06-03-2025, 12:06 AM
The terrace stretched out under the full moon’s silver glow, the night air cool and still as Rupesh took a tentative step forward, his bare feet whispering against the concrete. “Arpita…” he called softly, voice low and thick with a tangle of guilt and longing, cutting through the silence like a plea. She froze at the sound—her name on his lips a jolt that snapped her head around, eyes wide with shock. She hadn’t expected him awake, hadn’t braced for his presence, and seeing him approach—shirtless, shorts clinging to his hips, moonlight carving shadows over his chest—rattled her to her core. Her heart thudded, a chaotic rhythm of rage and something deeper, something she refused to name. “Leave,” she snapped, voice sharp and trembling, fury rising like a shield. “Get out of here, Rupesh.”
He stopped, breath hitching, her words slicing through him. Tears welled in his eyes—hot, sudden—and spilled over, tracing glistening paths down his cheeks. “I didn’t force you, Arpita,” he choked out, voice breaking, raw with desperation. “I swear—I didn’t.” She stood rigid, the cool breeze teasing her bare skin beneath the t-shirt and shorts, her nipples stiffening traitorously against the fabric. She knew the truth—he hadn’t forced her, not entirely. She’d kissed him back, moved beneath him, pulled him inside her—but admitting that meant cracking open a door she couldn’t close. Letting him off the hook risked fanning the embers still smoldering between them, tempting him to reach for her again. No—she had to push back, make him bear the weight, keep him at bay. Offense was her armor.
“You forced me,” she accused, voice rising, sharp as a blade. “You forced me to indulge your sick fantasy of fucking your own sister.” She stepped closer, eyes blazing, moonlight glinting off the tears she refused to shed. “Have you fulfilled it now, Rupesh? Your twisted dream of screwing me?” Her words were venom, each one a lash meant to sting, to drive him away. “Get out of here—now.” The accusation hit him like a thunderbolt—shock widening his eyes, then crumpling his face as a sob tore free. “I always loved you, Arpita,” he whimpered, tears streaming, voice a fragile thread. “It wasn’t a fantasy—I love you. I’d never hurt you. I’d kill myself before I even thought of it. I’d sacrifice my life to protect you.” His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor before her, head bowed, hands trembling at his sides. “I’m so sorry for this afternoon—I thought you liked me too. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave—I’ll flee the house, anything. Just please—forgive me, Arpita. I don’t want to lose you, my sister. Don’t hate me.”
His plea—raw, brotherly, laced with a love she’d always known—pierced her defenses, striking a chord deep within. She felt a pang of guilt for wounding him, for twisting the truth to shield herself. Deep down, she knew—she’d wanted him that afternoon, craved his touch, his cock inside her, his mouth feasting on her pussy. His apology stirred the memories—his tongue lapping at her clit, sucking her slick folds, the way he’d devoured her with a hunger that shattered her world. Her body betrayed her now, trembling with a shiver of excitement that raced down her spine. Her pussy clenched, a rush of wetness soaking her shorts as she stood there, bare beneath the thin fabric, the cool breeze teasing the dampness between her thighs. Her nipples ached, pressing harder against the t-shirt, and she broke—tears spilling over, hot and helpless, as her resolve crumbled under the weight of her own desire.
Rupesh saw her cry—her face glistening in the moonlight, lips quivering—and it gutted him. His own tears flowed faster, all the filthy lust draining from his mind, replaced by a desperate need to comfort her. She was Arpita—his sister, his heart—and her pain was his. Still on his knees, he shuffled forward, hands reaching for her hips, wrapping around her lower body in a tight, grounding hug. His cheek pressed against her stomach, the soft fabric of her t-shirt warm against his skin, her scent—faintly sweet, tinged with the musk of their earlier sin—filling his lungs. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice muffled against her, arms squeezing her hips as if he could hold her together. “I’m so sorry, Arpita—I didn’t mean it. Forgive me, please.” He repeated it, a litany of regret, his tears soaking into her shirt as he clung to her, seeking absolution.
Her hands hovered, trembling, unsure—wanting to push him away, wanting to pull him closer. His touch—firm, warm, possessive—sent a ripple of heat through her, stirring the embers she’d tried to bury. She felt his breath against her belly, the press of his face so close to where her pussy throbbed, wet and aching beneath the shorts. The memory flared—his mouth on her cunt, sucking her dry, tongue curling inside her—and her knees weakened, a soft gasp escaping as her body reacted, hips shifting faintly in his grasp. She hated it—hated how he unraveled her, how her skin flushed, her pussy pulsed, even now. Tears streamed down her face, a mirror to his, and she sobbed—helpless, caught between rage and the forbidden thrill his nearness sparked.
The breeze swept over them, cool against her heated skin, slipping under her t-shirt to tease her bare breasts, her nipples straining against the fabric with an ache that matched the one between her legs. She stood there, pinned by his hug, his hands splayed over her hips—fingers brushing the tops of her thighs, so close to where she burned. Her shorts clung to her dampness, the lack of panties leaving her exposed, vulnerable, every gust of air a caress that heightened her awareness of him. “Rupesh…” she whispered, voice breaking, a plea or a curse—she didn’t know. His apologies washed over her, his tears dampening her shirt, and she trembled—torn between the sisterly love she still felt and the erotic pull she couldn’t shake, her body alive with a need she couldn’t voice under the moonlit sky.
He stopped, breath hitching, her words slicing through him. Tears welled in his eyes—hot, sudden—and spilled over, tracing glistening paths down his cheeks. “I didn’t force you, Arpita,” he choked out, voice breaking, raw with desperation. “I swear—I didn’t.” She stood rigid, the cool breeze teasing her bare skin beneath the t-shirt and shorts, her nipples stiffening traitorously against the fabric. She knew the truth—he hadn’t forced her, not entirely. She’d kissed him back, moved beneath him, pulled him inside her—but admitting that meant cracking open a door she couldn’t close. Letting him off the hook risked fanning the embers still smoldering between them, tempting him to reach for her again. No—she had to push back, make him bear the weight, keep him at bay. Offense was her armor.
“You forced me,” she accused, voice rising, sharp as a blade. “You forced me to indulge your sick fantasy of fucking your own sister.” She stepped closer, eyes blazing, moonlight glinting off the tears she refused to shed. “Have you fulfilled it now, Rupesh? Your twisted dream of screwing me?” Her words were venom, each one a lash meant to sting, to drive him away. “Get out of here—now.” The accusation hit him like a thunderbolt—shock widening his eyes, then crumpling his face as a sob tore free. “I always loved you, Arpita,” he whimpered, tears streaming, voice a fragile thread. “It wasn’t a fantasy—I love you. I’d never hurt you. I’d kill myself before I even thought of it. I’d sacrifice my life to protect you.” His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor before her, head bowed, hands trembling at his sides. “I’m so sorry for this afternoon—I thought you liked me too. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave—I’ll flee the house, anything. Just please—forgive me, Arpita. I don’t want to lose you, my sister. Don’t hate me.”
His plea—raw, brotherly, laced with a love she’d always known—pierced her defenses, striking a chord deep within. She felt a pang of guilt for wounding him, for twisting the truth to shield herself. Deep down, she knew—she’d wanted him that afternoon, craved his touch, his cock inside her, his mouth feasting on her pussy. His apology stirred the memories—his tongue lapping at her clit, sucking her slick folds, the way he’d devoured her with a hunger that shattered her world. Her body betrayed her now, trembling with a shiver of excitement that raced down her spine. Her pussy clenched, a rush of wetness soaking her shorts as she stood there, bare beneath the thin fabric, the cool breeze teasing the dampness between her thighs. Her nipples ached, pressing harder against the t-shirt, and she broke—tears spilling over, hot and helpless, as her resolve crumbled under the weight of her own desire.
Rupesh saw her cry—her face glistening in the moonlight, lips quivering—and it gutted him. His own tears flowed faster, all the filthy lust draining from his mind, replaced by a desperate need to comfort her. She was Arpita—his sister, his heart—and her pain was his. Still on his knees, he shuffled forward, hands reaching for her hips, wrapping around her lower body in a tight, grounding hug. His cheek pressed against her stomach, the soft fabric of her t-shirt warm against his skin, her scent—faintly sweet, tinged with the musk of their earlier sin—filling his lungs. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice muffled against her, arms squeezing her hips as if he could hold her together. “I’m so sorry, Arpita—I didn’t mean it. Forgive me, please.” He repeated it, a litany of regret, his tears soaking into her shirt as he clung to her, seeking absolution.
Her hands hovered, trembling, unsure—wanting to push him away, wanting to pull him closer. His touch—firm, warm, possessive—sent a ripple of heat through her, stirring the embers she’d tried to bury. She felt his breath against her belly, the press of his face so close to where her pussy throbbed, wet and aching beneath the shorts. The memory flared—his mouth on her cunt, sucking her dry, tongue curling inside her—and her knees weakened, a soft gasp escaping as her body reacted, hips shifting faintly in his grasp. She hated it—hated how he unraveled her, how her skin flushed, her pussy pulsed, even now. Tears streamed down her face, a mirror to his, and she sobbed—helpless, caught between rage and the forbidden thrill his nearness sparked.
The breeze swept over them, cool against her heated skin, slipping under her t-shirt to tease her bare breasts, her nipples straining against the fabric with an ache that matched the one between her legs. She stood there, pinned by his hug, his hands splayed over her hips—fingers brushing the tops of her thighs, so close to where she burned. Her shorts clung to her dampness, the lack of panties leaving her exposed, vulnerable, every gust of air a caress that heightened her awareness of him. “Rupesh…” she whispered, voice breaking, a plea or a curse—she didn’t know. His apologies washed over her, his tears dampening her shirt, and she trembled—torn between the sisterly love she still felt and the erotic pull she couldn’t shake, her body alive with a need she couldn’t voice under the moonlit sky.
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