#devin franco

Plot: After a heated argument with your wife (Devin’s sister) during family dinner forces you to sleep downstairs, your muscular brother-in-law Devin comes to comfort you late at night, which quickly escalates into raw, steamy, taboo sex on the bathroom counter.

Warnings: cheating, p in a penetration

Word Count: 2.6k

Between Us

The dim glow of the dining room chandelier cast long shadows across the polished oak table, highlighting the strained expressions on everyone’s faces. You sat at one end, fork hovering over your plate of roasted chicken and vegetables, trying to keep your jaw from clenching too obviously. Across from you, your wife—Sarah—glared daggers, her voice sharp as she recounted yet another grievance about how absent you’d been lately.

“It’s like you don’t even want to be here anymore,” she snapped, her wine glass clinking hard against the table. “Work, work, work. And when you’re home? You’re checked out.”

Devin, Sarah’s younger brother, sat to your right, his muscular frame relaxed in a fitted black t-shirt that hugged every ridge of his chest and shoulders. He looked every bit the picture of effortless charm—dark, wavy hair still slightly damp from a shower, stubble shadowing his sharp jaw, those piercing eyes flicking between you and his sister. The family dinner had been his idea, a supposed attempt to smooth things over after weeks of tension in your marriage. But it was backfiring spectacularly.

“Sarah, not tonight,” you muttered, keeping your voice low for the sake of their parents at the far end of the table. But she wasn’t having it.

“No, tonight is exactly when we talk about it. You’ve been distant for months. What’s going on with you?”

The argument escalated from there—her accusations flying, your defenses growing thinner. You felt the heat rising in your chest, the familiar knot of resentment tightening. Devin stayed quiet, but you caught him watching you more than once, his gaze lingering a beat too long on your hands, your neck, the way your shirt pulled across your chest when you leaned forward.

By the time dessert was cleared, the damage was done. Sarah stormed upstairs with a slammed door, declaring the guest room hers for the night. Their parents made awkward excuses and retreated to the main suite. You were left with the couch in the finished basement—your makeshift bed for the evening.

You stripped down to your boxers and a loose t-shirt, the cool leather of the sectional pressing against your skin as you tossed and turned. The house was silent now, save for the low hum of the fridge upstairs and the occasional creak of settling wood. Sleep wouldn’t come. Your mind replayed the fight, the years of growing distance in your marriage, the way you’d caught yourself staring at Devin during past visits—his easy laugh, the way his body moved when he worked out in the backyard, sweat glistening on those powerful arms and broad back.

The basement door clicked open softly around 1 AM.

You sat up, heart kicking up a notch. Devin descended the stairs in nothing but gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, his bare torso a study in masculine perfection—defined pecs dusted with dark hair, abs rippling with each step, that V-line disappearing into the waistband like an invitation. His skin still carried a faint sheen, as if he’d been restless too.

“Hey,” he said quietly, voice low and rough. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

You shook your head, swinging your legs off the couch. “Your sister’s pissed. As usual.”

Devin crossed the room, stopping just a few feet away. The air between you felt charged, thicker than it had any right to be. “She’s always been like that. High-strung. You’ve put up with a lot, man.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, bicep flexing. “Didn’t seem fair, kicking you down here. Figured you could use some company.”

His eyes met yours, and there it was—that spark you’d both been ignoring for years. The taboo undercurrent of family gatherings, stolen glances during holidays, the way his hand would brush yours passing the potatoes. You were married to his sister. He was family. This was dangerous.

But tonight, with the house quiet and the fight still burning in your veins, danger felt like exactly what you needed.

Devin sat on the edge of the coffee table, knees brushing yours. “You wanna talk about it? Or… not talk?”

The second option hung heavy. You swallowed, throat dry. “Not talk.”

He smiled, slow and knowing, those full lips parting just enough to show the edge of his teeth. “Good.”

What started as a comforting hand on your shoulder turned into fingers tracing your collarbone. You reached up, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in. The first kiss was tentative—soft lips meeting, the faint taste of mint toothpaste—but it ignited instantly. Devin groaned into your mouth, leaning closer, his bare chest pressing against your t-shirt. His skin was fever-hot, smooth over hard muscle.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your lips, breath hot. “For so long.”

You answered by deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against his, hands roaming down his back, feeling the powerful taper of his waist. He was built like a god—years of gym discipline evident in every flex and shift. Your cock stirred in your boxers, thickening fast as he climbed into your lap, straddling you on the couch. The weight of him, the heat of his ass grinding down against your growing bulge, made you hiss.

“Devin…” you groaned, hands gripping his hips, thumbs digging into the waistband of his sweats.

“Shh. Everyone’s asleep.” He rocked against you, sweatpants doing nothing to hide how hard he was too. His cock pressed against yours through thin fabric, thick and insistent. “Just us.”

The makeout grew frantic—teeth nipping at jaws, necks, collarbones. You peeled your t-shirt off, and Devin’s hands explored your chest greedily, pinching your nipples, tracing the lines of your torso. He was surprisingly vocal, moaning softly each time your hips bucked up.

“Bedroom’s too risky,” you murmured, standing with him still wrapped around your waist. His legs locked behind your back, strong thighs squeezing. “Bathroom down here. Counter.”

He nodded, lips attacking your neck as you carried him through the basement to the small guest bathroom. The light stayed off—only the faint glow from the hallway nightlight filtering in, casting everything in blue shadows. You set him on the wide marble counter, stepping between his spread thighs.

Devin leaned back on his hands, chest heaving, nipples pebbled in the cool air. His cock tented his sweats obscenely. You hooked your fingers in the waistband and tugged them down, freeing him. His dick sprang up—thick, veiny, the head already glistening with precum. A solid seven inches, curving slightly upward, heavy balls drawn tight.

“Jesus,” you breathed, wrapping a hand around him. He was burning hot, silky skin over steel.

Devin’s head fell back against the mirror with a soft thud. “Touch me. Please.”

You stroked him slowly at first, twisting your wrist at the head, thumb smearing the leaking fluid. He whimpered—actually whimpered—hips jerking. Leaning down, you took him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the crown. The taste was musky, masculine, addictive. Devin’s hand fisted in your hair, not pushing, just holding on as you bobbed, taking him deeper until your nose brushed his trimmed pubes.

“Fuck… your mouth. So good,” he panted. His abs clenched with every suck, that gorgeous torso glistening with fresh sweat under the low light.

You worked him thoroughly—sucking, licking, hollowing your cheeks—while your free hand tugged his sweats the rest of the way off, spreading his legs wider. One finger teased his hole, circling the tight ring. Devin gasped, pushing back against it.

“Lube?” you asked, pulling off his cock with a wet pop.

“Top drawer,” he rasped. “Sarah keeps it here for… whatever.”

The irony wasn’t lost on either of you. You grabbed the small bottle, slicking your fingers generously. One finger pushed inside him slowly. He was tight, incredibly so, velvet heat clenching around you.

“Relax,” you murmured, kissing his inner thigh. “Gonna make you feel good.”

Devin nodded, breathing through it. You added a second finger, scissoring, curling to find his prostate. When you hit it, his whole body jolted, a deep moan escaping.

“Right there—fuck, yes.”

You prepped him thoroughly, three fingers stretching him open while your mouth returned to his cock, edging him mercilessly. His moans grew louder, more desperate, until you pulled away completely, leaving him whining.

“Need you,” he begged, eyes glassy with lust. “Fuck me. Now.”

You shoved your boxers down, your own cock throbbing—thick and flushed, veins standing out. Slicking yourself, you lined up, pressing the head against his hole. Devin hooked his ankles behind your back, pulling you in.

The first push was exquisite—tight heat enveloping your cockhead. You both groaned. Inch by inch, you sank into him, watching his face contort in pleasure-pain. His mouth hung open, eyes half-lidded, that same wrecked expression from the video frames you’d glimpsed earlier now playing out in real time.

“So full,” he gasped once you bottomed out, balls-deep in his ass. “God, you’re big.”

You gave him a moment, then started moving—slow, deep thrusts that dragged against his prostate. The counter was the perfect height; you could pound into him standing, hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. Skin slapped against skin, the wet sound of fucking filling the small bathroom.

Devin’s head thunked back against the mirror again, mouth open in a silent cry as you picked up speed. His cock bounced between you, smearing precum on his abs. You leaned in, capturing his mouth in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as you railed him.

“Harder,” he demanded against your lips. “Fuck me like you mean it. Like you’ve wanted to since the wedding.”

The taboo words sent a thrill through you. You were balls-deep in your wife’s brother, in their family home, while she slept upstairs. It was filthy. Wrong. Perfect.

You hooked his legs over your shoulders, folding him nearly in half on the counter. The new angle let you drill deeper, faster. Devin’s moans turned into broken cries—your name, curses, pleas. Sweat poured down his chest, making his skin shine under the faint light. His pecs bounced with each thrust, nipples begging for attention. You pinched one, twisted, and he clenched around your cock like a vice.

“Gonna cum,” he warned, voice hoarse.

“Not yet.” You slowed, edging him again, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. His hole fluttered, greedy.

“Please—fuck, I need it.”

You reached between you, stroking his cock in time with your thrusts. Devin shattered. Thick ropes of cum shot across his abs, chest, even hitting his chin. His ass spasmed wildly around you, milking your cock.

The sight pushed you over. With a guttural groan, you buried yourself deep and came, flooding his guts with pulse after pulse of hot seed. You kept thrusting through it, riding out the orgasm until you were spent, collapsed against his heaving chest.

For long minutes, you stayed like that—cock softening inside him, his arms wrapped around your back, fingers tracing lazy patterns. Cum leaked out around you, dripping onto the counter.

“Fuck,” Devin whispered finally, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “That was…”

“Taboo as hell,” you finished, kissing him softly.

“Yeah. And we’re doing it again before morning.”

You cleaned up as best you could, but the evidence was everywhere—the scent of sex, the flushed marks on his skin, the way he walked with a slight wince when you both returned to the couch. He curled against you under a blanket, head on your chest.

“Sarah’s gonna kill us if she finds out,” he murmured sleepily.

You stroked his hair. “Worth it.”

Sleep finally claimed you both, tangled together in the basement’s darkness.

The next morning brought the inevitable tension. Sarah came downstairs first, eyes puffy from crying. She saw you on the couch—alone, thankfully, since Devin had slipped upstairs at dawn—and her expression softened slightly.

“Sorry about last night,” she said quietly. “I was harsh.”

You nodded, guilt twisting in your gut even as memories of Devin’s moans echoed in your head. “We both said things.”

Breakfast was awkward. Devin appeared in the kitchen wearing a loose tank top that showed off the faint hickeys you’d left on his collarbone. He shot you a secret smirk when no one was looking, his foot brushing yours under the table.

The day dragged with family activities—yard work, board games. Every chance you got, touches lingered. A hand on his lower back. His fingers grazing your ass in the hallway. By evening, the tension was unbearable again.

After dinner, Sarah announced she was going to bed early—headache from the wine. Their parents followed. Devin lingered in the kitchen, helping you load the dishwasher.

“Basement again?” he whispered, breath hot against your ear.

You nodded.

This time, there was no slow buildup. As soon as the door closed behind you, he was on his knees, yanking your pants down and swallowing your cock to the root. His throat worked around you, gagging softly but eager, saliva dripping down his chin.

“Such a good little brother-in-law slut,” you growled, fucking his face. He moaned around you, eyes watering but locked on yours.

He sucked you until you were rock-hard again, then bent himself over the bathroom counter, sweats around his ankles, ass presented. You didn’t bother with much prep this time—spitting on your cock and pushing in raw, his hole still loose and slick from last night’s load.

Devin cried out, pushing back to meet you. “Yes—use me.”

You fucked him brutally, one hand fisted in his hair, the other slapping his ass until it glowed red. The mirror showed everything: his face contorted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes rolling back; your powerful thrusts making his body jolt; cum from the night before still leaking with each plunge.

You came inside him again, then made him ride you on the closed toilet lid, his strong thighs flexing as he bounced on your cock, jerking himself until he painted your chest.

The night blurred into rounds—him sucking you in the shower, you eating his ass on the couch, another raw fuck against the wall where he had to bite your shoulder to stay quiet. By morning, he was thoroughly used, covered in marks, voice hoarse from moaning your name.

The taboo only fueled it. Every thrust reminded you this was your wife’s brother. Every kiss tasted like forbidden fruit. Devin loved it too—whispering filthy things like “Fuck your brother-in-law’s tight hole” while you pounded him.

Over the following weeks, the affair continued in secret. Stolen moments at family events. Late-night drives where he’d blow you in the car. Hotel rooms booked under fake names. Each encounter steamier than the last—roleplay where he called you “bro” while you bred him, marathon sessions where he took load after load until he was leaking for days.

Your marriage strained further, but the fire with Devin burned brighter. He was addictive—his body, his enthusiasm, the way he submitted so perfectly while still being that cocky, muscular stud.

One weekend, when Sarah was away visiting friends, you had the house to yourselves. Devin greeted you naked at the door, dropping to his knees immediately.

The entire night was dedicated to debauchery. You fucked him in every room—on his sister’s bed (the ultimate taboo), in the shower, bent over the kitchen island. He came untouched multiple times, your cock nailing his prostate relentlessly.

By dawn, he was a wrecked, cum-soaked mess, curled in your arms whispering, “I don’t want this to stop. Ever.”

Neither did you.