The Fever

Carly shouldn’t be here.

That thought flickered, but it didn’t stop her as she crawled onto her sister’s bed, face buried in his pillow, inhaling the scent of his skin. Laundry detergent and the faint musk of his cologne—soaked through with him. Her hips already rocked against the sheets, body betraying her as her fingers slid under the waistband of her thong.

She imagined his weight pressing down, his voice in her ear. She saw him when she closed her eyes—broad chest, strong hands, the way his mouth curved when he smiled. Obsession wasn’t even the right word. It was need. Fever. Hunger that licked up her spine until her body shook with it.

Her hand moved furiously now, clenching the pillow tighter, grinding her wetness against the cotton until her thighs trembled.

"Tyler!"

His name slipped out in a breathless gasp, shame and thrill tangling as heat exploded inside her. She convulsed on the bed she wasn’t supposed to touch, soaking through her panties, the orgasm ripping through her like punishment and reward all at once.

When it faded, she stayed sprawled there, panting, wet, flushed—cheeks pressed to his pillow like a lover. And she knew she’d do it again. And again. Until he was finally inside her, giving her the thing she craved most: not just his body, but proof he wanted her too.

The Beginning

Carly was eighteen the first time she saw him. Sophie, twenty-two and radiant with new love, had brought Tyler home to their parent’s Seattle house—a sprawling place perched above the water of Lake Washington, sunlight glinting off glass and polished hardwood. The air smelled faintly of dinner, but under it all, Carly caught the faint trace of his cologne the moment he walked through the door. It was subtle, musk and spice, layered with the warmth of his skin, and it made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t understand.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and effortless—lean, ripped, every muscle seemingly carved for perfection. A simple t-shirt stretched across his chest like it had been tailored just for him, and his jeans hinted at the power in his thighs. Carly noticed the subtle movements—the shift of his weight as he leaned on the couch, the way his hand rested on Sophie’s lower back, a brush so brief it could have been accidental, yet it made something in her ache.

The introductions blurred. Every subtle sound, every faint touch, every scent became a private obsession. It felt like he belonged in her family before he even arrived, like he had already staked a claim in her life without knowing it.

Later that night, in the quiet of her bedroom, Carly remembered inhaling the faint traces of him that lingered in the house—the residual warmth in the air where he’d walked. Her fingers slid beneath her waistband, circling her clit frantically, every thought consumed by the image of his chest, the press of his arms, the curve of his mouth when he smiled. She gasped into the pillow, shuddering, trembling, coming harder than she ever had in her life. Tyler. Sophie’s boyfriend. The first man who had stolen control of her mind, her body, her obsession.

From that night on, Carly knew with chilling certainty that she would never look at her sister’s man like anyone else. Every sound, every scent, every shadow in the house was a memory of him, an invitation, a torment she would chase endlessly.

At the University of Washington, Carly bloomed into the kind of girl who turned heads the second she walked into a room. A strawberry-blonde shadow of Sophie, yes, but sharper, hungrier, harder. She had the same symmetrical features, the same bright blue-green eyes that could flicker like sea glass in the sun, but where Sophie had settled into comfort and stability, Carly was all restless fire.

She ran track — 400m hurdles — and the discipline carved her body into something lean and lethal. Her ass wasn’t big, but perfectly rounded, tight from endless drills. Her legs were sculpted from sprint sessions, her abs tight from core work. She carried herself like someone who knew she was strong and sexy.

She studied hard, but she also fucked hard, just as intensely. Frat boys fell first, lulled by her laugh and wrecked by the way she’d ride them until they were ruined. A professor or two, even, men who should have known better, who found themselves undone by the way she leaned too close in office hours and let her eyes wander exactly where they shouldn’t.

Every night was a push, an edge. Papers written at 2 a.m. with cum still drying on her thighs. Morning practices where her thighs burned from both sprint drills and being wrapped around someone hours before. She was thriving, but also feeding something darker. Because no matter who she fucked, how many times she came, it was Tyler who haunted the edge of her thoughts. Always Tyler.

Her parents’ grand house was where everyone gathered. They spent weekends together—Sophie, Tyler, Carly, her mother watching with quiet amusement at her daughter’s magnetic presence. Carly’s closeness to home fed her obsession, too. Every laugh, every casual touch between Sophie and Tyler was a spark she could feel in her chest. Every time she walked the corridors of her parents’ house, she smelled him.

Growing Hunger

Family vacation to Maui was torture. The ocean sparkled, the sand burned, but Carly saw only Tyler—broad shoulders bronzed by the sun, board shorts clinging, that easy laugh that made her pulse race. Her bikini was little more than strings, chosen for him, though his eyes never lingered long enough.

By nightfall, the ache was unbearable. She slipped out to the dim resort bar, pulse quickening until she found him—not Tyler, but a man in his 40s, married, out of place yet perfect for the hunger clawing inside her.

She pressed close, whispered, led him to the dark beach. On her knees in the sand, she devoured him, frantic, compulsive, swallowing every drop of his cum as if it might dull the fire in her. Her body shook with the force of it, thighs trembling, breath ragged, but when it ended, the ache for Tyler still raged.

Back in bed, her fingers found her soaked panties, the taste of another man still on her tongue. Yet all she could see was Tyler—his laugh, his smile, his hands—and her obsession burned hotter, wild and unrelenting.

Thanksgiving was torture disguised as normal. Carly’s shorts rode high, her legs bare under the table, every brush of Tyler’s arm toward Sophie sparking in her thighs. She drank wine to mask the hunger, imagining his hands on her hips instead.

Christmas was worse. A tiny crop top, festive shorts, her chest practically spilling out—she caught his eyes linger too long, heat blooming through her as children laughed around them. She shifted deliberately, ass grinding against nothing, savoring the secret of his gaze.

Her birthday nearly broke her. Nineteen, drunk, pulsing lights, Sophie gone to the bathroom, leaving her in the crowd with him. She pressed close, hips brushing his arm, grinding subtly until she felt him stiffen—the hard length of him against her ass. No shame, only thrill. Her breath quickened as her fingers grazed his chest, alive with the weight of what she wanted but couldn’t take.

Back in her dorm, she replayed it all, the press of his cock, the heat of him in the dark. Her hands flew, body shaking, screaming into the pillow as she came to the imagined taste of him.

The next summer, back at home, the house smelled faintly of detergent and warm laundry. Carly carried a small bundle of lacy black lingerie, pressing it against her chest as she snuck past the living room. Sophie was bustling around the kitchen, and Tyler was on the sofa scrolling through his phone, relaxed, unsuspecting.

Carly’s heart hammered. Every step toward the laundry basket felt electric, her mind racing with imagined scenarios. She slipped the tiny set—matching bra and thong—into the pile of his freshly folded clothes. Just a casual placement, as if it had always been there.

Later, Sophie called out, hands full of towels. “Tyler, could you fold the rest of the laundry? I’m halfway done in here.”

He glanced up. “Sure,” he said, getting up. Carly watched from around the corner, invisible, every sense alert.

Tyler returned a few minutes later, holding the delicate black lace set in his hands. Carly’s heart jumped when she saw him approach, a faint, curious smile on his face.

“I… uh,” he began, awkwardly, “I thought you might want these back. Didn’t want them lost in the laundry.”

Carly stepped a little closer, letting her eyes linger on the fabric. Her voice was soft, low, teasing. “You always notice, don’t you?” she murmured, brushing a fingertip over the lace. “Even the little things.”

Tyler’s lips twitched in a small, uncertain smile. “I… guess I just thought you’d want them.”

Carly’s grin deepened, a spark of something dark in her gaze. “I do,” she said, almost purring. “I like it when you pay attention.”

He nodded, still careful, still polite. Carly tucked the lingerie into her bag, holding his gaze. “Keep that in mind,” she whispered, letting the words hang between them, loaded with unspoken tension.

They all continued spending more and more time together over the years. Sophie genuinely enjoys that Tyler and Carly have a natural, easy rapport. Sometimes she deliberately leaves them alone in the house together—running errands, attending work obligations, or taking a night out—because she thinks it’s sweet how well they connect.

For Carly, this is a living nightmare and a thrill all at once. Every moment Tyler is near, even casually, fuels her obsessive fixation. She notices the tiniest gestures: how his hands move, the way he leans in to talk, the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Her mind spins with desire, her body reacting without permission. She’s painfully aware that Sophie’s trust puts her mere feet from Tyler, free to watch him, hear him, breathe him in, yet restrained by the rules she knows she cannot break.

One morning at their parents’ house, Sophie kissed Tyler’s cheek, purse in hand. “Meeting across town. Carly, hang out with him for me.”

Carly’s chest tightened. Alone with him. Her “sure” came out softer than she meant, fingers itching just to touch anything he’d left behind. The door shut, silence settling thick.

Tyler stretched lazily, shirt riding up to reveal lean muscle, hair falling into his eyes as he rubbed at his brow. Carly drank him in—jawline, throat, the flex of his biceps as he lifted his mug. Even his easy laugh hit her like a spark. She answered his casual questions in whispers, hiding the way every glance, every sound, seared itself into her.

Minutes dragged. She couldn’t sit still, heat building in her belly until she finally escaped outside. “Going for a run,” she tossed over her shoulder.

When she came back, sweat slicking her skin, she made a show of stretching on the deck—sports bra tight across her chest, tiny pink shorts riding high. Her damp hair clung to her neck as she arched and bent, her body gleaming in the sun. She felt his eyes from the living room window, a glance that lasted only a breath before he looked away. It was enough to send shivers through her.

The shower became her confession booth. She pressed her vibrator against herself under the hot spray, gasping, bucking, the water mixing with her slick. Each cry was his name unsaid, each tremor his ghost on her skin. She came hard, again and again, forehead to the tile, nails clawing for purchase, consumed by him.

When she finally stumbled out, chest heaving, she knew the truth—Tyler haunted every nerve ending. He didn’t even know it, but he owned her.

Two years had passed since she met him, and Carly was twenty. The ache never dulled. Every glance, every laugh, every casual touch between Sophie and Tyler was like a spark in her chest that refused to fade. She had tried to move on, tried to bury the obsession beneath college life, track practices, and late-night study sessions—but it clung to her like a second skin.

Seattle had become a stage for her obsession. The city, the family home, the University of Washington campus—they were all infused with memories of him. Carly couldn’t escape it. She didn’t want to.

The Wedding

Now, Sophie and Tyler were married. The ceremony was elegant, overlooking the lake with the soft afternoon light catching the waves. Carly, standing at the altar as maid of honor, was a study in composure—but beneath the polished exterior, her body throbbed with the same fevered need that had consumed her since she first saw him.

Later, as photos were taken, Carly found herself lingering near Tyler, handing him the champagne, adjusting Sophie’s veil, laughing at a shared joke. Her mind replayed every private fantasy, every imagined touch she’d denied herself, every forbidden brush against him. Even dressed as a maid of honor, immaculate and polished, she was a live wire of unspent desire.

Every touch of his hand on Sophie was a torment. Every whispered joke between them was a private arrow, striking her where it hurt most. And yet, Carly couldn’t look away. Her obsession had matured with her—it had grown sharper, deeper, more electric. Every heartbeat was synchronized with the ghost of what she longed for, and she knew, with chilling clarity, that she would never be free of him.

Standing there, helping Sophie with her dress, adjusting a cuff, holding her composure as she smiled for the cameras, Carly realized that this was only the beginning. The years of patient, simmering obsession had not dulled; they had sharpened. She had watched, waited, endured, and now, with the ring on his finger and her sister beside him, the fire in her chest burned brighter than ever.

She excused herself from the crowd, heart hammering. Even the walk down the quiet hallway to the guest suite made her thighs ache; the tiny lace thong under her dress was soaked through, a wet reminder of just how much she wanted him, and how cruelly unattainable he was.

Inside the room, she found herself fixating on someone else—a groomsman, unsuspecting, leaning against the wall while checking his phone. His eyes flicked up as she approached, offering nothing more than a polite smile. Carly didn’t care. She needed release.

“Come here,” she whispered, her voice low, sultry. “Just… for a second.”

Before he could protest, she pushed him against the wall, pressing her body to his, fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him hard. Her tongue swept into his mouth, and he was stunned, fumbling for a response. Carly didn’t wait—she moved against him with the kind of desperation that had been building for years.

Hands slid under his belt, finding the heat there, stroking fast, hungry, leaving her own trembling in response. She pulled up her dress, not even bothering to drop her panties. She dropped his pants, pulled her thong to the side, bent over, and pressed herself back fully against him, grinding, twisting, riding the friction of his hardness with the same frantic energy she had reserved for Tyler. Her orgasm hit like a wave—hot, delicious, shattering—her soaked thong pressed tight against her, cum running down her inner thighs.

She gasped lightly as she came, shaking against him, shuddering with release. But as soon as it passed, the ache surged again. It was never enough. Tyler’s presence, even in memory or proximity, hung over her like a flame she couldn’t extinguish. No one else, no matter how quick or wild, could sate the hunger that had become her constant companion.

The groomsman was left dazed, barely aware of what had happened, while Carly’s eyes returned to the hallway, scanning, always scanning for Tyler. She could feel the wetness still between her legs, the heat pulsing in her core, and knew with certainty that this—this brief indulgence—was nothing more than a whisper of relief before the fire returned, stronger than ever.

Obsessive Rituals

Sophie and Tyler had finally settled. Both out of grad school, their new condo perched above the water in Seattle, sunlight catching the glass walls and polished floors. Tyler’s good new job kept him busy, Sophie’s career blossomed at a nonprofit, and the space was theirs—efficient, modern, and bright, a home that reflected their success.

When Carly graduated from the University of Washington, Sophie called her with a bright, practical suggestion.

“Carly,” Sophie said over the phone, voice warm, teasing. “Why don’t you move in with us for a bit? Save some money before grad school starts, and get out of Mom and Dad’s place. You’ll have your own room, of course.”

Carly’s heart thumped. A perfectly reasonable suggestion—or maybe the universe daring her closer.

“That… sounds great,” Carly said carefully, her voice calm, though heat tickled her chest. “I’d love that. It’ll be nice to have my own space—and be closer to you guys.”

Sophie laughed softly. “I promise, it’ll be fun. Tyler and I love having you around. You’re family, anyway.”

The condo felt impossibly luxurious as Carly moved in, boxes stacked in her new room, sunlight spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows. Every step through the living room, every glance at Tyler moving across the kitchen, stirred the familiar ache that had shadowed her for years. The subtle scent of him lingering on the sofa, the faint warmth of where he’d leaned on the counters, the rhythm of his movements in the open-plan kitchen—they all became a private language Carly could read like braille, her obsession sharpening with each passing day.

Even the casual chatter over morning coffee was a test of restraint. She placed herself strategically, on the edge of the breakfast table, in the doorway as he walked past, anything to catch a fleeting glance, a ghost of a touch, anything that could set her pulse racing.

Moving in wasn’t just about convenience or saving money. It was the perfect storm. Carly’s hunger, always simmering beneath the surface, now had a home, and proximity made every subtle gesture—every glance, every laugh, every casual brush—into a spike of desire she could neither ignore nor suppress.

The condo settled into the rhythm of daily life, but for Carly, every small moment became electric. She lingered in the kitchen doorway as Tyler poured coffee, letting her eyes wander casually over the lines of his shoulders, the lean definition of his arms under the sleeves of his shirt. A subtle lean on the counter brought her just close enough to catch the faint scent of him—and she shivered.

Sophie, oblivious or perhaps amused, clattered dishes and laughed, leaning into Tyler’s side. Carly edged nearer under the pretense of grabbing a plate, letting her hand brush against his briefly. Tyler glanced down, eyes meeting hers for a fleeting second, a smile tugging at his lips. Carly’s pulse hit her throat. She moved back quickly, casual, pretending nothing had happened, but the warmth of his hand where hers had touched lingered in her mind.

Later, as Sophie headed out to run errands, she paused in the doorway, grinning. “Tyler, you’ll keep an eye on Carly, won’t you? Make sure she doesn’t starve herself—or take over the whole couch again.”

“Of course,” Tyler said, chuckling. “We’ll keep her in line.”

The moment Sophie left, Carly felt a rush, the house suddenly quiet except for the sound of Tyler moving around. She found herself walking into the living room, deliberately letting her foot brush against his as she passed. Tyler gave a small, distracted laugh, shaking his head. Carly pressed closer, pretending to examine a book on the shelf, letting her shoulder brush against his chest.

“Just… checking the shelf,” Carly murmured, soft, teasing. She let her fingers linger on the book’s spine a second too long, tracing the line of it with deliberate slowness. Her bright blue-green eyes flicked to his, daring him to look away.

Hours passed in this delicate dance. Carly lingered in the kitchen as he cooked, leaning just enough to feel the heat of his side. She found excuses to cross paths, asking for small favors—“Could you grab that for me?”—each one a pretext to be near him. Tyler’s awareness seemed to deepen, a subtle tension building in his posture whenever she was near, though he said nothing that would betray her motives.

By evening, Carly’s body hummed with the strain of restraint. Every glance, every brush of skin, every casual smile from him was another spike in the obsession that had been growing for years. The condo, filled with the ordinary sounds of life—dishes clinking, music from the stereo, Sophie’s absent laughter still lingering in the air—had become an arena for her desire. And as she moved past Tyler one last time that evening, her hand brushed his arm in a moment that was fleeting, electric, and entirely hers.

She stepped back, letting the moment pass, pretending casual ease, but her heartbeat told a different story. Proximity had already begun to drive her mad. The house, the quiet, the everyday closeness—it was all fuel for the obsession that had never waned. And Carly knew, with chilling certainty, that these small provocations were only the beginning.

Years of desperate, unrelenting obsession had led her here again. That was how Carly found herself in Sophie and Tyler’s bed, just as she had been so many times before in her mind—and now in flesh.

It had become routine now, a ritual almost. Whenever the chance came—when Sophie and Tyler were gone, or even just downstairs—Carly slipped into their bedroom. She carried toys hidden in her bag, sometimes just one, sometimes a collection laid out in quiet reverence on the sheets. Vibrators that hummed low and steady. Sleek dildos she pressed into herself, deeper each time, as if she could carve out the hunger lodged inside her.

But it was never the toys that undid her. It was him. Always him. His scent soaked into the pillowcase. The faint salt of his sweat still lingering in the sheets. She would bury her face in his side of the bed, breathing him in until she was dizzy, hips grinding into the mattress as if the fabric itself belonged to him.

The orgasms came fast, violent. Again and again, until her body shook and her thighs were slick, the sheets damp beneath her. But even in the aftermath, gasping, trembling, she was left hollow. No toy, no release could match the ache she felt for the real thing. And still she kept coming back, obsessed, addicted, tethered to him by nothing more than scent and imagination.

Every time she promised herself it would be the last. Every time she knew it wouldn’t be.

It was no longer enough to sneak into their bed like a thief, to steal scraps of his scent and fuel her private madness. Carly had gone deeper. Darker. The toys had multiplied—bigger, harder, sharper against her trembling body. She craved the pleasure, anything that could burn away the emptiness Tyler left inside her.

She had lost track of how long she’d been at it this time. The blinds half-drawn, sunlight spilling across the rumpled sheets. Her legs splayed wide on his side of the bed, the sheets beneath her damp with sweat and arousal. One hand clutched the pillow, her face buried deep in the cotton, inhaling him until her lungs ached. The other hand trembled around the base of a dildo, buried to the hilt inside her, stretching her raw and relentless. Against her clit, a vibrator purred, the steady hum rattling through her bones.

Her body convulsed. Her hips bucked. Every sound that tore from her throat was his name.

“Tyler—oh god, Tyler—fuck—”

She was beyond shame now, beyond fear. The need was feral, animal, a possession she couldn’t stop. The room echoed with the wet slap of her thrusts, the drone of the toy, her ragged gasps. She was gone, lost, writhing in his bed like it belonged to her, like he belonged to her.

And when the orgasm ripped through her, violent and shattering, she screamed his name into the pillow, her voice breaking on it, desperate and raw.

“TYLER!”

Her back arched, the vibrator pressed harder against her swollen clit, the dildo buried so deep she swore she could feel him there. Pleasure detonated inside her, flooding her, tearing her apart as her body seized and bucked and broke open around it.

And that’s when she felt it—silence that wasn’t empty.

Her eyes snapped open. Breath caught in her throat. The door stood ajar. And in the threshold, frozen in shock, was Tyler.

Her legs were still spread, toys still humming, her body quaking in the aftermath of climax. His name still ringing in the air.

And he had seen everything.

The moment should have destroyed her. Should have sent her scrambling, covering herself, begging for forgiveness. But it didn’t.

It made her feral.

Her climax was still tearing through her when their eyes locked across the room. Blue-green fire met his stunned gaze, and instead of retreating, Carly pressed harder. She shoved the vibrator back to her clit, dragged the dildo out halfway, then slammed it back in, her hips jerking to meet the thrust.

“Ahh—Tyler,” she moaned again, louder now, shameless. The sound filled the room like a prayer, like a claim.

Her little landing strip was glossy with slick, thighs trembling. She bit her lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, her eyes never leaving his. Every pulse of her body seemed to glow in the soft light spilling through the blinds, sweat glistening across her taut stomach, her breasts heaving beneath the sports bra she hadn’t even bothered to strip off.

And Tyler… he didn’t move. Didn’t leave.

His jaw was tight, his chest rising fast. And Carly, who had studied him for years—every flicker of expression, every tell—saw it. The twitch in his pants. The betrayal of his own body. His cock was hardening.

A slow, trembling smile spread across her lips as she worked the dildo deeper, faster, her moans rich and guttural now. “You see me, don’t you?” she whispered, half-laugh, half-sob, eyes blazing. “You’ve always seen me.”

Tyler’s hands fisted at his sides, torn between fleeing and stepping forward, but he couldn’t look away. His gaze dragged helplessly over her soaked cunt, over the relentless pump of the toy, over her glowing face as she writhed in his bed, screaming for him.

For a wild heartbeat, it was just them. Her madness finally unveiled, his restraint cracking.

And Carly knew—something had shifted forever.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” she panted, her eyes burning into his. “Every night in this house… every time you hugged me… I thought about you. About this cock getting hard for me.”

She saw it then—another twitch in his pants, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. He was unraveling.

“I’ve fucked myself to you for years, Tyler,” Carly whispered, grinding harder against the toy, her back arching as she cried out. “On your bed, in your shower, moaning your name until my throat’s raw. You think I care if Sophie hears? You think I care if the world hears? I’d scream your name until the walls collapsed.”

Her legs trembled, spread wider, and she shoved the dildo to the hilt, her knuckles white as she held it deep inside herself. “You smell it, don’t you? You feel it. I’m soaked for you, only you. Nobody else has ever been enough. Not one.”

The confession hit the room like thunder. And Tyler—his chest heaved, his fists clenched, but still he didn’t leave. Couldn’t leave. His cock was hard now, straining against the fabric, undeniable.

Carly’s smile was delirious, almost tender in its ferocity. She bit her lip and moaned louder, dragging the vibrator in circles over her swollen clit. “You want to touch me, don’t you? You’ve wanted to. I see it every time you look at me. Stop pretending, Tyler. Just… take me.”

That broke him.

He stepped forward. Just one step, but it was enough. Enough to make Carly’s whole body shudder, enough to make her moan his name again, long and broken, as her orgasm surged back to meet her.

Her eyes rolled, her body bucked, and still she watched him, daring him closer, her obsession finally pulling him into its orbit.

Tyler crossed the room like something had snapped inside him—no hesitation, no words, just raw hunger. His shirt was gone in one violent motion, flung somewhere behind him as his other hand tore at his belt. Carly’s breath caught, her body trembling as she watched him, every dream she’d ever had made flesh in front of her.

When his pants dropped, her world tilted. His cock swung free, thick, hard, impossibly gorgeous, the sight of it hitting her harder than any orgasm ever had. She’d spent years imagining it, desperate and lonely with toys inside her, and now—now—it was here, pulsing, real.

Her blue-green eyes widened, glazed with lust, and she couldn’t stop herself—her tongue darted out, wetting her lips hungrily as she moaned, “Oh my god… Tyler…”

He climbed onto the bed like an animal, muscles flexing, chest rising with ragged breaths. Carly’s legs fell open wider in offering, in surrender, her body thrumming like it had been waiting for this moment all her life.

Tyler grabbed the dildo still buried deep inside her, his face dark with something between rage and desire, and ripped it free. The toy was slick, dripping, and he tossed it away like it was nothing—because it was nothing, not compared to him.

And then he was there. His broad shoulders pressed her thighs apart as his face dove between her legs.

“Tyler—ahhh!” she screamed, her back arching off the bed as his mouth sealed against her drenched pussy. He devoured her like a man starving, tongue thrusting, lips sucking at her swollen clit. Carly clawed at the sheets, her body writhing, overwhelmed.

Her fantasies had never come close. The reality of him—his heat, his strength, the guttural sound of him moaning into her cunt—wrecked her completely. Her thighs trembled around his head as she cried out, her hands tangling in his hair, holding him there.

“Oh fuck—yes, yes—Tyler!”

Every scream was years of obsession crashing out of her chest. Every thrust of his tongue told her what she had always known: that no one else could ever compare. Tyler tore his mouth from her, face wet with her taste, breathing hard. His eyes burned into hers, something dark and unchained.

“Carly,” he rasped, voice thick. “You think you’re the only one who’s wanted this? I’ve thought about you for years. Fuck—one time I found your dirty panties in the laundry. Couldn’t stop myself. I stroked my cock to them. Came so hard thinking about you.”

Her body jolted like he’d shocked her. Every nerve lit up. His words sank deep into her marrow, molten, making her dizzy with desire. She’d wanted this confession, dreamed of it, but hearing it—real and raw from his lips—made her clit throb, made her thighs shake.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. She was trembling but not from shame. From hunger. From possession.

“You—” her voice cracked, breathless, “you thought of me too?”

His lips curled into something feral. “Every fucking time you bent over in those tiny shorts. Every time you stretched in front of me. I wanted you so bad, Carly.”

Her entire body pulsed, heart hammering. This was it. This was everything. A wild laugh, half-sob, half-moan tore from her throat as she pounced, flipping him onto his back with surprising strength. His cock slapped against his abs—thick, long, perfect—and her eyes devoured it with a hunger that had been starving for years.

“Mine,” she breathed, and then she dove down.

Her mouth wrapped around him, lips stretching wide as she took him deep—deeper than she thought she could—her throat opening, swallowing him whole. The heat, the weight of him, the veins pressing against her tongue—it was everything she had ever needed.

“Carly—fuck!” Tyler’s hips bucked, unable to stop himself, his abs tightening as she swallowed his cock. Her nails dug into his thighs for leverage as she pulled back, spit trailing, only to slam down again, wetter, sloppier, starving.

Her blue-green eyes locked on his, tears brimming from the effort and the sheer bliss of it, spit flowing down her chin onto his cock, coating him. She moaned around him, the vibrations pulling another guttural growl from his chest.

“God—yes—fuck, you’re so good,” he groaned, hand tangling in her hair, guiding her, barely able to breathe. “Carly—you’re gonna make me lose my mind.”

Her mind was chaos, her body molten. She couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Every drag of his cock against her throat was years of denial burning away. This wasn’t enough—it would never be enough—but she wanted him writhing, wanted him broken under her hunger.

Her lips pulled back, spit and strings of precum dripping down her chin as she gasped for breath, then she licked him from base to tip, staring up at him like a girl possessed. “You taste better than I ever imagined.”

And then she took him deep again, choking herself on his cock, swallowing, wild with need.

Carly’s lips tore off his cock with a wet pop, spit running down her chin as she gasped for air. Her chest heaved, and then with a wild growl she yanked her sports bra up and off, tossing it aside. Her perfect perky tits bounced free, nipples already stiff and aching. Tyler’s eyes devoured them instantly, his hands twitching with the urge to grab.

“Fuck—Carly,” he groaned, voice rough, “you’re even better than I dreamed.”

She straddled him, hair sticking to her damp cheeks, blue-green eyes blazing. Her hand wrapped around his thick shaft, guiding it to her swollen, dripping entrance. She held him there, hovering, teasing both of them with that unbearable moment of anticipation.

Her voice was ragged, low. “I’ve thought about this every day. Every night. You inside me. Filling me. Tyler—I can’t wait another second.”

And then she dropped—hard—sinking down in one smooth, hungry motion until his cock was buried to the hilt inside her.

“Fuuuuck!” they groaned in unison, voices raw, his head rolling back against the pillow while her nails raked down his chest. Her pussy clenched tight around him, years of pent-up obsession flooding her veins like fire.

“Oh my god—you’re so big—so deep,” Carly moaned, rocking on him, already bouncing, already riding him like a woman starved. “I’ve needed this—I’ve needed you—for so long.”

Tyler’s hands shot up, grabbing her tits, squeezing them hard, thumbs flicking over her nipples. “Carly—you feel so fucking good—better than I ever imagined. God, your pussy is perfect. You’re gonna make me cum inside you.”

Her breath caught at his words, eyes flashing with madness and bliss. She leaned down and kissed him—deep, messy, hungry—her tongue shoving into his mouth as she ground down hard on his cock, moaning into the kiss.

The feeling wrecked her: his cock stretching her, filling her, pulsing inside her as her clit rubbed against his base. His hands on her tits, squeezing, pulling her nipples. His mouth opening under hers, teeth clashing, their kiss wild and primal.

She broke away just enough to gasp into his ear, “Fuck me harder, Tyler. Years—I’ve waited years for this. Don’t you dare stop.”

Tyler suddenly grabbed her waist and rolled, flipping Carly onto her stomach with a force that made her gasp. In the same motion, he hauled her hips up, his hands locking under her thighs to spread her wide and arch her ass into the air. She barely had time to moan before he drove into her, slamming his cock deep in one savage thrust.

“Tyler!” she cried, her voice breaking, her cheek pressed to the sheets, her ass high and open for him.

He was unstoppable now, fucking her with all the hunger he’d buried, years of denied fantasies tearing free. His abs flexed, sweat dripping down his body as he pounded her tight, soaked pussy, their wet skin clapping in rhythm—loud, brutal, intoxicating.

She was gone, lost in it, her voice a chant of his name, raw and desperate: “Tyler—Tyler—Tyler—oh my god, Tyler!”

Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning. Her whole body shook, pussy clamping down around his cock as she screamed into the sheets, clawing at the bed. But he didn’t let up. He held her thighs wide, pounding her through it, his growls mixing with her cries, the slap of their bodies filling the room.

“Cum for me, baby,” he gritted out, voice harsh.

“Yes—yes, Tyler!” she sobbed, her eyes rolling back. “I want it—I want all of it! Fill me—fill me with your cum—don’t you dare pull out, I want every drop inside me!”

That broke him. With a guttural roar, he slammed in deep, burying himself to the hilt. His cock erupted, pulsing hot ropes of cum inside her. Carly’s eyes went wide, mouth open in wild ecstasy as she felt it—every twitch, every spurt flooding her, thick and hot, spilling out as he kept thrusting.

“Ohhh fuck, yes, yes, Tyler!” she screamed, rocking back into him, their eyes locking as he emptied himself into her.

He groaned her name like a prayer, grinding into her, making sure not a drop left her. Cum spilled down her thighs, slicking her ass, but still he stayed buried in her, still pumping, still chasing that bliss.

They were locked together—sweaty, trembling, their eyes burning with something darker than love—as they came together, feral and unrelenting, bodies fused in wild release.

When Tyler finally pulled out, Carly collapsed into the sheets, her body shaking and wet. His cock slipped free with a lewd sound, and immediately thick wads of cum spilled from her swollen pussy, running hot and messy down the insides of her thighs.

She gasped at the sensation, then reached back instinctively, fingers scooping through the sticky mess as it dripped toward her knees. Her hand came up coated, glistening with his seed.

Rolling onto her back, still flushed and trembling, Carly brought her fingers to her lips—locking eyes with him, unblinking, her blue-green gaze lit with something wild and unholy. Slowly, she licked her hand clean, sucking each finger with a hungry moan.

“Mmm…” her voice was a throaty purr. “You taste… better than I ever imagined.”

Tyler’s chest heaved, muscles flexing as he stared down at her—sweat dripping from his jaw, his cock still half-hard, twitching at the sight. Her words hit him like fire, pulling him deeper into the insanity of what they’d just done.

She smiled wickedly, lips shining with him, her chest rising and falling, her perfect tits bouncing slightly as she shifted. “God, I’ve wanted this… you… for so long. And now?” She ran her cum-slick fingers down her stomach, smearing it across her skin. “Now I’ll never be able to stop.”

Downstairs, the faint thud of the front door opening and closing broke the silence.

Both of them froze.

Sophie.

Tyler’s face drained of color. Carly jolted upright, her heart hammering in her chest as the sticky evidence of what they’d done still glistened on her thighs. For one suspended instant, they just stared at each other, then chaos.

Carly dove off the bed, frantically gathering the scattered toys—dildo, vibrator, slick with her wetness—and shoved them under her arm. She yanked her discarded sports bra from the floor, chest heaving as she darted across the hall to her room.

Behind her, Tyler ripped his pants back up, shoving his cock inside just as he stumbled into the bathroom. His shirt went flying into the hamper in one panicked move. The hiss of the shower roared to life.

Carly’s hands shook as she peeled off her cum-smeared shorts and swapped them for a fresh pair, tugging a loose tank over her flushed, sweaty skin. Her pulse still thundered in her ears when the soft sound of footsteps reached the landing.

And then Sophie was there—turning the corner, smiling, casual, unsuspecting.

Carly froze, back half-turned, pretending to rummage in her dresser. Sweat still beaded along her collarbone, her hair damp, her cheeks glowing with a flush that had nothing to do with running.

Sophie paused, leaning against the doorframe. “Wow,” she said lightly, eyes flicking over Carly’s skin, her messy hair. “Looks like a good run today.”

Carly forced a shaky laugh, tugging her tank into place. “Yeah… really pushed it.”

“Good girl.” Sophie winked and moved off toward the master bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Tyler, you back too? Shower already running—I’ll be in there soon.”

The sound of Sophie’s door clicking shut made Carly’s knees almost buckle. She pressed her back to the dresser, clutching the drawer for balance, her whole body still trembling from the orgasm, the risk, the danger. Her pussy ached, still filled with him, still leaking his cum even now.

The next morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, warm and ordinary, as though the house hadn’t nearly collapsed under the weight of secrets the night before.

Sophie was at the counter, bright and alive, chatting as she poured coffee. Carly sat across from her, trying to nod and laugh in the right places, though every nerve in her body still hummed from Tyler’s cock inside her. Tyler leaned against the counter, grinning at his wife’s story, though his gaze kept darting, hot and guilty, toward Carly.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Sophie said finally, brushing past him to grab her bag. “I’m late. Have a great day, you two!” She kissed Tyler quickly, blew Carly a playful wink, and trotted toward the door.

The latch clicked.

The door shut.

Silence.

Then Carly was moving before she could breathe. Her shirt ripped over her head, her perfect tits bouncing free, nipples already hard. She didn’t even bother with her shorts—Tyler’s were yanked down in one sharp tug, his thick cock springing free, hard and dripping with need.

She dropped to her knees right there at the table, moaning as she swallowed him down, throat stretching around the length she’d dreamed of for years. Sloppy, wet sounds filled the kitchen as spit dripped from her chin, his cock glistening as she pumped him with both hands and devoured him with her mouth.

“Oh fuck, Carly,” he groaned, gripping the edge of the table as his hips bucked into her eager throat. “You’re insane… you’re so fucking good at this.”

Her eyes watered, mascara smudging, but she only gagged harder on him, the thrill of being caught making her wetter with every second. The wet, obscene sounds filled the kitchen, her throat straining as she swallowed him deeper, desperate to take all of him.

They lost themselves in the rhythm, the world shrinking to the slick heat of her mouth and the pulse of his cock, a few endless, frantic minutes that left them both trembling.

“Oh, fuck!”

Tyler’s body tensed, his cock pulsing as he erupted across Carly’s lips and cheeks, cum dripping hot down her chin. She moaned, licking him greedily, mascara smudged, the taste of him finally real on her tongue.

And then—

The door opened.

“Jesus Christ,” Sophie’s voice cut through the kitchen. Her eyes locked on them—Tyler panting, cock still stiff, Carly on her knees, face glazed and dripping. For one brutal second, silence.

Then Sophie laughed. “I knew it. You two have been wanting to fuck for years.” She set her keys on the counter, shaking her head like it was funny, almost relieved.

Tyler stammered, “Sophie—”

But Sophie stepped closer, her gaze raking over Carly’s messy, flushed face. “Don’t deny it. I’ve thought about it too—sharing him with you, Carly. Obsessing, even.” She smirked, voice dropping. “Letting you have him? Watching you both finally give in? I don’t mind at all.”

Carly’s heart pounded, shame and desire tangled into something dizzying. Sophie grabbed her bag, unbothered, lips curling into a wicked smile.

“Alright, lovebirds,” she teased, kissing Tyler quickly before turning back to Carly. She reached out, dragging a slow finger up Carly’s soaked cheek, gathering the thick mess clinging to her skin. Holding Carly’s gaze, Sophie slipped the finger between her lips, licking it clean with a playful hum.

She giggled, wicked and light, before tossing her hair back and heading for the door. “Enjoy yourselves. Don’t break the table.”

The latch clicked.

The door shut.

And the silence left behind was louder than any sound—charged, dangerous, thrilling. Nothing between them would ever be the same.