His Wife, My Undoing
She’s my friend’s wife. Yeah. I know. But that look in her eyes, that night. She didn’t pull away, and she was what I had wanted for a very long time.
The door clicks shut behind. And then it’s just her. Standing in that loose cream tee and soft little shorts. God, the fabric hangs off one shoulder, lazy and low. It just provoked me. She moves toward the window. She leans a hand against the wall beside the glass, back slightly arched, hip tilted. Her lips curled in a small, dangerous smile. And then she asks, quietly, “Do you feel guilty having sex with your friend’s wi...