Sunscreen for Her Stepsister

The Caribbean air is thick with salt and the promise of trouble. The plan was a romantic getaway with your girlfriend. The reality is a beach house with Jessy, her quiet, doe-eyed stepsister, because a last-minute flu grounded the love of your life. You told yourself it was just a trip, a non-refundable cabin. A friendly favour. But the way Jessy’s looking at you now, after that dinner you cooked, her belly full and her eyes full of something else entirely, tells you that friendly is about to be redefined.

You both sit in the fading light on the wooden deck, the sea a dark murmur beyond the sand. Jessy sighs, content, and then turns those big, innocent eyes on you. “Do you think I need sunscreen when I wanna lie on the beach?” she asks.

Her voice is sweet, but there’s a flicker in her gaze, a daring little challenge. It’s not really about the sunscreen. You both know the sun has already set.

“The sun’s gone down, Jessy,” you point out, playing along with the charade. She pouts, a deliberate, exaggerated motion that makes her full lips impossible to ignore.

“I know,” she says, drawing the word out. “But I burn so easy. And I wanna go feel the sand. Just for a bit.” She stands up, a slow, deliberate stretch that arches her back. “Could you… maybe do my back? I always miss a spot.”

The request hangs in the humid air. Doing her back. A simple, helpful thing. The kind of thing a brother-in-law might do. You’re not that, not yet, and the thought sends a illicit thrill straight through you. You nod, your throat suddenly dry. “Sure. Get the lotion.”

Her smile is swift and secret as she ducks inside, returning with a bottle. She holds it out to you. “Here.”

You follow her down the wooden steps to the soft, cool sand. The world is shades of blue and grey now, the ocean a vast, whispering dark. Jessy stops, turns her back to you, and gathers her long, platinum blonde hair over one shoulder. “Okay,” she says, her voice softer now, almost shy again. But her posture is an offering. The thin straps of her sundress are already slipping.

You squeeze some cool lotion into your palm. The scent of coconut blooms between you. You place your hands on the bare skin of her upper back, just above the dress’s line. She gasps, a tiny, sharp intake of breath that isn’t from the cold. Her skin is impossibly soft. You start to rub, slow circles, feeling the delicate muscles underneath.

“Mmm,” she hums, leaning back slightly into your touch. “You’re good at that.”

Your thumbs work along the ridge of her spine, down to where the dress fabric begins. Your fingers brush the side of her rib cage. You’re hyper-aware of every inch of contact, of the heat building under your palms. “Am I getting it all?” you ask, your voice low.

“Almost,” she murmurs. Her head is tilted, giving you more access. “A little lower?”

Your hands slide lower, past the waistband of her sundress, onto the small of her back. The fabric is loose here. Your fingertips dip beneath it, just a fraction, touching the very top of the curve of her ass. She shudders, a full-body tremble you can feel.

“Jessy…” you start, a warning you don’t really mean. “Shhh,” she whispers, turning her head to look at you over her shoulder. Her eyes are dark pools in the moonlight. “Just making sure I’m covered.”

She turns around slowly, facing you. The bottle is still in your hand. Her gaze drops to it, then back up to yours. “My arms?” she suggests, holding them out. You nod, swallowing hard. You take her wrist, your grip firm, and smooth lotion up her forearm, over the delicate inside of her elbow, to her shoulder. Her skin is pebbled with goosebumps.

You do her other arm, your movements slower, more deliberate. Your thumb strokes the inside of her wrist, a pulse point. Her breath hitches. When you’re finished, she doesn’t pull away. She just looks at you, her chest rising and falling a little faster. “My chest,” she says, the words barely audible over the waves. “I get red here too.”

Your eyes drop to the swell of her breasts above her neckline.

This is the point of no return. You squeeze more lotion, your hands now slick with it. You reach out and place your palms flat on her upper chest, just above the fabric. Her skin is fever-warm. You rub in gentle circles, moving lower, your thumbs skimming the very tops of her breasts where they rise from the sundress. A soft moan escapes her lips.

“Jessy, we can’t,” you say, even as your hands continue to move, dipping into the shadowed valley between her breasts.

“I know,” she breathes, her own hands coming up to cover yours, not to stop you, but to press them harder against her. “I know we can’t. But I’ve wanted you to touch me since we got here. Since forever.” She leans in, her lips a breath from yours. “Please.”

You kiss her. It’s not gentle. It’s hungry, a release of all the tension that’s been building since you arrived. Her mouth opens under yours, sweet and desperate. Your hands leave her chest and fist in her hair, pulling her closer. She melts against you, her body soft and pliant and wanting. When you break apart, she’s panting. “Inside,” she whispers. “Now.”

You never make it back to the cabin: it is a blur of tangled hands and stolen kisses against a leaning palm. Right there, in the moonlight, she doesn’t hesitate. She reaches behind her back, finds the zipper of her sundress, and lets it fall.

It pools at her feet. She’s wearing only simple white cotton panties. Her breasts are full and perfect, her nipples already hard peaks in the cool air. “You too,” she says, her shyness gone, replaced by a bold, aching need.

You strip quickly, your cock already hard and straining for her. Her eyes go wide, then hungry. She steps forward, her small hand wrapping around you, giving a firm, testing stroke. “Oh, god,” she moans, leaning in to kiss your neck. “I knew you’d feel like this.” She drops to her knees on the towel, looking up at you with worshipful eyes. “Let me taste you.”

Her mouth is heaven. Hot, wet, and so eager. She takes you deep, her tongue swirling around the head before she slides down your length, her lips tight. Her hands cup your balls, her fingers pressing gently. She moans around you, the vibration driving you wild.

You fist your hands in her hair, guiding her pace, and she follows perfectly, looking up at you with glazed, submissive eyes. “You like that?” she mumbles, pulling off for a second, a string of spit connecting her lips to your cock.

“I love it,” you growl, pulling her to her feet. You kiss her again, tasting yourself on her tongue. You walk her backward until her knees hit the beach towel. You lay her down, peeling her panties off. Her pussy is bare, glistening and already soaked for you. You slide a finger through her folds, and she cries out, arching off the sand. “So wet, Jessy. All for me?” “All for you,” she gasps. “Please, I need you inside me.”

You don’t make her wait. You guide your cock to her entrance and push inside in one slow, deep, devastating stroke. She screams, her nails digging into your back, her legs wrapping tightly around your waist. She’s so tight, so impossibly hot and wet. You set a rhythm, deep and hard, the waves hissing up the sand beside you.

“Yes, just like that,” she babbles, her head thrashing on the towel. “Fuck me, oh god, fuck your Jessy.”

You flip her over, pulling her onto her hands and knees. She presents herself to you, her ass in the air, and you plunge into her from behind, even deeper. The slapping sound of skin on skin carries over the dark water. You reach around and rub her clit with your thumb, and she comes instantly, her pussy clamping around you in fierce, rhythmic pulses.

Her cries tip you over the edge. You grab her hips, hold her still, and empty yourself deep inside her with a guttural groan, filling her up.

You collapse beside her, both of you breathless and slick with sweat. The stars wheel above. She curls into your side immediately, her hand splayed on your chest. No words about tomorrow, no guilt, just the warm, satisfied silence of two people who finally got what they desperately wanted. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your skin, a contented, possessive touch.