“Max’s coming tomorrow,” Charlie announced from behind the iPad in his face, reading the Saturday edition of the New York Times.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Christine questioned, placing her coffee mug on the kitchen table. Her long, slender fingers picked at a cinnamon scone.

“Well, I just think he needs to get out of my parents’ hair for a while. You know how upset Mom is that he quit lacrosse. She thinks he should play some sort of sport year-round, right?”

“Yeah not a wise move on his part.”

“Mom and Dad don’t think so.” He paused and took a sip from the coffee mug at his side. “And they aren’t real thrilled that he’s out every night doing who-knows-what, coming home who-knows-when. They don’t like the kids he’s hanging out with. And he sleeps all weekend.”

Christine chuckled. Charlie’s little brother was the black sheep of the family. At sixteen and the youngest of four boys, he had already been arrested several times for possession of alcohol as a minor, and other petty offenses. His older siblings were either in college or had attended college Charlie himself, the eldest, obtained his M.B.A. from Northwestern and had very promising futures. On the other hand, Max was already starting to make noises about not going to school immediately, deciding instead to take a year off to “find himself.”

“So how long’s he going to be staying with us?” she asked, rising from the table and depositing her mug and plate in the kitchen sink of their Bucktown home. Her firm little bottom was hidden by a pair of gray cotton shorts with her husband’s fraternity letters emblazoned across the cheeks. Charlie watched as she padded away from him, amazed that the shorts weren’t in tatters after seven or eight years of use.

“Just through the end of the Thanksgiving weekend.”

“I thought you were leaving town Sunday.”

“It’s been changed to Monday now. I’ll be back Tuesday night, though Wednesday morning at the latest.”

“You want me to look after him for a few days?”

“Yeah.” He dropped the device from in front of his face, catching her tone. “Come on. It’s just two days. I leave early Monday, and I’ll be back Tuesday.”

“No, it’s no problem. No problem at all. The office is closed next week anyway. He can run errands and go grocery shopping with me. All that fun stuff.”

Charlie laughed. “Yeah. I bet he’ll really like that.”

“Speaking of which,” Christine said over her shoulder as she sauntered from the room, “I have some stuff to take care of today.”

It was mid-afternoon and a ray of light streamed in through a gap in the bedroom’s blinds. Christine stretched her arms over her head, her knuckles knocking against the bed’s headboard. She rolled to her side and glanced at the bedside clock, her breasts rolling along her rib cage. Seeing the time, she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress.

Her clean, white tennis shoes rested on the floor in front of the nightstand, a bobby sock stuffed into each. The tan pedal-pusher pants were folded neatly on a chair in the corner of the room, her white oxford, bra, and thong stacked atop them.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“I gotta go.” She grabbed her cell phone from atop the nightstand and checked the recent calls list.

“So soon?”

“Yeah. I have some errands to run, some calls to make.”

“And calls to return?”

She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, her piercing blue eyes showing amusement. “Yeah and return.”

“Was that Charlie?”

“Mm-hm,” she responded, rising from the bed and padding across the carpeted floor to the chair, her tan-lined breasts bobbing on her chest. She grabbed the cotton panties from atop the stack of clothing and pulled them over her lithe legs, adjusting them to conceal the blonde wisps of hair at the apex of her pussy.

“Call him from here.”

Christine rolled her eyes as she fastened the bra behind her back, swollen nipples tenting the fabric, but refused to respond.

“Think he knows?”

“Knows what?”

“About us.”

She sighed heavily. “There is no ‘us,’ Andre. There’s me and there’s that,” she said, pointing her chin at the sticky, lifeless cock that rested along his thigh. She pulled the khaki pants up her shapely thighs and over her tight bottom. “That’s all.”

A few minutes later, she slipped from the condominium and called the elevator. The wait and the following descent seemed interminable, but it allowed her to reflect.

She had been sleeping with Andre for several weeks. Actually, “sleeping” is too mild a word. She had been fucking him. That’s all it was, pure and simple. While he may have wanted more a relationship he wasn’t going to get it. Christine was in it for the sex and nothing else. From past experience, she knew she would soon tire of him.

That’s how it had gone with the previous forays outside her marriage. Every few months, she would meet a handsome man in this place or that a club; Mariano’s; wherever and strike up a scorching month or so of hard sex. And then she would get bored.

Fidelity had never been her strong suit. In five years of marriage, she couldn’t recall a period of six months where the only cock to be buried in her snug pussy was her husband’s. Two or three months maybe, but no more than that. She had yet to get caught, at least since she had recited her wedding vows.

When she and Charlie were still in college but still in the early stages of their relationship, she had attended a fraternity party. As the night wound down, she found herself in a senior’s bunk. He had not been overly discrete about the tryst and, the rumor mill being what it was, word had made its way back to Charlie. Bitter fights followed, but they had managed to patch up their broken relationship and, for the most part, move on.

But from then on, Christine walked on eggshells around Charlie when it came to other men. If they were at a party and someone hit on her, she made it very clear that she was spoken for. And though she had made some great male friends in college, she didn’t keep in contact with any of them for fear that Charlie would suspect her of having an affair. She took such great pains to ease his fears that her own fears of Charlie actually suspecting her infidelity bordered on paranoia.

Hence her preference for random assignations with otherwise strangers.

The pinging of the elevator announcing her arrival in the lobby pulled her from her contemplation and she exited the car, moved through the lobby, and out to the street.

The weekend passed. Sunday afternoon, Christine was reclining on the couch, comfortable in sweats and a baggy tee shirt, her flaxen hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Charlie was at East Bank Club working out and, after lunch with a few girlfriends, she passed the afternoon on the couch, reading the New York Times, a Lifetime Channel movie playing in the background.

“Look who I found,” Charlie called out when he returned late in the afternoon, dropping his gym bag at the door.

Christine lowered the paper to see her husband enter the living room, Max behind him with a large duffel bag slung across his shoulder.

“Hey, Chris,” he greeted her.

“Hey there, yourself, sweetie,” she responded with a bright smile, folding the newspaper and getting up to hug him. “It’s so good to see you.”

Max dropped his bag as she approached and gave her a big bear hug, lifting her off her dainty feet and almost squeezing the breath from her lungs.

“It’s been too long,” he said, releasing his older brother’s wife.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Christine gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “And you live so close, too. Why don’t we ever see you?”

“I’m a busy man. The ladies take up all of my time,” he responded lightheartedly.

She just rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Why don’t we go up to Club Lucky for dinner in a little bit?” Charlie said, joining the conversation.

“Sounds good to me,” Max agreed, looking to Christine for her nod of approval. When he got it, he bent and retrieved his bag from the floor. “Well, I think I’ll put this in the guest room and then we can go.”

In the guest room, he zipped open the duffel and shoved the bag’s contents haphazardly into dresser drawers.

Max really liked Christine. She was a real sweetheart in his view. She got along great with his family, easing into the roles of daughter-in-law and sister-in-law with little effort. And she never ignored him, either, the way his other brother’s wives had. Every time he saw her, she asked how school going and whether he was dating anyone. Unlike his other sisters-in-law, she seemed genuinely interested in him.

He thought it interesting, the relationships he had with his brothers and their wives. He got along great with Jimmy and Steve but hated their wives, finding them snotty and aloof, far too interested in the money they’d married into. By contrast, he wasn’t that fond of Charlie, thinking him to be an arrogant ass, but his wife couldn’t be sweeter.

She was also hot as fuck, he thought. She had a banging little body and the prettiest cheerleader face. She always dressed well nothing flashy, but she was always put together. When she hugged him, her large breasts molding themselves to his chest and the floral scent of her shampoo wafting about him, his cock never failed to stir.

Done with his clothes, Max threw an extra pair of shoes into the closet and put his toiletries in the guest bathroom, and then rejoined Charlie and Christine in the living room.

“Mornin’.”

“Mornin’ to you, kid,” Christine countered, raising her eyes from her computer screen to see Max shuffle into the kitchen, his shorts and tee shirt rumpled from a night of sleeping in them.

“Charlie gone already?” he asked, still groggy, retrieving a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator. He eyed her as he poured his drink. ‘No matter the time of day,’ Max thought, ‘she always looks put together.’ His eyes roamed up the gray wool pants she wore above mid-rise heels and across the cream-colored scoop neck sweater that draped snugly around her torso.

“Yeah. He had an early flight.”

“Where’d he go?” he asked, joining her at the table and twisting off the end of a croissant that sat before her. He popped it in his mouth with a mischievous grin.

“Denver. He’ll be back tomorrow night.” She watched him as he swallowed the stolen morsel. “There’s another croissant on the counter if you want it, you know.”

“Nah. I’d rather eat yours.”

Christine smirked, tapped some keys on the keyboard, and shut the computer, sliding it away from her and leaning back in her chair.

“So, Max, tell me: how’s everything going at home?”

“It’s fine. Boring. Mom and Dad are always riding my ass. I’m getting sick of it, to be honest. I wanna move out but I can’t touch my own money, which is bullshit.”

Christine shot him a wan smile. It wasn’t really his money. It was in a trust, she knew, as her in-laws had settled trusts for each of the boys. But that was a nuance she knew Max would not appreciate, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

“Any girls keeping you busy?”

“Nah. I mean, here and there. Nothing special.” He paused, seeming to consider his word. “I just really hate living in that town. It’s so pretentious. The girls are all like Katie and Molly, and you know how I can’t stand those bitches.”

Christine laughed softly. In their private conversations, Max had let her know exactly how he felt about his other sisters-in-law. Not that he needed to. Even without words, he was barely able to conceal his disdain.

“Well, just two more years and you can at least get out of the house, right? College, maybe? Or you should travel. Get out of Chicago. Get out of the Midwest.”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that. Not sure about the whole college thing just yet. I mean, I know I should go and I think the whole party scene would be fun, but I’m not sure college is for me, you know?” He rose and retrieved the other croissant from the counter. “I was thinking maybe I’d go out to Colorado for a few years and work in the mountain and ski. Though Mom and Dad probably wouldn’t let me live in the house.”

“Well, I still think college is the way to go, but if you’re not going to do that, then maybe Colorado isn’t a bad idea for a few years. Be a ski bum. Figure out what you want to do with your life.” Christine finished her cup of coffee, glanced at her watch, and rose from the table. “Okay, I’ve got a lot to do today. I better get going.”

“Not working?”

“No, the office is closed this week. And anyway, I need to get my Thanksgiving grocery shopping done and run some errands. Wanna go with me?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just lay around today.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be back in a few hours. What do you want for dinner tonight?”

“Whatever. I don’t care. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Christine brought their plates to the table and they sat and ate their meal, catching up with each other’s lives. Finishing his beer, Max rose to get another. She thought about objecting, given that he was not even close to the legal drinking age, but she didn’t want to be that sister-in-law so she let it slide. Plus, he was kind enough to refill her wine glass again while she cleared the empty plates and put them in the dishwasher.

Max sat at the table as she finished cleaning up and rejoined him.

“So lacrosse,” she said at length. When he didn’t respond to the unspoken inquiry, she continued. “I’m not going to harp on you, Max. I know you get enough of that. But it just seemed like you really enjoyed it. And you were good at it. Great, to be honest. I was just surprised when Charlie told me.”

“Yeah.” He took a long pull from the bottle. “I mean, I don’t know. I just got sick of it, I guess. Not playing, really, but dealing with all the douchebags on the team. Seems like lacrosse is a magnet for douchebags.”

Christine tilted her head a little, a smile in her eyes. “Charlie played lacrosse,” she said playfully, her tongue a little thick from the alcohol.

Max just looked at her, a faint smile slowly forming on his lips. “Need I say more?”

Christine rolled her eyes but indulged him with a light chuckle. She took a sip of wine. “So why do you think Charlie wanted you to stay here this week?”

“I dunno. Maybe he just thought you might like the company, I guess.”

Christine nodded again, her flaxen, ponytailed hair bobbing behind her, considering the kid across the table from her. When she’d started dating Charlie, Max was still in elementary school. It was obvious to her, as an outsider, that the boy was different from his brothers. He cared about different things and was not as driven as the other three. She felt an immediate affinity for the boy.

And she’d watched him grow up, too. Which is not to say that she’d watch him mature. That’s not a word she’d use for him, not yet. But he grew, developed. He was still lanky but the muscles were starting to find the bones. And he was handsome, with those piercing eyes and the lazy smile and that floppy brown mess atop his head that seemed to be de rigueur amongst boys of his generation. He was, in a word, a hot little thing though not so little.

After an inordinate pause, Christine finally responded. “I’m not sure that’s it.”

A quizzical look passed over his face.

Christine pushed her chair back a little and turned to face him more directly. “What I think is this: he wants you here to keep an eye on me.” Her manicured fingers twirled the wineglass atop the granite table, causing it to let out a faint squeak.

Max smirked at her. “Keep an eye on you? What? Why? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think he trusts me,” she responded, leaning back in the chair and taking a swig of wine down her slender throat. Her soft breasts thrust forward with the movement, swelling her otherwise slim torso.

“Trust you? Of course, he trusts you. Why wouldn’t he? You’re the coolest chick ever. A lot better than those other two I have to call my sisters-in-law. Seems like you’re a really good wife.”

“Well,” she began, leaning forward. The scoop neck of her sweater billowed outward, affording Max a glimpse of the bra-encased breasts hanging from her chest. Christine knew she was playing with fire here, but the alcohol clouded her judgment just enough that she paid no attention to the warning signs, and continued. “That’s the problem: I have indeed been a good wife.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Well, I’ve been a good wife “ Christine took a deep breath, considering. She hadn’t crossed any line. Not yet. She could pull back from this recklessness and pretend it never happened. Max was too dense to even understand what was unfolding right before her eyes. Unfortunately, that little fact spurred her on.

Christine rose from the chair, approached Max, and kicked a leg over his, settling her firm bottom on his lap. The faint scent of her perfume wafted around him and he inhaled deeply. “I’ve been a good wife to many, many men,” she completed in a sing-song voice, draping her tanned arms around her brother-in-law’s neck, nuzzling her soft, wet lips against his ear.

“Oh, Jesus,” he gasped, squirming in his chair. “What what are you doing?”

Christine ground her butt against him in response, leveraging her arms to pull him closer to her, squishing her breasts between their bodies. Almost involuntarily, Max’s hands went to her trim hips.

His actions could be interpreted as an effort to push her away, to gain space between his thickening cock and her grinding hips.

But that would be the wrong interpretation.

“Charlie wants you here,” she breathed into his ear, her hot breath sending chills up his spine, “so you can spy on me.”

“But why would “ he grunted before Christine took his earlobe between her teeth and bit down gently.

“You’re not going to do that, though, are you?” she asked in a whisper, her firm breasts pressing against him, her nipples hard against his chest.

Max merely shook his head.

“You know that snitches get stitches, right Max? You’re not a snitch, are you, sweetie?” she inquired, her voice still a whisper in his ear.

Another shake of the head.

Christine released an arm from behind his neck and brought it between them, tweaking one of her brother-in-law’s nipples between her manicured nails.

“Ugh,” he groaned, Christine’s slender fingers descending across his ripped stomach and cupping his twitching cock through his cotton shorts.

She raised herself from his lap and pressed her slender fingers against his heaving chest, urging him to push away from the table. The chair squeaked across the hardwood floor and Christine grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

Max looked up at his sister-in-law through hooded eyes, shocked but burning with need at her behavior. She smiled back at him, the girl-next-door appearance and the radiant smile sharply incongruent with her depraved conduct.

She bent at the waist, her little bottom bumping against the table and causing the wine to slosh around in her glass. “I cheated on him. Years ago.” Her baby blue eyes, sparkling now, remained locked on his as she bent further, her soft lips descending on one of his exposed nipples. “He thinks I’ve done it again he always does.”

“Oh, fuck,” Max groaned as Christine’s lips locked around the darkened flesh, sucking it between her teeth, nibbling lightly.

She held herself steady with one hand against his chest as the other closed around the thickening shaft hidden beneath his athletic shorts. She stroked him gently at first, her slender fingers coaxing more hardness into his cock. She felt the heat of him through the fabric and her manipulation of the shaft increased, the cock growing in his shorts.

Christine let his nipple pop from her lips and she leaned into him. “I wanna suck my brother-in-law’s fat cock,” she hissed into his ear. “May I?” The question was rhetorical and without waiting for an answer, she knelt between Max’s spread legs and yanked at his shorts.

Putting his hands on the seat, he raised his ass and Christine pulled the shorts and boxers down his thighs and over his knees, helping him pull a foot from them.

His cock sprang up when released, slapping against his taut stomach before standing erect, swaying back and forth. The cock’s movement reminded her of a display erected on the plaza outside her office building, a series of tall, steel rods that swayed with the blowing of the wind, clanging against each other, making music.

It was also one of the most beautiful things Christine had seen in quite some time. A proud cock, impossibly straight, thick without being obscene. The pink unblemished flesh was taut and rippled with veins that crisscrossed each other, pulsing in time with the racing of the boy’s heart. The head was thick and flared out to form a full crown. A pair of bloated balls hung heavily below the quivering shaft, the flesh smooth like silk