Three Wolves: The Seductive Cousin’s Forbidden Home Affair

The air in the cramped apartment is thick with a forbidden tension, a palpable heat that has nothing to do with the weather. It’s just the two of them, alone in the quiet of the afternoon, and she knows exactly what she’s doing. My cousin, with that innocent face that hides a devilish streak, has been giving me these looks all day—lingering glances that drop to my lips, then lower, a silent invitation I can’t ignore. She brushes past me in the hallway, her body pressing against mine, and I can feel the softness of her curves through our clothes, a tease that sends a jolt straight to my groin. Her fingers trail over my arm as she whispers something about being bored, her breath hot on my ear, and I’m already hard, aching for her. She leads me to the couch, pushing me down with a playful smirk, and before I know it, she’s straddling me, grinding her hips slowly, making me moan as she unbuttons my shirt. ‘You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?’ she purrs, her hands roaming over my chest, and all I can do is nod, lost in the scent of her perfume and the wetness I can feel through her thin shorts.

Her mouth finds mine in a hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth, as she pulls off her top, revealing bare skin that glistens with a sheen of sweat. I’m fumbling with her bra, my hands shaking with need, and she laughs, a low, throaty sound that only makes me want her more. ‘Let me show you how much I’ve missed you,’ she murmurs, guiding my head between her legs, and I bury my face in her, tasting her sweetness, listening to her gasp and whimper as I lick and suck. She arches her back, fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, urging me on with filthy words that spill from her lips—’yes, right there, don’t stop’—and I’m lost in the rhythm, my own cock throbbing painfully in my pants. She climbs off just long enough to yank them down, freeing me, and then she’s sinking onto me, taking me deep inside with a shuddering cry that echoes through the empty rooms.

We move together in a frantic, messy rhythm, the couch creaking beneath us, our skin slapping with each thrust. She rides me hard, bouncing up and down, her breasts swaying, and I grip her hips, driving into her over and over, feeling her tighten around me. ‘Fuck me, cousin,’ she moans, her voice breaking, and I flip her onto her back, pinning her down as I pound into her, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure. The sounds are obscene—wet, squelching noises, our ragged breaths, the headboard knocking against the wall—and I don’t care who hears. I’m close, so close, and she’s screaming my name, begging for it, and when I finally spill inside her, it’s a raw, primal release that leaves us both panting and sticky, tangled in a heap of lust and shame that we’ll crave again tomorrow.