My Sister-in-Law Didn’t Want to Sleep Alone in the Apartment

My name is Andrés. I’ve been married for two years, for the second time, to Marta. From my first marriage I had a son, Lucas, who was nine years old then. When Marta and I first started going out, Lucas immediately grew fond of her whole family, and especially her older sister.

Sofía. The sister-in-law I’m going to tell you about.

She’s a few years older than me. She’s been divorced for quite some time and lives alone in the city. Physically, she’s the kind of woman who draws attention without trying: tall, with straight black hair down to her shoulders, a smile that comes slowly but, once it does, stays in your memory. Big tits, round ass, long model legs. During the two years I’d been with Marta, I’d never looked at her any other way. She was my sister-in-law. My wife’s sister. There was an implicit boundary that had never even occurred to me to cross.

Until that summer.

***

Marta started a new job just before the holidays, which meant she couldn’t take any days off until September. Lucas and I went anyway: we had rented an apartment in a residential complex facing the sea, about fifty kilometers from home, with the keys from August first.

The apartment was large, too large for two people. Three bedrooms, a spacious kitchen with a window to the outside, a terrace with partial views of the water. It was overkill for a man and a nine-year-old boy, but it was what we had.

Five days later I got a call from Marta.

“Sofía doesn’t have any plans,” she told me. “She’s home alone and, I don’t know, she seems kind of off to me. Would you mind if she went there for a few days to keep you company?”

I didn’t mind. Lucas would be happy, the apartment had plenty of room, and I didn’t have any reasonable argument to say no. Marta added, in that joking tone she uses when she wants to say something seriously: “I already know she won’t sleep in your bed, I’m very jealous.” I laughed. It was a joke. Obviously it was a joke.

“She has her own room,” I said. “With a lock, if she wants.”

The next day I went to pick her up at the town bus station. She arrived with a blue travel bag and sandals that clacked against the tiled floor. She kissed me twice, ruffled Lucas’s hair, and on the way back to the apartment she talked nonstop the whole way.

That was a Tuesday.

***

The first four days passed without anything special. The beach, the sun, the slow rhythm of vacation. Sofía was good company: she made Lucas laugh, helped me with the shopping, and at night, when the boy fell asleep, we stayed on the terrace with a beer or two and talked at our own pace.

I realized it was easier for me to talk to her than to a lot of other people. She didn’t filter what she thought, didn’t try to impress anyone. She simply talked. And listened, which is something not everyone knows how to do.

I had bought several bottles of wine for the week. On Friday night we opened one after dinner. Lucas went to bed early, exhausted from the beach. Sofía and I stayed in the living room with our glasses and the TV on in the background, not paying it any attention.

I don’t know how we started talking about ghosts. I think it was because of a scene from some series that was on in the background, something about an abandoned house, and from there we jumped to stories we remembered from childhood: the legend from the town Sofía’s grandfather came from, the case that my friend swore was real, the father of a classmate of mine, stories that traveled from mouth to mouth without anyone being able to verify them. We spent almost an hour like that, telling increasingly gruesome stories, laughing at how easy it is to get scared when you’re already primed.

When we finished the bottle it was past midnight.

“Well,” I said, “I’m going to sleep.”

Sofía got up too, but she didn’t head toward her room. She stayed standing in the middle of the living room with the empty glass in her hand.

“Oh my God,” she said.

“What?”

“I’m an idiot. Why did we let the conversation get that far?”

I laughed.

“Sofía, you’re forty years old.”

“Fear doesn’t care about age, Andrés.”

I told her it was fine, that the room had a lock, that I was right next door if she needed anything. She nodded, somewhat unconvinced, and we said good night in the hallway.

I went to bed. It was hot, so I left the fan on and stayed in just my boxer briefs. It took me a while to fall asleep.

***

I heard my name in the dark.

At first I folded it into the dream, or I think I did. Then the hallway light slipped under the door and I realized it was real.

“Andrés. Andrés, sorry, I know it’s ridiculous.”

I sat up. Opened the door. Sofía was in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself as if she were cold even though the temperature was fine. She wore a short cream-colored nightgown made of thin fabric, no bra. Her nipples showed through the cloth, thick and hard, pulling at the cotton. Her bare feet were on the cold hallway floor, and her legs were naked halfway up the thigh.

“I’m really scared,” she said, and there wasn’t the slightest trace of joking in her voice.

She was pale. I asked if she’d had a nightmare. She told me she hadn’t even been able to close her eyes, that she kept staring at the ceiling and the darkness filled with images.

“It’s suggestion,” I told her. “It’ll pass in ten minutes.”

“It doesn’t pass. I’ve been like this since I was little.”

There was a silence. I was standing in the doorway of my room, half asleep, in boxers. She was in front of me in a nightgown. The hallway smelled of sunscreen and the cream she put on at night.

“Stay here,” I said before thinking too much about it.

She looked at me.

“Just sleep,” I added. “The bed is big. You won’t be alone.”

“You’re married to my sister, Andrés.”

“And you’re my sister-in-law, not a stranger. There’s nothing mysterious about this.”

“Marta is very jealous.”

“Marta knows you’ve been afraid of the dark since you were kids. If we explain it to her, she’ll understand.”

I wasn’t entirely sure about that, but I said it with enough conviction that Sofía didn’t question me. In the end she nodded, very slowly, as if each inch of the movement cost her something. She had that habit of biting her lower lip when she thought, and that night she was thinking a lot.

“Just sleep,” she repeated.

“Just sleep.”

***

She got into bed. She lay on her side, facing the wall, with her legs slightly drawn up. Her nightgown had ridden up to the middle of her ass, and in the dim light I could see the curve of her thigh and the edge of the white thong she was wearing. I lay down behind her and turned off the light. In the dark all you could hear was the fan and, far in the background, the murmur of the sea.

I heard her breathing. Uneven, still tense.

Without thinking too much, I put my arm around her waist. Sofía didn’t move. After a moment I felt her breathing start to slow a little, and also that her ass settled back a touch, just enough to brush against me.

I kissed her on the cheek. Just once, reassuringly. She still didn’t say anything.

Just this, I told myself. Only until she falls asleep.

Lie. I was already getting hard against the fabric of my boxers, and she had to be noticing, because my cock was pressing right against the gap between her butt cheeks. She didn’t move away or say anything. She was simply there, still, breathing more and more slowly, as if every inch of her skin were listening to what was about to happen.

My hand started moving. It wasn’t a decision; it was more like an omission, the fact of not stopping it when it started sliding slowly up her side, over the curve of her waist, under her arm. Sofía still said nothing. When I reached her breast and took it in my palm, I felt her hold her breath. It weighed in my hand, warm and soft under the thin cotton, and the nipple was already hard as a stone, so hard it dug into the center of my palm.

“Andrés,” she said softly.

“What?”

“You’re touching my breast.”

“Yes.”

She stayed quiet. She didn’t pull away. I caught her nipple between my index finger and thumb and pinched it, gently at first and then harder. A short sigh escaped her, a tiny gasp she tried to swallow. I did the same to the other one. Her tits were big, the kind that spill to the sides when a woman lies down, and I fondled them through the nightgown without any hurry, squeezing them, rolling them, playing with the nipples until I heard her breathing through her mouth.

I kissed her neck. She closed her eyes, or so it seemed to me in the dim light. She tilted her head a little to give me more skin, and that tiny gesture was a clearer answer than any word. When I turned toward her and kissed her on the lips, at first they were still, tense. Then, without my forcing anything, something gave. She kissed me back. Slowly at first, and then with more intensity than I expected: she opened her mouth, searched for me with her tongue, sucked my lower lip before letting it go.

“This can’t happen,” she said when we pulled apart for a moment.

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you stop?”

It wasn’t a real question. She wasn’t pulling away either. In fact, while she said it, she had slid one hand under the sheet and was rubbing my cock over my boxers, a light touch, as if it were an accident that wasn’t one. The fabric was beginning to stretch tight, clearly outlined, and she ran her fingers over it with deliberate slowness.

“You’re really hard,” she murmured against my mouth.

“I’ve been like this for a while.”

“I noticed.”

I slowly lifted her nightgown, stopping every time I felt any tension in her body. When I reached her shoulders, she raised her arms on her own so I could take it off completely. Her chest was bared: generous, with very white skin where the bikini had protected her from the sun, and dark nipples, thick, already hard and erect, pointing upward. I lowered my mouth and sucked one all the way in, taking it deep, pulling with my lips, then let it go to lick the tip with my flat tongue. Sofía let out a low sound, brought one hand to her mouth to cover it, and buried the other in my hair, pushing me against her tit.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Shh.”

“Lucas.”

“He’s at the other end of the hallway. He sleeps like a log.”

I licked between her breasts from top to bottom, bit the nipple I wasn’t holding, sucked it too until it shone with saliva. I gathered them together with both hands and buried my face between them, unable to stop. She had spectacular tits, heavy and soft, and I’d spent two years wanting them without letting myself look at them.

“I haven’t been with anyone for three years,” she said suddenly.

She said it toward the ceiling, as if it were a confession meant for herself and not for me. I stopped for a second and looked at her face.

“Three years?”

“Since I separated. I haven’t wanted to.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. Not one dick, not one tongue, not one finger that wasn’t mine.”

Something in that sentence changed everything. Not the desire, which was already there, but the way of approaching it. I took all the time needed.

I moved my hand down to her hips and pushed her underwear downward. She lifted her hips to help me, a small but unmistakable gesture. The white thong slid down her thighs, caught for a moment around her knees, and with one kick she sent it the rest of the way to the foot of the bed. She spread her legs without being asked. In the dark you could barely see anything, but when I ran my hand between her thighs I found her soaked, the hair trimmed, the lips swollen and hot. I slid one finger in slowly and she arched completely against the pillow.

“Ah,” she said, so softly I almost didn’t hear her. “Ah, please.”

“Like this?”

“More.”

I slid in a second finger. I felt her open around them, tight from not being fucked in three years, throbbing with every thrust. With my thumb I found her clit. It was swollen, peeking out from the hood, and as soon as I rubbed it in circles she bit her knuckle to keep from crying out.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Her hands found my back and stayed there, not squeezing, while I kissed her neck, her chest, her stomach. I worked my way down her belly, leaving wet licks, until I settled between her thighs and breathed on her. She smelled strong, a wet cunt smell that got my cock to the brink of bursting out of my boxers.

I got between her legs. I kissed her slowly, without rushing, paying attention to her. I ran my whole tongue from bottom to top, parting her lips with the tip, and she let out a short moan that escaped without permission. I sucked her clit with my lips around it, tugging gently, and then drove my tongue in hard, fucking her with my mouth. Sofía pressed her thighs against my cheeks and put one hand on my head, not pushing, just guiding. With her other hand she grabbed the sheet and twisted it.

“Yes. Yes. There, there, there.”

I slid two fingers into her again while I kept sucking her clit, curling them upward, searching for that spot that makes a woman’s feet go cold. I found it. I felt her opening and closing around my fingers, felt her trembling from her knees all the way to her hips.

“I’m going to come,” she said, her voice broken. “Andrés, I’m going to…”

Her breathing changed rhythm until she let the air out in a rush with a sound she tried to hold back, biting her lip so as not to wake Lucas. She stayed still for a moment with her muscles tense, back arched, thighs clamping around my head, and then she suddenly relaxed. I kept licking her slowly until she pulled me away, hypersensitive, laughing under her breath, her trembling hand on my forehead.

“Stop, stop, I can’t anymore.”

Then she went looking for me. She pulled me up to her and lowered my boxers with both hands. When she took my cock out and had it in her palm, another sigh escaped her, this time almost one of recognition. She squeezed me from base to tip a couple of times, measuring me. Then she turned for a moment, bent down, and took me all the way into her mouth.

“Fuck,” I gasped.

She sucked me slowly, her tongue coiled around me, pulling me out to lick my tip and then swallowing me again to the throat. I put my hand on the back of her neck without squeezing, and she went up and down to her own rhythm, sucking me with her whole mouth, leaving my cock shining with saliva. When she lifted her face to look at me there was a thread of spit hanging from her lip and her eyes were glassy.

“Fuck me now,” she said. “Please.”

She lay back down and spread her legs. When I entered her, she looked directly into my eyes. She didn’t say anything. Neither did I. I felt her give way around my cock centimeter by centimeter, tight, wet, hot, so narrow after three years that I had to stop for a second so I wouldn’t come.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I murmured.

“You’re so tight.”

“Break me.”

We moved slowly, finding the rhythm. The darkness of the room, the fan, the sound of the sea in the background. I started hard, all the way in with each thrust, my hands on her tits, watching them bounce with every stroke. Sofía had her ankles crossed behind my back and squeezed me every time I eased up the pace, forcing me to keep going. The mattress creaked softly and she dug her nails into my shoulder blades so she wouldn’t scream.

“More, more, more.”

“Shh, the boy.”

“I don’t care, more.”

I lifted her, put her on all fours, shoved her face into the pillow and drove my cock back into her to the hilt. I gave her one gentle smack on the ass and then a harder one, and she opened wider, pushing her ass back against me. I grabbed it with both hands, pulled it apart, watched myself go in and out of her, shining with her juices.

“Like that, like that, like that,” she whispered into the pillow. “Fuck me like that, don’t stop.”

I fucked her in that position for a good while, holding her by the hips, pounding her hard, watching her ass move every time I drove into her. I ran my hand around to the front and found her clit again, rubbing it while I kept thrusting, until I felt her whole body shaking and falling apart in a second orgasm, longer and quieter, with her legs giving way beneath her.

I rolled her onto her back. I kissed her the whole time while I slid into her again. She wrapped her legs around me and pulled me toward her, all of me. I went in and out slowly, letting her raise her hips to meet me. We were both soaked, sweat and saliva and everything she let go of every time I drove into her.

When I was close to the edge, I told her in her ear.

“I’m going to come.”

“Not inside.”

“Take it out and put it in my mouth.”

She moved fast, hungry. She pulled it out, slid across the bed, and took it back into her mouth just in time. I came all over her mouth in long pulses, and she didn’t let go, swallowed everything, sucking me dry to the last drop, looking up at me while she did it. When she was done, she ran her thumb along the corner of her mouth, brought it to her lips, and smiled at me for the first time that night.

I collapsed beside her. She stayed still, her open hand on my chest, her hair stuck to her temple with sweat. She wrapped her arms around me and held me against her, not letting go.

We stayed still. We listened to the house.

Nothing. Just the fan and the sea.

***

I woke up alone.

The left side of the bed was cold. Sunlight was already coming in through the blinds. The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen.

Sofía was standing by the window with a cup in her hands. She didn’t turn when I came in. I went over, poured myself some too, and sat at the table without saying anything. For a moment we both looked outside: the terrace, the sky already white with heat, the crowns of the trees lining the complex.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“Sofía.”

“Marta is my sister.”

“I know.”

“I’m ashamed. This shouldn’t have happened.”

I told her that if she left now, Marta would worry. She’d think we’d had an argument, that something had gone wrong during the week. Nobody knew anything. We could go on as if it were a normal day, have breakfast, go to the beach, go home on Sunday as planned.

Sofía held the cup with both hands and kept looking out the window.

“Lucas,” she said.

“Lucas was asleep. He didn’t see anything.”

“For me, something did happen.”

The sentence dropped onto the kitchen floor all by itself and we both left it there for a moment.

“And for you?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. She finished her coffee, left the cup in the sink, and went to her room to get changed. When she came out, ready for the beach, she was the same as always: calm, direct, with no visible trace of what had happened.

She stayed the rest of the week. The days were normal, or almost. Sofía was a little quieter than before, but not distant. She kept playing with Lucas by the shore, kept helping me with dinner, kept sitting on the terrace at night. But we didn’t open wine again, and at ten or eleven she’d say she was tired and disappear into her room.

On the last day, when I drove her to the bus station, she gave me two formal kisses on the cheek and took her bag.

“Take care,” she said.

“You too.”

She turned toward the platform without adding anything else. I watched her walk away with her blue bag and her noisy sandals until she turned the corner and disappeared into the crowd.

That afternoon Marta called me to say that Sofía had told her she’d had a great time, that the apartment was beautiful, and that she had to go back to that place.

I said I was glad.

It was true, though for reasons I wasn’t going to explain.