Busty Mandy is ordered back to the care home.
I feel myself getting hard when I think of how it would make you feel...
She talks to me like I am a newcomer to your lives; an outsider. I suppose I am. I wonder if you've told her my story; not the kind of story you tell to demonstrate your intimacy with someone, but the kind you tell sparingly, desperately. I still have no idea why you were the first one I told.
Ugh, where the hell are you? You were supposed to meet me twenty minutes ago.
Maybe she does know my story; or she understands what you mean to me somehow. She rests her hand on my knee as if it's normal for her to do so and asks if I want to see the rest of your place. I follow her euphemism with curiosity. Before I can even see the kitchen, I'm in your bed and my tongue is in her mouth.
Her hunger makes me wonder when you last kissed her like this. She reaches through me, as if she could touch you there. I don't need to wonder anymore about what you've shared with her, having been married to her all these years. She knows how strongly I feel about you, and how I need you. And she's using it to her advantage.
I go down on her with forceful reverence. Her body is melting in my arms and my mouth as she reaches up for my fingers. I hold out to increase the heat in her. Her moans are so soft, like she is afraid she will frighten me away. When I finally reach up inside her, her throat opens with long cries of pleasure that bring tears to the corners of my eyes. We don't even hear you come into the house, let alone the room.
She notices you first and gasps, wiggling away from me. I instinctively feel your presence behind me; I recognize the subtle sounds of your body by ear. I turn to you. The color has drained from your face and your eyes blink long and slow. I feel a pang of regret; I didn't mean to throw your heart onto the ground.
I leap up toward you, forgetting that I'm naked from the waist down. I embrace you, kissing your neck as an apology and an invitation. At first you don't move at all. I can tell from your eyes you've gone to that mental space where you try to think about something so hard in order to avoid feeling it. I imagine your brain oscillating between wanting to fuck me and wanting to kill me.
Your face is wet, but I can't tell if the droplets are sweat or tears. I taste you, as if I could consume your fears and uncertainty. When she comes to you, you begin to relax. She kisses you the way she was kissing me, but now less hungry, more assertive. I feel a twinge of jealousy when I see you kiss her back.
I should just find my jeans and get the fuck out of here, let you two be, let you work it out, get out of your way. I move to get dressed when you interrupt me with a gruff imperative: "come back here." I freeze. The grain of your voice... The blossoming ache of longing in my pelvis...
She kisses me again deeply in front of you. I think you might hit me. She is so soft and open. Part of me wishes you were not here at all so I could revel in her body and imagine your jealousy at a safe remove.
You grab my arm firmly and push me hard enough that I stumble backward. "What do you want?" you ask me, your eyes now alive and electric. I've been contorting myself, trying to anticipate you, sparing with you, and I'm exhausted by it. So I crossed the line, put my stake in the ground, put my body in your bed, and took your wife in my arms. I refuse to equivocate or apologize:
"I want to make your wife happier than you can. I want to feel her softness in my mouth and feel her open around my fingers. I want to make her tremble and scream..."
You slap me across the face. My cheek grows hot and full of energy that is in the shape of your hand. You still have your boots on and you are standing close, stepping lightly, consciously, on my bare toes. I feel your breath. I want you more than anything right now, but I will not give you the satisfaction of hearing me say it out loud.
She gasps in surprise at your aggression, attempting to calm you by touching your