Hey There, Sexy Delilah

My sister-in-law's name is Delilah Bates, and she's a teacher at a dance academy.

With her stunning looks and enviable figure, she often posts sexy photos on her social media feed. Whether she's in tight-fitting leggings doing the splits or snapping selfies that flaunt her flexibility, every image screams sensuality.

Her obscenely round and full hips are the kind that mark her as a passionate young wife, starved for affection and long denied satisfaction—the kind that makes a man want to take her roughly.

Under normal circumstances, even though our families are close, my wife keeps a sharp eye on me, so I never thought I'd get the chance to sleep with my sister-in-law. But I never imagined fate itself would hand me the opportunity…

That day, right after work, I'd just started the car when my phone rang. It was Delilah.

A pipe in her bathroom had burst, she explained, and she'd hired a repairman online. But the way the man looked at her was lecherous—he kept asking what time her husband would be home.

The problem was, her husband had already been away on a business trip for two weeks, and she was getting scared. She asked me to come over and keep an eye on things.

Without a second thought, I drove straight to Delilah's place.

When she opened the door, she deliberately called out, "Honey, you're home."

I knew she was trying to warn the repairman—if he had any bad intentions—that there was a man in the house.

Still, my heart stirred at her words, and I played along. "Baby, you've been handling things all alone. You must be tired."

Maybe it was my remark that stirred the loneliness of her empty nights. After the repairman finished and left, Delilah took the initiative and asked me to stay for dinner.

Seeing the bathroom in shambles, I volunteered to help clean up. By the time we were done, I was drenched in sweat.

"Go take a shower," she said. "I'll find you some clothes to wear."

With that, she disappeared into the bedroom to look for something.

I figured a shower wouldn't hurt. I texted my wife that I was working late and stepped into the bathroom. That's when I spotted Delilah's discarded lingerie sitting in the hamper—a pale purple lace thong that silently whispered of a lonely, unsatisfied young wife living here.

No wonder the repairman had tried to make a move on her.

I grabbed a random towel, and as I dried off, my mind started to wander.

Which part of Delilah's body had this towel touched before?

When I came out wearing her husband's clothes, Delilah clamped a hand over her mouth and burst out laughing.

Since she was at home, she'd thrown on a skimpy sleeveless nightgown with a plunging neckline. I glanced down and caught a perfect view of her smooth, round breasts, bouncing gently with her every movement, their elasticity impossible to ignore.

I took a look at myself in the mirror and started laughing too.

Her husband is 5'7". On my 6'5" frame, his T-shirt fit like a tank top. And those board shorts were way too small—they squeezed me uncomfortably in the crotch and bulged conspicuously, drawing way too much attention.

"Take it off," she said, her eyes curving into crescent moons. She shot a quick, subtle glance at my crotch and reached over to help me pull off the T-shirt.

By the time I shucked the shorts and sat down at the table in just my briefs, she'd already laid out the food and drinks.

Delilah sat beside me, pouring wine as she said, "Let me have a few drinks with you. Thank you for today."

"Hey, with Samson out of town, of course you can count on me…"

After a few glasses, her cheeks flushed pink. The strap of her nightgown slid off one shoulder, but her full, soft, pale breasts stayed perfectly in place—radiating the irresistible charm of a mature young woman.

I stared at that tantalizing hint of creamy skin revealed by her neckline and, emboldened by the alcohol, asked, "Delilah, Samson's been gone for so long… Do you miss him?"

"Of course I do. Richard, you men think we care about how much money you make. But what we really want is just to have you by our side."

A trace of resentment flickered in Delilah's eyes as she downed another glass.

She noticed my glass was empty and reached over to refill it, making no effort to cover her neckline. She let me stare openly at her braless chest.

Maybe my gaze was too direct. She swatted my arm, coquettish and playful. "Stop staring. Your eyes are practically glued to me."

A hazy realization settled in. I knew something was going to happen tonight.

Delilah fell silent, her head bowed as she avoided my eyes. She twirled her wine glass between two fingers, her pretty face already flushed a deep red. The wine stained her lips, full and glossy—so tempting I wanted to bite them.

I knew that with a woman like this—long deprived, her desires finally stirring—I couldn't afford to back off halfway. I had to strike while the iron was hot.

So I steered the conversation lower. "Delilah, how do you keep your figure so perfect?"

"Just dancing and doing yoga every day. Though lately I feel like my thighs might be getting thicker."

"Thicker?"

I leaned closer and gently tugged at the hem of her nightgown. "Stand up. Let me get a good look—see if they've thickened or not…"

The smile in Delilah's eyes deepened. She placed a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she stood, then lifted the hem of her gown all the way up to her thighs so I could see better.

"They haven't thickened," I said. "Still as slender and straight as ever."

My gaze drifted to the pale pink panties barely hidden in the shadows of her skirt. I couldn't hold back any longer. I reached out, pulled her into my arms, and pressed my lips to hers.

At the same time, I slipped a hand beneath her nightgown and gave her soft, heavy breasts a few rough, kneading squeezes.