound: the tight clutch of her cunt, the wet sounds of their joining, her ragged moans muffled against her arm. The pleasure was a cresting wave, a destructive force built from weeks of tortured glances and searing touches. He was going to drown in it.
His hand fisted in her wet hair, pulling her head back. Her spine arched, exposing her throat to the night. “You wanted this,” he growled, the words torn from a place of feral shame. It was the first thing he’d said to her since it began.
“I wanted you to break,” she gasped, her eyes screwed shut. “And you did. Look at you.”
The lights in the kitchen flicked off. The shadow was moving again, a lumbering silhouette against the dimmer television glow. Jay was returning.
The finality of it, the imminent collapse, pushed Luc over the edge. A raw, unstoppable surge gathered in his balls. He pounded into her, three final, savage thrusts that shook the table. “I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice a broken thing.
“Do it,” she commanded, her body clenching around him like a vise. “Fill me up. Let him see what you did.”
The shadow reached the sliding door.
Luc came with a choked, silent scream, his body convulsing. He spilled into her in deep, pulsing waves, a raw release that felt less like pleasure and more like exorcism. He collapsed over her back, his sweat-slick chest against her cool, wet skin, his breathing a ragged sob in her ear.
The door slid open.
Jay stepped out, holding two fresh beers. He glanced at them, Luc bent over Vero at the table, their bodies close. “Everything okay? You guys look wrecked.”
Luc pushed himself up, his softening cock slipping out of her with a wet, awful sound he prayed Jay couldn’t hear. He fumbled, yanking his jeans up, his back to his brother. The fabric felt like a prison against his oversensitive skin. “Fine,” he managed, his voice husky. “Just… hot.”
Vero straightened up slowly, elegantly, pulling the black suit back over her hips. She turned, leaning against the table as if exhausted from the sun. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. “Think I got a bit too much heat,” she said, her voice wonderfully normal. “Luc was just… helping me steady myself.”
Jay smiled, placing a beer in front of Luc. “Well, drink up. Cool down.” He looked at the empty pool, then at the two of them. “You sure you’re okay? You’re both shaking.”
Luc took the beer, his hand trembling so violently the bottle clinked against his teeth. The taste of hops was ash in his mouth, a bitter cleanse that couldn’t touch the deeper filth.
“Never better,” Vero said, and she smiled at Luc, a slow, satisfied, and utterly damning curve of her lips.