Forbidden Flames with My Sister-in-Law – Part 2

After that, everything stopped. No calls, no chats, no visits. I was angry—mad at her for pushing me away, mad at myself for going too far. I stayed home, worked, and kept quiet. She didn’t reach out either.

Days turned into a week, then more. I missed her—her laugh, her voice, even her shy looks. But I wasn’t going to call first. She’d made it clear where she stood.

Then, one evening, about two weeks later, my phone rang. It was Neha. I stared at it, heart jumping, but picked up. “Hello?” I said, voice flat.

“Sohail,” she said, softly, as if she wasn’t sure. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, short. “You?”

She went quiet for a second. “Can I come over? I need to talk.”

I didn’t want to say yes, but I did. “Fine. Come.” I hung up, wondering what she wanted now.

Half an hour later, she knocked. I opened the door, and there she was—simple kurta and pyjamas, no makeup, her fair skin still glowing. She looked tired, smaller somehow. My wife was out with friends, so it was just us. “Come in,” I said, stepping aside.

She walked in and sat on the couch, hands in her lap. “Sohail, I miss you,” she said, looking down. “Not like that—just as my friend. You’re gone, and I feel lonely.”

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You told me to leave. What changed?”

She paused, rubbing her hands together. “I was scared that day. We went too far, and I didn’t know what to do. But after, it’s been quiet. No one to talk to, laugh with. You’re my friend, Sohail. I don’t want to lose you.”

Her eyes were big honest, and it hit me—she really meant it. She wasn’t here for more, just for us to be okay again. I softened a little. “I miss you, too,” I said, sitting across from her. “But you know how I feel. It’s hard.”

She nodded slowly. “I know. I’m sorry I pushed you away like that. I just can’t be more than friends. My husband, my life—I’m happy there. But you’re special to me, Sohail. Can we go back? Please?”

I looked at her, that short, beautiful woman who drove me crazy without trying. She was lonely without me, and I was the same without her. “Okay,” I said, voice low. “Friends. But no more fighting, yeah?”

She smiled, small but real. “No more fighting.” She reached out, touched my hand quickly, and then pulled back. “Tell me something funny. Like before.”

I grinned, feeling lighter. “Alright. Yesterday, I tripped over the cat—almost broke my face.” She laughed, that sound I missed. We started talking again—easy, simple, like old times. But inside, I still wanted her. I’d keep it down, play the friend, but that fire wasn’t gone.

We sat there, back to talking like friends. “So,” Neha said, leaning back on the couch, “What’s new with you? Work still boring?”

“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “Same old. You? Still solving math in your head?”

She laughed. “Always! Yesterday, I figured out the grocery bill faster than the shop guy. He was shocked.”

“Smart lady,” I said, nodding. “No wonder you’re my favourite friend.”

She smiled playfully. “Favourite, huh? Careful, I’ll tell your wife.”

I chuckled, then cracked up loud, thinking about that kiss. “Oh man, remember when we—haha—kissed? So funny now! And that black dot on the right side of your chest—I loved it, so beautiful.”

Her face went red, and she smacked my arm lightly. “Sohail! Don’t laugh about that! And what black dot?”

“You know,” I said, still grinning. “I saw it when we kissed. How many you got?”

She shook her head fast. “No, no, none!” Then she paused, smirking. “Okay, maybe a few. I don’t count. How many you got?”

“Me?” I said, laughing. “Three, I think. Want to see?” I tugged my shirt a little, teasing.

“No!” she shouted, giggling hard. “Put that away, you idiot!”

We both laughed out loud, falling back on the couch. “You’re impossible,” she said, wiping her eyes.

A few days later, we all got together at my place—me, my wife, Neha, and her husband. It was fun, everyone laughing and joking around. We sat in the living room, snacks on the table, music playing low.

My wife grinned at Neha’s husband. “So, you’re always busy with work, huh? Leave some time for Neha!”

He laughed, scratching his head. “I try! She’s the boss, though—keeps me in line.”

Neha rolled her eyes, smiling. “Yeah, right. He’s the one who forgets dinner half the time.”

I jumped in, teasing. “Hey, at least he’s got you to cook. My wife burns everything!”

My wife smacked my arm. “Liar! You eat it anyway.”

We all cracked up. Then I looked at Neha, grinning big. “But Neha, you’re my saali, right? Half my house is yours! When are you moving in to save me from her cooking?”

Neha’s husband laughed loudly. “Oh, take her! She’ll boss you around, too!”

Neha blushed, throwing a napkin to her husband. “Shut up! I’m not that bad!”

“Oh, you are,” I said, winking. “Last time you made chai, I had to drink it with a spoon—too much sugar!”

My wife giggled. “He’s right, Neha. You’re sweet, but that chai was sweeter!”

Neha fake-pouted. “Fine, no more chai for you all!”

I caught her eye across the room—she was in a blue kurta, fair skin glowing, looking so pretty. She smiled slightly, then looked away. I kept staring.

After a bit, she stood up. “I’ll get more chai,” she said, heading to the kitchen. I waited a second, then said, “Oh, I’ll grab some plates,” and followed her.

In the kitchen, she was pouring chai into cups. I came up behind her, close but not too much, and rubbed her waist light over her kurta—soft, warm through the fabric. “Looking pretty,” I said low, grinning.

She froze, then turned her head, blushing hard. “Sohail,” she whispered, smiling shyly. “Stop it.” But her eyes sparkled, and she didn’t push me away.

I laughed softly, pulled my hand back, and grabbed the plates. “Just saying,” I said, winking. Then I walked back out, heart beating fast, her smile stuck in my head.

A week later, we were going to a wedding. My wife, Neha, and I got there, all dressed up. I wore a kurta, looking good, but Neha—oh man, she was fire. She had on a red lehenga, shiny and tight, on her small, curvy body.

Her choli hugged her boobs with a low neck showing her white skin. The dupatta hung loose, and her waist peeked out, smooth, fair, with that perfect navel teasing me. She was too hot, like a dream.

My wife smiled at Neha. “Wow, Neha, you look so nice! Sohail, say something!”

I grinned, staring. “Neha, you’re too pretty. This lehenga—it’s killing me.”

She blushed, fixing her dupatta. “Stop it, both of you. It’s just clothes.”

“No,” I said, stepping close. “You shine. Your husband’s so lucky tonight.”

My wife nodded softly. “Yes, he should see you soon. You look good.”

Neha smiled shyly, hitting my arm. “Sohail, behave! And you,” she said to my wife, “don’t tease me too!”

We all laughed, but my eyes stayed on her. Her husband was still coming from the office. Then Neha touched her choli, frowning. “Oh no, I forgot my earrings at home. And this dress—it’s itchy.” She looked at my wife. “Can Sohail drive me back to get them? I need help.”

My wife paused, then nodded. “Okay, go quickly. Don’t be late.”

I smirked. “Come on, pretty girl.” Neha rolled her eyes but smiled.

We took my car, her lehenga shining next to me. Driving, I teased. “You look like the bride. I’d marry you right now.”

She laughed, pushing my arm. “Sohail, stop! You’re silly.”

“Silly?” I said, grinning. “You’re too hot. That choli—I can’t think straight.”

She turned red. “Drive, don’t talk!”

We got to her house, and she ran inside. “Wait here,” she said, going to her room. Then she called, “Sohail, come!”

I walked in—oh God, she stood there, choli off, bra unhooked, holding it up. Her back was bare, smooth like silk, glowing white. Her curves were perfect—small waist flaring out, soft skin begging to be touched.

Readers, imagine this: her body’s a dream, fair and creamy, every inch so hot it burns your eyes. “Neha,” I said softly, “you’re so beautiful. Don’t be shy—I’m here to help.”

She blushed, looking back. “Sohail, hook it, please.”

I stepped close, hands slow, touching her bra straps. “Relax,” I said, sliding one strap up and then down, playing a little. “This back—so smooth, so nice.” I kissed her back gently, lips warm on her skin. She shivered, breathing fast, but didn’t stop me.

I kissed again, higher, near her shoulder—soft, slow, tasting her. “You’re perfect,” I said, lips brushing her.

She sighed softly, head tilting a bit. I kept kissing her shoulder now, hot and wet, feeling her shake. “Turn around,” I said, voice low. “Let me see you.”

She turned slowly, her eyes big, and her bra slipped. Her boobs peeked out—round, full, so soft they bounced a little. I looked at her face—big eyes, red cheeks, lips so sweet. “Neha,” I said, romantic, “your face is my sky—too pretty, too mine.”

I kissed her forehead slowly, then her nose, then her cheeks—warm, soft. She closed her eyes, breathing hard. I moved to her neck—kissing deep, sucking slow, tongue sliding down. She moaned a little, so quietly. Then her collarbone—lips hot, tasting her skin.

I kissed her boobs—first one, then the other, slow and long. They were warm, soft like pillows, creamy white with dark tips peeking out. I kissed the tops, sucking light, feeling them move under my lips—round, heavy, so perfect. She grabbed my hair, holding it tight.

I knelt, lips on her stomach—smooth, flat, so fair. I kissed it slowly, then licked her navel—deep, wet, circling inside. She moaned louder, hands caressing my hair, pulling me close. Her body shook, hot and tempted.

“Sohail,” she said weakly, “stop, friends, we can’t cross.”

I stopped fast, looking up. “Your wish is my command,” I said softly, smiling. “You say stop, I stop.”

She panted, holding her bra, eyes confused. I stood, still close. “Neha, we’re friends, yeah? Like last time, you pushed me, and I stopped. Trust me. Just one hug, like before?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Please,” I said softly. “Just a hug. You’re too special.”

She looked at me, then nodded slowly. “Yes.”

I grinned. “Take my t-shirt off—like a friend.” She smiled slightly, hands on my shirt, pulling it up slowly, no fight. My chest felt fit, hard, and my heart was pumping fast. She stared, blushing.

I stepped in and hugged her tight—her bra was still on but loose. She hugged back, hands on my back, caressing slowly, fingers digging in. Her hair brushed my face, and she rubbed my head, soft and close. I kissed her neck again—slow, wet, sucking hard. “You feel so good,” I said, lips on her skin. “So warm.”

She moaned quietly, pressing closer. “Sohail, your chest is so hard,” she said, hands sliding up.

“Yeah?” I said, grinning. “You like it? Feel me more.” I kissed her shoulder, hot and deep.

“Mmm,” she moaned, fingers tight on my back. “Too close, too nice.”

“You’re so soft,” I said, hands on her waist. “This body—I can’t stop touching.”

She sighed, hot. “Sohail, you’re too warm, too good.”

I slid my hands up her back, slow and hot. “Neha, this bra—it’s too much, yeah?” She moaned softly, nodding a little. “Take it off?” I asked, my voice low.

“Yes,” she said, shaky and lost in me. I unhooked it slowly, pulling it down and talking softly. “Let me feel you,” I said, “so perfect.” Her bra fell, and her boobs hit my chest—bare, warm, so soft and full. I groaned, grabbing her tight, round, heavy nipples hard against me, pressing in.

“Oh God, Neha,” I said, voice rough, “these boobs—they’re everything. So good.”

She moaned louder, “Sohail, mmm,” hands all over me, rubbing my back hard. “You’re so strong, so hot,” she said, pressing tighter.

My dick got hard, pushing against her through my pants. She felt it, her body close, moaning softly. “Neha,” I said, kissing her neck wildly, “you feel that? You do this to me.”

She gasped, “Sohail, oh,” her hands slid down, and she felt me shake.

Then my phone rang—my wife. Neha jumped, pulling back fast. “Oh no!” She grabbed her bra quickly, covering up. I couldn’t see her boobs again. “Put this, now!” she said strictly.

I hooked it fast, feeling her shake. “Done,” I said, laughing. She coughed loudly, eyes flicking down to my hardness, then away quickly. “Oops,” I said, grinning. “Guess you felt that too!”

She blushed hard, fixing her lehenga and smiling a little. “Sohail! You’re awful!”

“Awful?” I said, winking. “You hugged me like that! Bet I can walk funny at the wedding now.”

She laughed, red-faced, shaking her head. “Shut up! Let’s go, you madman.”

We got back to the wedding, still laughing about the car. The place was loud—music, people dancing—but I couldn’t stop looking at Neha. Her red lehenga glowed under the lights, her skin so fair, her boobs still perfect in that choli. She caught me staring, blushed, and looked away.

Later, we ended up at the food table, a bit away from the crowd. I leaned close, grinning. “That hug, Neha, still feeling you on me.”

She turned red, smiling slightly. “Sohail, stop! It was just a moment.”

“Yeah?” I said, voice low. “A good one. You liked it, didn’t you?”She paused, then said softly, “Maybe a little. But we’re friends.”

“Best friends,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re too pretty tonight—I can’t help it.” I brushed her hair back slowly, fingers touching her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft, and she didn’t move away. “Feel that?” I asked, my eyes on hers.

She breathed fast, nodding a little. “Sohail, don’t.”

“Just this,” I said, taking her hand and holding it lightly. “You’re my favourite secret.” She smiled shyly, squeezing my hand back for a second before letting go.

“Friends,” she said again, but her eyes were soft, not mad.

“Always,” I said, winking. “But I’ll dream about that hug.”

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “You’re trouble.”

A few days after the wedding, I went to Neha’s house to meet her husband. We sat in the living room, talking business, some plan about his work. Neha was there, too, listening quietly. Looking pretty in a long black robe, loose and full, but I knew something soft was under it.

Her fair skin peeked out at her neck, her hair down, making me stare.

Then his laptop rang—an office call. He sighed. “Sorry, Sohail, I need to take this. Important.” He grabbed it and stood up.

I nodded. “No problem. Finish it. I’ll be with Neha till then.”

He gave a thumbs-up, smiling, and walked to the balcony, already talking. I got up, heart beating fast, and went to her bedroom. She was there, lying on the bed, legs stretched out, watching reels on her phone.

Her robe was open a bit—under it, a sleeveless nightie, thin and tight, hugging her boobs, showing their shape—round, full, so hot. Her arms were bare, her fair skin glowing, and the robe was hiding just enough to tease me wild.

Readers, picture this: her body’s a secret fire, curves soft and smooth, pulling you in.

I sat on the bed, slowly, and touched her foot—warm, small, so soft. “Hey,” I said, grinning, dragging my hand up her leg, over the robe, feeling her heat, stopping at her thigh. “What are you doing?”

She jumped, eyes wide, then smiled shakily. “Sohail! Just reels. What are you doing here?”

I slid my hand higher, pushing the robe open a bit, fingers on her nightie now, thin, clinging to her skin. “Came to see you,” I said, voice low, rubbing her thigh slowly. “You look too good like this.”

She breathed fast, voice trembling. “Sohail, he’s right outside!”

“I know,” I said, grinning, leaning closer. “Makes it fun.” I stood, moved to her wardrobe by the bed, and opened it slowly—her clothes inside, all soft and hers. I turned back, hand sliding under the robe’s edge, touching her bare waist—smooth, warm, so fair it burned me.

“This skin,” I said, fingers trailing up, “so soft, Neha. Too much.”

She gasped, sitting up a bit. “Sohail, stop, he’ll hear us!”

“He won’t,” I whispered, hand moving higher, brushing the side of her nightie, feeling her curve under her boob. “You’re shaking—scared or liking it?” My fingers slid up, grazing her boob over the fabric—round, warm, so full. I pressed the light, feeling it move.

She moaned softly, voice shaky. “Sohail, don’t, it’s too much!”

“Too much?” I said, hand staying there, thumb rubbing slowly over her nightie, feeling her nipple harden under it. “You’re too perfect—can’t stop.” I leaned in, my other hand on her neck, pulling her close, my breath on her face. Her boobs pressed the nightie tight, begging me to touch more.

She panted, eyes big with fear and heat. “Sohail, please, he’s so close we can’t!”

“Just this,” I said, hand sliding higher, cupping her boob full now—soft, heavy, so hot through the thin cloth. “Feel me?” I squeezed light, feeling her shake harder. “You’re my secret, Neha.”

She moaned again, loud enough to scare her, then whispered fast, “Sohail, it feels good, but no, he’ll come in!”

I grinned, hand still on her boob, pressing slowly. “Let him talk. I’ve got you.” I slid my other hand down her back, pulling her closer, her chest almost on mine.

“This nightie,” I said, voice rough, “shows everything—your boobs, so round, so mine right now.” I squeezed again, thumb circling her nipple, feeling it poke through.

She groaned, shaky, hands grabbing my arms. “Sohail, oh God, it’s too good, but stop, please!”

“Stop?” I said, soft, kissing her neck quickly—hot, wet, tasting her. “You sure? You’re burning me up.”

“Yes,” she said, voice weak but firm, pushing my hands off. “Friends, we’re friends. He’s there!”

I pulled back slowly, smiling. “Okay, friends. You say stop. I stop—always.” I sat back, hands up, heart still racing. “You’re too hard to resist, though.”

She panted, fixing her robe quickly, her face red. “You’re dangerous. Too dangerous.”

“Only with you,” I said, winking. “He’s lucky he’s got you—and not me.”

She laughed softly, nervously, glancing at the door. “Go back before he finishes.”

I stood, grinning. “Fine. But I’ll dream about this—your skin, that moan.”

She shook her head, smiling slightly. “Sohail, go! You’re too much.”

“Always,” I said, walking out, still feeling her boob in my hand, her voice in my ears.

A few days later, we were working from home at her place. Her husband was gone. We were just in the living room, laptops open, but we were laughing more than working. Our legs rubbed under the table, slow and warm, like new lovers testing the water.

I grinned, nudging her foot. “You’re making it hard to focus, Neha.”

She smiled, pushing back the light. “You’re the one playing, Sohail.”

I leaned in, voice soft. “Wear that black saree today? You look amazing in it.”

She blushed, then nodded. “Okay for you.” She came back in it—black, thin, flowing over her body. The blouse showed her cleavage a little—boobs round and tempting, peeking out. Her waist was nude—smooth, fair, navel deep and gorgeous. She didn’t cover much, pallu loose, teasing my eyes.

We kept working, brushing our legs and laughing softly. Then the rain hit hard, pounding the windows. I looked out, then at her, smiling. “Let’s go get wet.”

She shook her head, serious. “No, Sohail, I’ve got work.”

I stood, taking her hand. “Come on, just a minute.” She pulled back, unsure. “You’re crazy,” she said, but I tugged gently, teasing, “Live a little with me.” She sighed, half-smiling, letting me lead her to the roof. Her house was hidden—no one could see us.

Rain soaked us slowly at first, then fast. She gasped, “Sohail!” then laughed shyly, stepping back. Her saree stuck to her—blouse tight on her boobs, petticoat hugging her hips, water dripping down her fair skin. She looked stunning—curves soft, waist nude and glowing, navel shining.

“Neha,” I said, staring, “you’re so beautiful, wet—look at you.”

She blushed, crossing her arms. “Don’t look like that,” she smiled, stepping closer, rain dripping off her.

I held out my hand. “Dance with me?” She hesitated, then took it, unsure. My hand went to her nude waist—soft, warm under the wet saree, her gorgeous curves melting me. She put her hand on my shoulder, and we swayed slowly, rain falling. “This is nice,” she said, voice shaky, eyes on mine.

“More than nice,” I said, pulling her closer, my wet shirt brushing her. “You’re too good to look at—those boobs, that nude waist, damn.” She blushed deeper, not moving away.

I slid my hand to her pallu, slowly. “Let me see more,” I said, tugging gently. She gasped, “Sohail,” but didn’t stop me. She stepped back, and the saree unrolled—falling in my hand. She stood there, blouse and petticoat, soaked, boobs pushing out, nude waist gleaming.

“Neha,” I said, voice low, “this nude waist—so sexy, these gorgeous curves and that navel, so deep, so damn hot.” I stepped close, hugging her soft, my chest to her wet blouse.

She whispered, “Sohail, you’re too much,” hands on my arms, unsure but warm.

I held her face, looking deep. “Can’t hold back,” I said, kissing her lips—slow at first, then hard, wet, tongues touching. She moaned softly, kissing back reluctantly, hands gripping my shirt. “Sohail,” she mumbled, “you’re so nice.”

“Neha,” I said, pulling back, “should I take this blouse off?” My hands went to the hooks, brushing them.

She shook her head fast. “No, we can’t!” But when my fingers undid one hook, then two, she didn’t stop me; she just breathed hard, eyes confused. I dropped it, her bra showing—black, tight, boobs full. “This nude waist,” I said, tracing her skin, “so smooth, these curves—so fucking gorgeous.”

I knelt, kissing her navel, warm, wet from the rain. I sucked it slowly, licking deep, rainwater pooling in it, sticking my finger in, swirling softly. She moaned, hands in my hair, shaky.

I rubbed her boobs over her bra—soft, round—while sucking harder, tasting her navel, sucking rain off it. “This navel,” I said, lips on it, “so hot, Neha so tasty.” She gasped, moaning louder, “Sohail, oh.”

I stood, hands on her bra, struggling to unhook it. “Let me see you,” I said, tugging. She grabbed my hands, “No, please,” her voice soft but firm. I nodded, “Okay, okay,” kissing her neck instead.

I laid her down slowly on the wet floor, kissing her body—shoulders, chest over the bra, stomach, sucking her navel again, licking rain off it. She moaned, “Sohail, so good.”

To my readers: If anyone wants to have fun, chat, or meet up to talk about anything in and around Dubai, I’m available anytime at [email protected].