The door clicked shut, and the house fell silent; the faint scent of Emily’s perfume lingered in the air.

After what felt like an eternity, Ryan reached across the table. He closed the laptop and exhaled. He forced himself off the couch, trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy. It didn’t work. 

The shirt she’d used to wipe herself clean lay crumpled on the floor, cum stains already evident on the dark cotton. 

Not far away, her panties lay forgotten. He reached to pick them up. The fabric was cool and delicate against his fingers. The moment he touched it, his stomach flipped as shame and arousal collided.

What had he just done?

His mind tried to make a case for his actions. They hadn’t fucked. They hadn’t even kissed. But that didn’t change what she’d said, soft and wicked. “Cum for me. Cum on me, Ryan. Cover me.” It didn’t change the fact he’d obeyed. 

He pressed the lace into his palm. He hated how badly he wanted her to walk back in. He could see it too clearly: the sundress sliding off her shoulders again, his hands at her waist, the first kiss that would end whatever thin, artificial boundary they had pretended existed. He wanted to lift her in his arms, carry her down the hallway, and throw her on the bed he shared with Sarah. He wanted the filthy, impossible things he never dared to ask Sarah for, things that he was certain Emily would be open to. 

That thought hit like a punch. It wasn’t just about what had happened. It was about him wanting more. Wanting more is what really scared him.

His phone buzzed, making him flinch.

Emily: “Oops. Left something behind. Consider it a souvenir.”

Then more dots appeared.

And vanished.

Appeared again.

And vanished.

More dots.

And then nothing.

He waited for the next text. An invitation to take this a step forward. An apology. A threat. A joke. Anything.

Nothing.

The room suddenly felt colder. His chest was tight. He finally moved, because not moving felt like drowning. He put the shirt into the laundry, the act meaningless and earnest at the same time. He deleted the text because it felt like the right thing to do. Then he washed his hands. And then he washed them again. 

*****

By Sunday evening, the house smelled like citrus, lavender, and laundry detergent. Ryan washed the couch cushions. He vacuumed places that didn’t need it. He even scrubbed the coffee table as if the wood could remember. The living room looked the way it always did, which somehow made it worse.

When Sarah walked through the door, she hugged him. He held on too long, burying his face against her neck and breathing her in hard enough to make her laugh.

“Miss me?” she asked, smiling.

He swallowed, forcing a smile. “You have no idea.” As he said the words, his stomach twisted. What if she saw through him?

The rest of the evening was uneventful. They made dinner. She told him about the dog at one of the vineyards who insisted on carrying his own leash, the yoga instructor who said the word pelvis so many times it stopped sounding like English, and the friend who burst into tears in a tasting room for reasons nobody understood, even now. He listened. He nodded in the right places. When she leaned in to show him a photo, her hair fell forward and brushed his arm. 

Everything felt familiar, almost normal. 

Later that night, lying in bed next to Sarah, he stared into the darkness and pondered the different ways this could end. He drifted for a few hours, only to wake up covered in sweat, his jaw tight and his hands clenched. 

If Emily ever said a word, it wouldn’t just be the marriage that fractured, it would be the end of the man he’d spent years becoming. The dependable husband. The steady friend. The safe choice. He could already picture Sarah’s face if the truth came out. Angry. Completely gutted. Everything they’d built - the home, the quiet rituals, the certainty - would dissolve into something jagged and unrecognizable. And the worst part was knowing he’d handed Emily the match to burn it all down.

The next few days pulled him back into a sense of normalcy: Morning coffee, commuter traffic, emails about timelines and budgets, texts from Sarah about dinner and whether they needed more olive oil. He did his job. He existed inside habits they had built together. And for stretches of time, he almost believed everything was going to be okay. Almost.

*****

On Wednesday afternoon, Ryan left work a little earlier than normal. He stepped through the back door and froze. Emily sat at the kitchen island with her back to him, glass of wine in hand, telling a story with her whole body. Sarah leaned toward her, laughing in that unguarded way Ryan loved, her hand resting on the stem of her glass, her wedding ring shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight.

For a heartbeat, the scene was so perfectly ordinary. Then Emily turned, like she could sense him before he made a sound. Her gaze found his and the corner of her mouth curved into a small, private, devastating grin that said everything she wasn’t going to say out loud. No regret. Just a quiet claim on a secret they now shared.

As she shifted in her chair, the faint trace of her perfume drifted across the room. Suddenly, it hit him, everything that happened the other night, right here, all at once. His stomach tightened.

Emily turned back to Sarah, picking up the thread of conversation without so much as a ripple.

Sarah turned toward him, easy and bright. “Hey, you’re home early. We opened a bottle of Cab. Em brought it over. You want a glass?”

“Sure”. His voice sounded normal. He wondered how long that would last.

Emily’s presence was almost unbearable. Every tilt of her head, every casual sip, every idle pass of her thumb along the rim of her glass threatened to pull him over the edge.

His heart was pounding in his chest. He walked to the sink to wash his hands, because doing nothing might make his discomfort obvious. The water ran cold and clean over his fingers. He let the water run longer than necessary. He shut it off, turned around, and reached for a towel to dry his hands.

“Long day?” Sarah asked, grabbing a third glass and pouring for him.

“Yeah,” he answered, steadying his grip on the stem before taking a drink.

He stood at the island with them, talking about nothing, nodding when appropriate. He looked at Sarah and felt tenderness. He looked at Emily and felt the room tilt, as if the floor was sloped.

When Emily reached for the bottle to top off Sarah’s glass, her wrist brushed his. It could have been an accident. But it felt like an electric shock.

Ryan swirled the wine in his glass. He drank. He smiled when he had to. He felt the new shape of his life settling around him. A problem without a clean solution. 

The sun slid lower. The room grew softer. Eventually, Emily stood to leave. She hugged Sarah first. Warm, long, easy. Then she turned to him and stepped close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her. She wrapped her arms around him. The hug appeared friendly and ordinary. For a brief moment, her lips were near his ear. “See you soon,” she whispered, light as air.

She pulled back. The smile she offered seemed harmless. Only he recognized the devious flicker at the corner of her mouth as she turned and left.

After the door closed, Sarah turned to him with a grin. “I am so lucky. God, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responded. And he really meant it. 

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed.

Emily: “Forgot to tell you. Laptop’s dead. Help me? Pretty please?”

Short. Casual. Unassuming.

Sarah looked down at his phone and chuckled. “Of course she forgot to ask you when she was here.” 

He had played tech support for several of her friends before, so Sarah had no reason to read into the message. For Ryan, the request carried a weight that had nothing to do with electronics. While he tried to convince himself it was just ‘tech support’, he couldn’t quite push away the likelihood that Emily had something else in mind. That possibility both excited and terrified him.

He was about to come up with an excuse to not help when Sarah said, “I need to pack tomorrow and I am flying out to visit my parents on Friday. I want you all to myself tonight. I’m thinking takeout, another bottle of wine, maybe a movie. Tell her you’ll come over tomorrow after work.”

Ryan took a deep breath and responded to the text, letting Emily know that he’d swing by her house tomorrow.

*****

Ryan’s hands were shaking as he pulled into Emily’s driveway. He took a deep breath as he approached her front door and knocked.She opened the door and he saw her, tight leggings clinging to her hips, sports bra damp with sweat, her ponytail bouncing lazily. “I just got back from a run,” she said, smiling. “Laptop is in the kitchen. I’m gonna hop in the shower while you work your magic.”

Ryan nodded, swallowed hard, and tried to keep his eyes off her ass as she disappeared down the hall.

The laptop’s power cable was loose. Easy fix. Once he confirmed the laptop was charging, he decided that he should run some diagnostics to make sure everything else was working properly. But then came the problem. He needed her password to log in. 

“Emily?” he called out.

No answer.

“Emily?” he called again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

He started navigating the house in search of her. Then he heard it, the sound of running water. A soft, rhythmic splash. He hesitated, staring at the bathroom door, half-open, inviting, steam curling from within.

Ryan took a deep breath as he approached, pausing for a moment and then pushing the door open wider. "Emily, I just need your password…" His words died in his throat.

Through the frosted glass of the shower, he could see her silhouette, blurred but unmistakable. One hand pressed against the tile for balance. The other between her thighs, moving in slow, sinful circles. Her head was thrown back. Her mouth parted. Touching herself. Deliberately. Desperately.

Ryan froze, every rational thought shriveling into ash.

He should have turned away.

But then, as if she felt his gaze, Emily turned her head. She opened her eyes and looked directly at him through the steam. And she smiled. A slow, knowing smile that said: I wanted you to see.

Holding his gaze, she reached for the faucet, turned off the water, and stepped confidently out of the shower. She didn’t grab a towel. She didn’t cover herself. Water clung to every inch of her flushed, gleaming skin, droplets trailing down her sensual curves.

Ryan’s body reacted before his brain could catch up, as he felt his cock come alive.

Emily padded past him, bare, dripping, glistening. She disappeared around the corner and into the bedroom. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.

Ryan stood frozen in the hallway. He could walk away. He could grab his keys, drive home, and pretend this was a line he hadn’t already crossed. But his feet didn’t move. 

This is the point of no return, he thought. And then he stepped forward and followed like he wasn’t in control of his own legs.

At the nightstand, Emily paused. She opened the drawer and pulled something out.

Ryan stopped and leaned against the edge of the bed. He was conflicted. He knew this was wrong. Yet, he was curious. 

Emily continued across the room and sat in the overstuffed chair near the window, damp blonde hair tumbling just over her bare shoulders. She was utterly, gloriously nude, her body still glistening from the hot shower, her legs parted with a lazy, deliberate grace.

And in her hand, gleaming under the low afternoon light, was a toy: glass, crystal clear, and slightly curved.

Emily trailed the toy lazily along her stomach, up over the curve of one breast, back down across her tight stomach, over her neatly trimmed pubic hair, and down between her thighs, drawing a path across her flushed skin in the process.

Without a word, she guided the cool glass toy along her already slick folds, a trembling sigh escaping her lips. Her fingers moved with languid precision, circling her clit once, twice, each touch drawing a shudder from her body. Her gaze never wavered from his. 

Slowly, she tilted the toy lower, teasing her entrance with the tip, savoring the moment. A sharp breath caught in her throat as she pressed it inside, inch by inch. Her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more, her back arching as she adjusted to the stretch. She then started slowly fucking herself.

Ryan couldn’t move. He couldn't breathe.

After what felt like an eternity, Emily withdrew the toy and looked up at him, smiling like she owned him. She brought it to her mouth, her tongue flicking along the slick length in one slow, deliberate sweep, savoring her taste before meeting his eyes. 

“Come here,” she said softly, her voice a blend of command and plea.

He should have been thinking about Sarah. He should have acknowledged the guilt pressing heavily on his chest. But all of that was drowned out by the pull of the woman in front of him, the way she looked at him, the way every inhale seemed to draw him in deeper.

Emily tilted her head slightly, studying him. Not just his body, but the battle flickering behind his eyes. She saw it. She felt it too.

A soft, knowing smile curved her lips, but it wasn’t smug. It was almost tender.

“I can see you fighting it,” she observed. “We both know exactly what this is. And we both know it’s wrong. She’s my best friend. And yet I’m sitting here in front of you, naked, willing to cross another line I can’t uncross.”

Her words were coming slower now, heavier. “But that night… When we didn’t fuck? That was one of the most intense sexual experiences of my entire life. No one’s ever gotten under my skin like that. And I know I wasn’t the only one feeling it.”

She leaned toward him, voice dropping to a whisper. “If you walk out right now, I’ll understand. I swear, I will. And I will never say a word about the other night to anyone. I promise. But don’t stand there and pretend you don’t want this. I see it in your eyes. Hell, I think you want as much as I do…”

A beat passed, her gaze steady, unflinching. “…maybe even more.”

Emily drew a shaky breath, a glimmer of something dangerous and sincere crossing her face. “Sarah is my best friend,” she whispered. “But I’m here. I’m willing to risk everything to see where this goes.”

For a split second, Sarah’s face flashed in his mind. Her easy laugh, the way she always touched his shoulder when she passed behind him in the kitchen, the quiet trust in her eyes. It hit him like a bucket of ice water. And then it was gone. Swallowed whole by the heat of the woman in front of him.

Ryan took a deep breath and slowly crossed the short distance between them. 

When he reached her, Emily smiled and held the toy out. "Help me. Please.”

Ryan accepted it and knelt between her open legs, reverent, trembling, his hands steady even as his pulse hammered beneath his skin. He nervously brushed the toy along her lips, slicking it through the wet heat waiting for him. Emily’s breath hitched, her fingers digging into the upholstery of the chair.

Growing more confident, he eased the toy inside her with slow, deliberate pressure. Emily gasped, her hips lifting to meet it. He watched every twitch of her body, every flutter of her stomach, every tremor racing across her skin.

"More," she pleaded.

He moved the toy in slow, deep strokes, curling it slightly inside her, dragging soft, desperate whimpers from her throat. He adjusted his grip and thrust deeper, faster. Her moans grew louder, raw, her body arching with each push. She squeezed her breasts, pinched her nipples, chasing the tension rising inside her like a wave about to crash.

Emily’s head fell back against the chair, her body beginning to tremble. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Oh God, don’t you dare fucking stop!” 

She was shaking now. Her breath came in shallow, broken gasps, hips rocking against the rhythm Ryan built with every careful, deliberate thrust of the toy. Her hands gripped the fabric of the chair, knuckles white, body taut as a bowstring.

Ryan watched her unravel and knew without doubt that she was close. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

He let the toy slip from her body with a slick, sinful sound. He dropped the toy and leaned in.

Ryan cupped his hands under her toned ass, lifting and positioning her exactly where he wanted her. His tongue dragged in a long, deep stroke from her tight rim up to her clit, tasting her, moaning low against her heat. His tongue flicked teasing circles, light at first, then firmer and faster.

Emily cried out, her hands flying to his hair, tugging, anchoring him closer.

Ryan flattened his tongue and worked her with relentless focus, sucking, flicking, and pressing until Emily was a trembling, sobbing mess above him.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmured against her, his voice thick with reverence. Emily’s entire body jolted at the praise, her thighs clamping tighter around his head. He slipped two fingers inside her - deep, curling just right - and felt her whole body seize.

“Ryan… Don’t stop,” she gasped, voice cracking on the edge of breaking.

Ryan didn’t. He licked harder, thrust his fingers faster, chasing her moans as they rose higher, faster, sharper, until suddenly, she screamed.

Her climax ripped through her like a storm. She bucked wildly against his face, soaking his mouth, his chin, his clothes, and the chair beneath her in a wet, gushing rush of pleasure.

Ryan held her through it, drinking her in, letting her ride it out against his tongue, his fingers coaxing every last tremor from her body. When she finally collapsed back into the chair, gasping for air, trembling from aftershocks, Ryan pulled back, breathless and drenched.

Emily looked down at him, her cheeks flushed, lips parted in stunned awe. She let out a soft, broken laugh. "If it’s not obvious, I'm a squirter."

Her gaze swept over him, lingering on the soaked fabric clinging to his body. She tilted her head, smirking. "You’re a mess," she said. "There’s no way you can go home like that. You should probably get those clothes off. We can throw them in the wash."

Ryan arched an eyebrow, still catching his breath. "Offering laundry service now?"

Emily grinned. "Only for very special stains."

She disappeared briefly into the walk-in closet. “Hold on a sec, I’ll grab a robe”, she explained. When she returned, a folded robe draped over her arm, Ryan was already tugging his wet shirt over his head. She paused in the doorway, the robe immediately forgotten in her hand, heat flaring in her eyes as he stripped down with quiet, unhurried purpose.

After peeling off his wet shirt, he tossed it aside. His jeans and boxers followed, pooling at his feet. When he straightened, he stood completely naked before her, his face flushed, muscles taut, his cock thick and eager.

Emily’s eyes dropped instantly, a breathy laugh escaping her. She dragged her tongue across her bottom lip, slow and deliberate. "You’re definitely enjoying this," she teased.

Ryan smirked. "You make it impossible not to."

She dropped the robe and stepped toward him, fingers tracing his abs, then sliding lower, brushing against his rigid shaft with a featherlight touch.

"Good," she whispered. 

Without warning, Emily dropped to her knees. She leaned in and flicked her tongue across the head of his cock, tasting the bead of precum already forming. Ryan sucked in a sharp breath, muscles twitching under her touch.

Emily’s mouth wrapped around him, slow, wet, and deep. She set an agonizing rhythm, lips gliding down his length, hand stroking at the base to match the pace of her mouth. Her tongue teased along the underside of his shaft with every pull.

Ryan groaned low in his chest. "Fuck, Emily..."

She didn’t stop. Instead, she sank lower, taking him deeper until the thick head nudged the back of her mouth. The tight, warm pressure made his hips jerk, a raw sound tearing from his throat. He could feel the faint flutter of her swallow around him, her throat working to take more, and the sensation sent a sharp, electric pulse straight through his core.

“Oh my fucking god,” Ryan groaned, the words oozing out of him before he could catch them.

Emily paused, her lips still wrapped snugly around him, eyes flicking up to meet his.

Pulling back, she murmured, “You like that?” Her voice husky and edged with satisfaction, her breath hot against his skin.

Ryan managed a shaky nod.

She took him back in her mouth and moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight through his spine. Finding her rhythm, she began to fuck him with her mouth. She slid down the length of his cock in long, hungry pulls, then retreated just far enough to swirl her tongue over the tip before sinking down again, making sure she maintained eye contact the entire time. Each stroke was deeper and wetter, her lips sealing tight around him as her hand matched the pace, twisting slightly at the base. Ryan’s breath grew ragged, his hips twitching toward her in helpless response. 

When she finally pulled off with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva stretched between her lips and the flushed tip of his cock.

Emily caught her breath, wiping a strand of hair from her flushed face. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and heat as she processed the way he was responding.

“Wait a second. You’ve never been deepthroated?”

Ryan swallowed hard, the question hitting him like a spark to dry tinder. He shook his head slowly, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Emily let her fingers trail lightly along his shaft, eyes never leaving his. Then she dipped her head and took him back into her mouth, slow and sure, sinking until he hit the back of her throat. She didn’t stop. Instead, she pressed on, letting him slide deeper until the tight, wet heat surrounded him completely. Her throat contracted around him, a soft gag escaping as her eyes fluttered shut. She held him there until she felt his control fray at the edges.

When she finally pulled back with a gasp, her lips slick and glistening, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave him a hungry smile.

“You know, I could go down on you for hours,” she sighed, with a gleam in her eye. Instead of resuming, she instructed him to lie back, her voice now rough with need, her hand pushing him into the bed. 

Ryan let gravity pull him back. Before his body hit the mattress, Emily was crawling up over him, moving like a predator. Her skin glistened, her thighs damp with arousal. She straddled him with a slow roll of her hips, guiding him to her slick entrance. "Right now, I need you inside me," she growled.

She lowered herself onto him, taking only half his length at first, her breath uneven as her body stretched to accommodate him. Her thighs trembled faintly as she lingered there, adjusting, savoring the intrusion. Inch by inch, she sank deeper, the wet, molten heat of her body drawing him in until he was buried to the hilt. A soft, broken sound escaped her throat as her hips settled flush against his, the fullness making her shiver. Her nails dug into his chest, half for balance, half to anchor herself in the moment.

She paused there, eyes half-closed, as though memorizing the way he felt inside her, the pressure, the thickness, the way he throbbed in sync with her racing pulse. Then, with deliberate slowness, she began to move.

Her hips rolled in a slow, devastating rhythm. Every grind dragged his length against her most sensitive spots, forcing his hands to clamp hard around her waist just to ground himself. Wet, rhythmic slaps echoed between them, each one sharper as she picked up the pace.

Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling against his. Leaning forward until her lips brushed the shell of his ear, she panted, “You feel so fucking good… So deep… So fucking full!” 

Ryan had never had a woman respond to him like that and something deep within him stirred. He groaned in response, the sound low and rough in his chest, and answered with a sharp, upward thrust. Emily cried out, her head falling forward so that her damp hair curtained her face. Her hands flattened on his chest for leverage, but her hips didn’t stop moving.

Ryan tightened his grip and thrust upward again, matching her intensity, each meeting of their bodies harder, wetter, and more frenzied than the last. 

“Yes! Just like that. Don’t stop… Fuck me, Ryan!” she gasped, her voice ragged with need. She rolled her hips harder, driving him deeper each time, chasing a rhythm that had her thighs quaking and her breath breaking into short, desperate bursts. 

In response, Ryan pulled back and flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the bed. He slammed back inside her, setting a relentless pace. Emily’s legs wrapped around his waist, her moans loud and raw.

The bed creaked under them as he drove into her, their bodies slick with sweat and need. Emily screamed his name again, her body locking around him as she came hard, soaking him a second time with a gush of release.

Ryan gritted his teeth, fighting the surge building inside him. "I’m close," he warned. "Fuck! I’m gonna…"

Emily arched up, breathless. "Pull out," she gasped, interrupting him. "I want to feel it again! All over me."

With a strangled groan, Ryan pulled free, stroking himself once, twice. Then he erupted, thick streams splashing across her stomach and breasts.

Ryan knelt over her, panting, watching in awe the way his cum covered her.

Emily gasped, arching into the molten heat, her skin slick and shimmering. A breathless laugh escaped her as she glanced down at the sheer amount of cum coating her. “God! There’s so much,” she murmured, trailing her fingers through the mess and rubbing it into her skin before slipping her fingers between her lips, slowly sucking them clean, her gaze locked on his the entire time. 

Dragging another finger playfully through the pool of cum on her stomach, she casually glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “We should get you cleaned up and back home before it gets too late. If you want to use my shower, I will take care of your clothes.”

As she started to push herself off the bed, she turned towards Ryan. “Oh, that password you were looking for…” She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. “...try ‘naughty,’ all lowercase.”