The Sister-In-Law Season 2 Episode 4 – The New Rules

The text from Rita was a single, desperate word. Now.

Daniel didn’t hesitate. He told Sheila he was going for a drive to clear his head, a lie she accepted with a knowing, proprietary smile that made his skin crawl. She thought she had him cornered, marked. She had no idea the game he was playing.

The rendezvous point was a rundown motel off the interstate, the kind of place that rented rooms by the hour and didn't ask questions. The air inside smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap disinfectant. When Rita knocked on the door of room 117, he opened it and pulled her inside before the latch had even fully clicked.

She was on him instantly, her mouth frantic against his, her hands clawing at his shirt. It wasn't passion; it was a frantic attempt to erase the image of him with Sheila, to reclaim the territory she felt slipping away.

“Did you fuck her?” she panted against his neck, her teeth scraping his skin.

Daniel grabbed her wrists, stilling her. He held them behind her back with one hand, using his other to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “That’s the wrong question,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “The question is, who am I thinking about when I do?”

He saw the fear and the lust warring in her eyes. He pushed her back until her legs hit the edge of the stiff, patterned bedspread. With a sharp tug, he ripped her blouse open, sending buttons skittering across the cheap linoleum. He didn’t bother with the bra clasp; he just pulled the cups down, exposing her breasts to the cool, musty air. He bent his head, not to kiss her, but to bite the soft flesh just above her nipple, hard enough to make her cry out. A brand.

“This is mine,” he growled, his voice a low rumble against her skin.

He shoved her down onto the bed, yanking her skirt and panties down in one rough motion. He didn’t undress himself. He just freed his cock, thick and heavy in his hand, and knelt between her legs. He looked down at her, spread out and trembling, a feast of jealousy and need.

He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t prepare her. He guided the head of his cock to her entrance, already slick with a terrifying mix of fear and arousal, and pushed inside in one long, relentless stroke. Her back arched off the bed, a guttural moan tearing from her throat as he stretched her, filled her completely.

He set a brutal, punishing rhythm. Each thrust was a statement, a claim. He hooked his arms under her knees, pushing them up toward her chest, folding her in half, changing the angle so he could drive deeper, grinding against that spot inside her that made her vision blur. It wasn't about her pleasure; it was about his possession. He wanted to feel every inch of her, to leave no part of her untouched, unclaimed by him.

“Tell me,” he grunted, his breath hot in her ear as he hovered over her, his weight pinning her. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You!” she sobbed, her hands fisting in the scratchy bedspread. “Daniel, only you!”

He rewarded her by reaching between them, his thumb finding her clit. He didn’t circle it gently. He pressed down hard, rubbing in time with his savage thrusts. The dual sensation was too much. Her body seized, a violent, shattering orgasm ripping through her, leaving her a gasping, trembling mess beneath him.

He didn’t stop. He rode her through it, his own release building, a tight coil in his spine. When it came, it was with a low, guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he poured himself into her, a final, undeniable mark.

For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. He stayed inside her, looking down at her flushed, tear-streaked face. He had his answer. He had his control. He slowly pulled out, watching a trickle of his release follow, a visual confirmation of his ownership.

He stood and tucked himself back into his pants, leaving her sprawled and exposed on the bed. He walked over to the small sink and splashed water on his face.

When he looked at her reflection in the mirror, she was sitting up, pulling her ruined blouse around herself. The desperation was gone, replaced by a dawning, chilling understanding.

“The rules have changed, Rita,” he said, his voice cold and clear, meeting her eyes in the glass. “You don’t get to be scared anymore. You just get to be mine. When I want. Where I want. That’s the only rule that matters now.”

He left her there, a tangle of limbs and raw emotion, and drove home. The anger had cooled, replaced by a quiet, simmering satisfaction. He walked back into the house, the scent of his betrayal clinging to him like a second skin.

Sheila was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad. She looked up, and her smile was pure, unadulterated victory. “Feel better?” she asked, her voice dripping with the condescending sweetness of a woman who believes she’s won.

“Much,” Daniel said, his voice even. He walked up behind her, pressing his body against hers, trapping her against the counter. He felt her stiffen, then relax, melting into the embrace she thought was an apology. He lowered his head, his lips brushing her neck.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he whispered, his hands sliding around her waist, one moving up to cup a breast through her thin shirt. “I was a fool. You’re all I want.”

She let out a soft sigh, tilting her head to give him better access. He could feel her heart beating, a steady, trusting rhythm against his chest. He kissed her neck, then her jaw, turning her face to him. The kiss he gave her was deep and searching, a perfect imitation of a man lost in love. He poured all the lies he could into it, letting her taste the forgiveness she so desperately craved.

His hand left her breast and drifted down, over the flat plane of her stomach, to the waistband of her leggings. He slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, finding her already warm. He stroked her slowly, deliberately, feeling her respond, her body arching against his hand. He wasn’t doing this for her. He was doing this to feel the power of it—to be pleasuring his wife with the same hand that had just claimed her sister.

He turned her around, lifting her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. He pushed her skirt up, pulling her leggings down just enough. He didn’t undress. He just unzipped his jeans and entered her. It was a slow, deliberate act, a stark contrast to the frantic coupling with Rita. He watched her face as he moved inside her, her eyes closed, her lips parted in bliss. She was moaning his name, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.

She was reclaiming her husband. And he was letting her, using her body to wash away the scent of her sister, using her trust to cement his own control. When he came, it was with a quiet, controlled shudder, his face buried in her hair. He held her for a moment afterward, her body soft and pliant against his.

“I love you,” she breathed, her voice full of relief.

He kissed her forehead. “I know.”

Later that night, long after Sheila had fallen into a peaceful, sated sleep beside him, Daniel’s phone lit up with a silent notification. He carefully slid out of bed, not wanting to disturb his wife, and walked into the hallway.

It was a video message from Rita. He pressed play.

The screen showed her, sitting in her car, the dim interior light illuminating her face. She looked wrecked, but there was a new fire in her eyes. She didn’t speak. She simply raised her phone, angling the camera down. She was naked from the waist down, her legs spread. With one hand, she spread her folds, showing him his release still leaking from her. Then, with her other hand, she began to touch herself, her fingers sliding through the mess he’d made, circling her clit. She stared directly into the camera, her expression a mixture of defiance and submission. The video was only fifteen seconds long, but it was a response, a counter-move in the silent war they had declared.

Daniel deleted the video, a slow smile forming on his lips. The rules had been set. And now, it seemed, both women were ready to play.

The game is officially on, with both sides making their moves. But when the players are this volatile, who will be the first to make a fatal mistake?