MY COUSIN'S BOYFRIEND III

My eyes locked onto that photo, on the outline of Dylan's cock pressing against his trousers like it was begging to burst free.

Heat rushed through me instantly and my nipples hardened under the thin silk of Joan's nightie. A sharp throb pulsed between my thighs.

Shit. Why was he doing this? The plan was simple: nod, look sick, let him say goodnight and wish me a quick recovery. Not this. Not him teasing me with his arousal like we were in some private, heated moment.

I tore my gaze back to the video call, where Dylan's face waited, patiently. 

"Did you see that?" He whispered intimately.

I looked up at him through the veil of my hair, and his eyes trailed over me slowly, drinking in every inch he could see; the curve of my shoulder peeking from the comforter, the way the nightie clung to my chest. He bit his lower lip and a low groan escaped him.

"Baby... you have no idea what you are doing to me lying there looking so fucking sexy. God, I just want to pin you down and fuck you so hard and make you moan my name until you can't think straight. Tell me you're as turned on as I am right now."

Fuck.

My pussy clenched hard at his words, slickness gathering between my folds. I knew I couldn't do this. Dylan was Joan's boyfriend; my cousin's man. It didn't matter that I'd fantasized about him for months, replaying every casual touch, every smile he'd thrown my way. He was off limits. And worse, he thought I was her. That's why he was saying these things, pushing this boundary. My thumb hovered over the end call button, heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

Before I could stop myself, I swiped it. The screen went black, and I buried my face in the pillow, the soft fabric muffling my ragged breaths. My heart raced and that ache between my legs only grew, hot and insistent. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to ignore it, but the image of his bulge lingered, taunting me.

The phone buzzed almost immediately. It was another text from him.

Dylan: Baby? You okay? Don't leave me hanging like that.

I stared at it, fingers trembling.

Another buzz.

Dylan: I miss you so much. Wish I could slide into that bed with you, feel your pussy clench around my cock as I fuck you raw. You're driving me crazy.

Then another message with  an attachment.

I opened it before I could talk myself out of it.

Jesus Christ.

Dylan had his hand wrapped around his cock. It was monstrous; thick, veiny and flushed dark at the head where a fat bead of precum glistened at the slit. The shaft curved slightly upward with the veins standing out in sharp relief under his grip. He'd pulled his trousers down just enough with the waistband bunched under his balls.

Dylan: It's weeping for you already. Look what you've done.

My mouth watered instantly, saliva pooling as I imagined the salty taste on my tongue. My pussy clenched again and a fresh gush of wetness soaked my inner thighs. I hated how much I wanted it. How I wanted him.

Against every shred of better judgment screaming in my head, I typed back.

Joan: I'm getting so wet looking at it.

What was I supposed to do? A girlfriend would say that. I was impersonating Joan, so I had to play the part, right? Or he'd suspect something was off. If I didn't answer, he'd know something was wrong. He'd call again or worse, he'd figure out I wasn't her.

I waited, staring at the three dots that appeared immediately. 

I couldn't stand the ache anymore. My index finger circled my clit, sending sparks up my spine. The pressure built and my hips shifted against the sheets as I dipped lower, sliding one finger inside my pussy, then two, stretching myself just a little.

Buzz.

Dylan: Are you touching yourself for me, baby?

How did he know? My cheeks burned as I replied.

Joan: Yes.

His response came fast.

Dylan: Fuck, yes. Let me see. Show me how wet you are.

I hesitated, pulling my fingers free, slick with my juices. No, I couldn't. Sending a picture? That was too far. He'd see the differences.

But another text popped up.

Dylan: Come on, baby. I sent you my dick pics... twice now. Give me something. Your tits? Just a peek. I need it.

My tits. We wore the same size bras, but mine were fuller, heavier and spilled over the cups more than hers. In a photo, angled right, he might not notice.

The rational part of me yelled to stop, but the ache won. Against my better judgment—again—I pushed the comforter down, bunching the nightie up under my chin. My nipples were already hard with rosy peaks begging for attention. I cupped one breast, lifted it slightly and angled Joan's phone so the lamp caught the swell just right. I snapped a photo before I could overthink it and hit send.

The typing bubbles appeared immediately. Then vanished. Appeared again. Vanished. My stomach knotted as I waited, staring at the screen. Five full minutes ticked by. Then ten.

I realized he'd left me on read.

Why the hell had I sent it? Panic clawed at me. He'd seen something off. The fullness of my breasts or the slight difference in skin tone, maybe even the way I held the phone. I'd blown my cover, and now Joan would find out. She'd be furious, our friendship would  shatter, and that five hundred bucks? Gone. Worse, I'd just sexted with her boyfriend, let him think filthy things about me while I fingered my pussy to his cock pics. What kind of cousin was I?

Tears pricked my eyes as I deleted the entire chat history, my hands shaking. I couldn't let this stand. Grabbing my own phone from the nightstand, I dialed her number.

Straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Third time, she finally picked up.

"What?" She snapped in a breathy voice.

I could hear rustling. Fabric sliding. A low, wet sound in the background that made my stomach turn.

"Joan? Where are you?"

"At the party. Why?" Another quick inhale that sounded almost like a moan.

"There's... a lot of movement. Are you okay? You sound out of breath."

"What do you mean?" she panted.

Before I could answer, a deep male voice cut through the line, close to the phone.

"You on the pill, Joanie? 'Cause I'm gonna cum inside you."

William.

The call dropped.