The silence in the house was a physical presence, a third occupant in the cold, minimalist space that Gizelle had come to call home. She had been married to Daniel for three months, yet it felt like she barely knew the man she had promised herself to. He was distant, often preoccupied with work or trivial matters. His presence in their home was more like that of a guest than a husband and Gizelle’s attempts at connection were met with polite disinterest or quiet avoidance.
Husband.
The word felt like a lie on her tongue.
She had tried. She’d asked about his work, his day, his life. She’d left notes, cooked meals. Her efforts were met with polite, icy indifference, a wall so seamless and high that she’d eventually bruised her soul trying to scale it. Now she was exhausted. Every day brought a mixture of hope and disappointment and she had reached the point of surrender.
“I’m done. I can’t keep bending over backward for someone who barely notices me,” she whispered to herself in the mirror, her reflection pale and tense. She gave herself one last pep talk before heading downstairs, determined to reclaim a little of her own energy.
The atmosphere in the living area was a stark contrast to the tomblike quiet of her bedroom. Eleanor, Daniel’s mother, was a whirlwind of excited energy, flitting between vases of fresh white lilies and adjusting the already-perfect throw pillows.
“Gizelle! There you are! Finally, Will is coming back!” Eleanor’s face was lit with a radiant smile, the kind Gizelle had never seen directed at her.
“I know, Mom. Your excitement’s been building since yesterday.”
Gizelle used the term ‘Mom’ carefully, Eleanor had insisted on it, a gesture that felt more like a demand for performance than an offer of affection.
“After three years, Will will be home! I can’t wait to see him.” She wept and enveloped Gizelle in a tight, perfumed hug. “I want everything perfect.”
Gizelle laughed softly. “Relax, Mom. You’ve never seemed this animated before.”
“You know I love both my boys,” she confided, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But maybe Will a little more. Maybe because he’s been away from home his whole life. First boarding school in Switzerland, then Stanford, and now managing the New York office. Whenever he came home for vacations, I used to spoil him rotten, make all his favourite foods, go shopping with him.” Her eyes grew misty, lost in the memory.
Gizelle nodded, masking the flutter of nerves that rose in her chest. She had heard the stories before, but now the memory of Will in their home felt more real.
“Please, make sure his…”
Gizelle gently cut her off. “His favourite apple pie and blueberry cheesecake are ready, mom. They’re in the kitchen. Relax.”
Eleanor’s eyes darted from the ornate grandfather clock to the main entrance, a bundle of nervous anticipation. Shaking her head fondly, Gizelle headed to the kitchen.
“Will!” she heard Eleanor shout from the foyer.
He’s here.
The front door opened and closed, followed by the sound of luggage being set down.
“Hey, mom.”
“How are you? I’ve missed you so much,” Eleanor’s voice was thick with emotion.
Curiosity prickling at her, Gizelle slowly stepped out of the kitchen and looked into the foyer. This was the first time she was going to see Will. Daniel’s younger brother had been a vague entity, a name mentioned with fondness, a presence always absent.
Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected the impact of seeing him in person. Will stepped inside. He was more than she had expected. He stood a full head taller than his mother, easily over six feet, with the broad, powerful shoulders of a swimmer or a climber. His dark blond hair was tousled from travel, but it suited him. He had their mother’s classic bone structure and warm smile. The strong lines of his jaw, the playful tilt of his smile, everything about him felt appealing.
“Gizelle, come, he’s here!” Eleanor called, spotting her.
“Yeah, mom, coming.” She forced her feet to move. Her eyes locked with Will’s, and a strange electricity hummed between them. She extended her hand. “I’m Gizelle. Daniel’s wife.”
“I know. Will,” he said, his grip firm and warm around her much cooler fingers. He gave a slight, confident nod, his gaze holding hers for a beat too long.
“Go freshen up. I have made all your favourites,” Eleanor chirped, pulling his attention away.
“Apple pie and blueberry cheesecake, right?” he smirked, looking down at his mom.
“Fuck! God!” Gizelle’s mind screamed as the smirk transformed his handsome face into something devastatingly sexy, that’s when another forbidden thought crossed her mind. “I wondered what it would feel like to have those lips on mine.”She felt a flush creeping up her neck. She needed to get out of there before her thoughts spiraled completely out of control. Muttering an excuse, Gizelle retreated upstairs to her room, feeling the pull of Will’s presence linger even after he had disappeared from sight. Her mind raced, conflicting thoughts tangling with her growing awareness of attraction.
She leaned against the solid wood, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She imagined what it would be like if he were shirtless, her fingers tracing the lines of what she was sure would be a sculpted abdomen.
“STOP.” Gizelle shut her eyes tightly. These thoughts were just a symptom of her profound loneliness, of her sexual frustration. Daniel hadn't even held her hand in three months of marriage. She hadn't felt the touch of a man in what felt like an eternity and Will was right there, six feet of pure, irresistible temptation with a smile that promised sin and eyes that saw right through her carefully constructed composure.She lightly tapped her cheeks with her palms. “This is wrong. Everything is wrong.” She whispered to the empty room.
A firm knock on the door made her jump.
“Gizelle?” It was him.
She smoothed her clothes, ran a hand through her hair before opening the door. Will stood before her, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that was both awkward and endearing.
“Yes?”
“I need a charger. I can’t remember which bag I stuffed it in. Mom said I could ask you.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, then walked over to her side table.
“Here.”
Their fingers brushed during the exchange, a simple touch that felt like a brand. He took it, his sea-glass eyes lingering on her face for a moment before he gave a slow nod and turned away.
She closed the door, leaning against it once more, her entire body humming with a disconcerting energy.
The next morning, the house was quiet.
“Great, no one is at home,” Gizelle murmured to herself. “Let’s watch something,” she decided, needing a distraction from the silence.
She changed into a soft, sleeveless beige knit dress that fell to her mid-thigh. She got comfortable in the center of her large bed, propping her laptop on a pillow and scrolling through a streaming service, her boredom making her restless. She needed something immersive. Her cursor hovered over a popular, steamy historical drama known for its explicit scenes.
“Perfect,” she chirped, clicking play.
As the story unfolded, with its sweeping landscapes and tense romantic dialogue, she felt herself being drawn in. Then came the first intimate scene. It was artfully shot, but raw and passionate. A slow, warm flush began to spread through her body, a familiar ache of arousal coiling deep in her belly.
Almost unconsciously, her hands began to wander. She slid them from her neck, down over the soft wool of her dress, tracing the curves of her body. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She slid the thin straps of her dress down, one by one, freeing her breasts from the confines of the fabric.
She turned up the volume on her laptop, letting the actors’ moans and the evocative soundtrack fill the room, masking the frantic beating of her own heart. She cupped her breasts, her thumbs circling the sensitive peaks, gently squeezing to heighten the sensation. A low moan escaped her as pleasure rushed through her.
Then, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her lace panties and slid them down, kicking them off the bed. She touched herself, her fingers finding the slick, eager heat between her legs. She moved her hips slowly against her own hand.
“Fuck! Oh God, I need this,” she whispered to the empty room.
She leaned over and opened the side drawer of her nightstand, pulling out a sleek, discreet vibrator. She had never used it before, this was her first time and as she held it, she felt a surge of defiance. She wasn't at fault. She'd never needed toys before she'd had passionate, satisfying relationships. But now, she'd been waiting patiently for a husband who seemed to find the very idea of touching her repulsive.
Gizelle slowly rubbed the tip over her pussy, adjusting to the foreign sensation. It felt a bit uncomfortable at first, then she gently inserted it.
“Fuck,” she moaned, her head tilting back against the headboard, her eyes squeezing shut in a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
She widened her legs, pushing it in further, a low, continuous sigh escaping her. A shockwave of pleasure coursed through her. Behind her closed eyelids, a sudden, unbidden image flashed, not the actor on the screen, but Will.
She forced her gaze back to the laptop screen, focusing on the actor, trying to play along with the scene. But the image of Will was seared into her mind now. She kept increasing the vibrator’s intensity, her hips moving in a frantic rhythm, pleasuring herself to the thought of her brother-in-law’s hands, his mouth, his body.
“Ahh,” she cried out, her free hand pinching her own nipple as she watched the man on screen move against the woman.
Her stomach tightened, the coil of pleasure winding impossibly tight. She moaned louder, rubbing herself harder, chasing the release that was now inextricably tangled with a forbidden face. She sighed in shuddering relief as she exploded, collapsing onto the rumpled bed, sweating and catching her breath. Waves of aftershock pulsed through her.
“Finally. This feels amazing,” she whispered to the ceiling.
A deep, languid satisfaction settled over her. She snuggled into the soft comforter, pleased and momentarily at peace with her actions.
“Gizelle?”
“Just give in, sweetheart.”Will pulled her into another kiss, and this time, there was no hesitation. Gizelle met his fire with her own. She grabbed his hair, pulling him closer, her tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting, exploring, claiming him as he was claiming her. She was done fighting.“Feisty! I like it,” he rasped, breaking the kiss only to cover her mouth with his again, this time with a renewed, frantic urgency. He grabbed her waist, lifting her slightly to press her more firmly against the refrigerator as she wrapped her legs around his hips. His hands slid down and one came down in a sharp, stinging spank on her backside. The shock of it, mixed with the bolt of pleasure, made her cry out into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, his tongue plunging deeper.They were a tangle of desperate hands and hungry mouths, one kiss bleeding into the next. It was a battle for dominance, a frantic exchange of touch and taste. Their desire for one another was a living entity in the
"Take me, Will," Gizelle whispered, her voice thick with desire.“Gizelle!” The voice was sharp, clear, and came from the other side of the locked door. Reality crashed down like a bucket of ice water. Gizelle’s eyes flew open. Fuck!Gizelle shot upright in bed, a gasp trapped in her throat, her chest heaving, the sound of her own breathing loud in the darkness. Her sheets were tangled around her legs, her body hot, her mind fogged with images she couldn’t bear to remember.“I have fucking lost it. A wet dream about my brother-in-law!” she whispered to the quiet room. “I’ve lost it. I’ve fucking lost it.”The thought was a splash of ice water. She scrambled from the bed, her movements jerky, as if she could physically flee the shame. She fumbled for the switch and the harsh, fluorescent light stung her eyes, illuminating a wild-eyed stranger in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark hair a riot. She looked exactly like a woman unraveling.Gizelle went into the bathroom and tu
“Gizelle?”A sharp voice called her from the other side of her door.She sat up so fast her vision spun, her eyes wide with panic.Will?She slammed her laptop shut and shoved the vibrator deep under a pile of pillows. She hurriedly pulled the straps of her dress back up, her fingers fumbling and yanked the duvet up to her chin, concealing her state of undress.There was another knock on the door. “Come in,” she said, trying to sound normal, her voice coming out as a strained croak.Will entered, looking as devastatingly handsome as he had the day before, dressed in grey sweatpants and a black sleeveless t-shirt.“Do you need something?” she asked, hoping the flush on her cheeks could be mistaken for sleep.“Yeah. No one’s home and I’m heading to the home gym. Can you make me a protein shake?” He leaned casually against the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over the room, over her before settling back on her face.“Sure, no problem,” she replied with a quick nod, desperate for him to leav
The silence in the house was a physical presence, a third occupant in the cold, minimalist space that Gizelle had come to call home. She had been married to Daniel for three months, yet it felt like she barely knew the man she had promised herself to. He was distant, often preoccupied with work or trivial matters. His presence in their home was more like that of a guest than a husband and Gizelle’s attempts at connection were met with polite disinterest or quiet avoidance.Husband.The word felt like a lie on her tongue.She had tried. She’d asked about his work, his day, his life. She’d left notes, cooked meals. Her efforts were met with polite, icy indifference, a wall so seamless and high that she’d eventually bruised her soul trying to scale it. Now she was exhausted. Every day brought a mixture of hope and disappointment and she had reached the point of surrender.“I’m done. I can’t keep bending over backward for someone who barely notices me,” she whispered to herself in the mir
Steven’s breath hitched, the sound loud in the silent room. His eyes devoured her. The tension mounted, unspoken yet palpable, and the room seemed to shrink around the quiet intimacy of the moment.Suddenly Myra shuffled, turning slightly onto her side. Her eyelids fluttered and she inhaled sharply, suddenly jolted awake by the sensation of cool air on her bare skin. Her gaze flew to the figure hovering over her bed and she stiffened, recognition and shock flashing across her face."Steven!" she gasped, her voice rough with sleep. She sat up abruptly. Her nightgown had slipped down to reveal the swell of her breasts and the creamy skin of her thighs. She made no move to cover herself, wanting him to look at her, to drink her in, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips."You're here," she purred, her eyes gleaming with desire. "Finally."Myra had been waiting for this moment for so long, dreaming about it, plotting how to make it happen and now, here he was, standing ov
The world had shrunk to the four walls of his apartment and the weight of another empty evening. Steven sat on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting elongated shadows across his room. He let his eyes wander to the window, a familiar evening ritual and froze. Myra’s window was wide open, the gentle evening breeze fluttering the sheer curtains and beyond them, the edge of her bed was visible, illuminated by the soft, golden light of her bedside lamp. The faint outline of her figure caught in the soft light sent an unexpected jolt through him.He knew he should look away. She must have forgotten to close it, a rational voice insisted in his head. This is wrong. But his body refused to obey the command. He moved closer to the window, drawn irresistibly. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a drumbeat of guilt and a dark, thrilling anticipation.Myra lay sprawled across her duvet, a small towel was draped loosely around her hips, a flimsy barrier th