Incest Forbidden Glances at Nicki

[marcjstn]

The afternoon sun poured through the living room windows, casting a warm golden glow across the family gathering. Relatives mingled, aunties gossiped in the kitchen, and uncles debated politics over whiskey. But my attention was fixed elsewhere—on Nicki, who sat cross-legged on the floor cushion near the coffee table, her tight short t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of her milky white midriff.

She wore denim shorts that ended mid-thigh, and her smooth legs were folded beneath her, the golden light making her skin glow like polished porcelain. I watched the way the fabric hugged her curves, the subtle outline of her body beneath the fitted cotton. Her hair cascaded down her back in a dark silky waterfall, and every time she moved, the strands caught the light. My eyes traced the line of her bare arms as she reached for her beer, the soft curve of her shoulder, the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the tight t-shirt. I could make out the faint suggestion of her bra, and I found myself wondering about the color, the texture, what lay beneath.

"Uncle, you should try this new craft beer," Nicki said, holding up the bottle with a smile. She laughed softly at something her cousin said, tilting her head as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was innocent, unconscious—and it made my pulse quicken. Her lips curved into that easy, youthful smile, and her eyes sparkled with a lightness that made my chest tighten.

I forced myself to look away, taking a sip of my own drink. But my gaze crept back to her within seconds. The way her shorts pressed against her thighs when she shifted position. The way her t-shirt stretched across her chest, the fabric pulling slightly with each breath she took. I imagined what it would feel like to run my hands over that smooth, warm skin. To trace the curve of her waist with my fingertips. To cup those soft, full breasts in my palms and feel their weight. I pictured her nipples—pink, I was certain—pebbling under my touch, and a familiar heat pooled low in my stomach.

"Nicki, come help me with the snacks," Neha called from the kitchen doorway.

Nicki unfolded herself from the floor, and I watched her rise—long legs, the gentle sway of her hips, the way her shorts sat snug against the round curve of her ass. She padded toward the kitchen on bare feet, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Neha entered the living room carrying a tray of samosas, her saree dbangd elegantly but hugging every voluptuous curve of her mature body. She moved with a confidence that came from years of knowing exactly the effect she had on people. The blouse was fitted, the pallu tucked just low enough to reveal the deep valley of her cleavage—milky skin that I had stolen glances at more times than I could count.

"Bhai, you're looking lost today," Neha said with a knowing smile as she set the tray down. She stepped toward me, arms open.

I stood to receive the hug, and she pressed close—closer than necessary. Her heavy, full breasts pushed against my chest, soft and warm through the thin fabric of her blouse. I could feel the curve of them, the weight, and I breathed in the scent of jasmine in her hair. My arms wrapped around her briefly, and for those few seconds, I was acutely aware of every point of contact between our bodies.

"Everything fine?" she murmured near my ear, her lips close enough that I felt the warmth of her breath.

"Perfect," I managed, pulling back with what I hoped was a casual smile.

But it wasn't perfect. Nothing was perfect. Nicki returned from the kitchen carrying a bowl of chips, laughing again, her cheeks flushed. She settled back onto the floor cushion, and her t-shirt shifted, revealing more of that impossibly smooth midriff. I watched the way her thighs pressed together as she sat, the way her breasts moved gently with her laughter.

I wanted to touch her. The craving sat heavy in my chest, a silent, forbidden ache that I buried deep every single time. I imagined sliding my hand along her thigh, feeling the silk of her skin, watching her eyes widen as my fingers traced higher. I imagined burying my face in her hair, breathing her in, pressing my lips to the curve of her neck.

Instead, I lifted my glass and took another long sip, letting the cool liquid dull the edges of my desire. Around me, family chatter filled the room—safe, normal, oblivious. And I sat there, a man burning quietly in plain sight, stealing one more glance at Nicki's bare arms, one more look at Neha's curves, one more secret taste of everything I could never have.