The café in Tumli’s office building was quiet, the hum of espresso machines and murmured conversations filling the air. I sat at a corner table, my fingers gripping the ceramic cup a little too tightly. Five years. Five fucking years since I’d last seen her—since she chose him.
And now here she was.
Her heels clicked against the floor, slow and deliberate, each step making my pulse spike. That navy-blue dress clung to her like sin, the fabric straining over her full hips, her waist cinched tight enough to make my hands itch to grab her. Her cleavage was a tease, just enough to remind me how fucking good she tasted.
She slid into the chair across from me, crossing her legs slowly, letting the slit in her dress fall open just enough to reveal a glimpse of smooth thigh.
Fuck.
“You look good,” she murmured, her voice dripping with honey and mischief. Her lips—painted that deep, sinful red—curved into a smirk. The same lips that used to scream my name.
I leaned forward, my voice a rough growl. “You look like fucking trouble.”
Her laugh was low, throaty. “Always.”
We talked—empty words about work, about life—but every sentence was laced with tension. Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup, her wedding ring glinting under the café lights. His ring.
“How’s married life?” I asked, my thumb brushing over her knuckles, right where his name should be.
She exhaled shakily, her thighs pressing together under the table. “It’s… comfortable.”
I smirked. “Comfortable?” My hand slid higher, fingertips grazing the inside of her knee. “You used to hate comfortable.”
Her breath hitched. “I did.”
I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. “Does he fuck you like I did? Does he make you come so hard you forget your own name?”
A soft whimper escaped her. “No.”
My fingers dug into her thigh. “Does he know how wet you get when you think about me?”
Her nails scraped against the table. “No.”
I pulled back just enough to see the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell too fast. “Prove it.”
She bit her lip, then stood abruptly. “I need the restroom.”
I gave her thirty seconds before following.
The hallway was empty, the door to the women’s restroom slightly ajar. I pushed inside, locking it behind me.
She was waiting, pressed against the sink, her dress already hiked up to her waist, her lace panties drenched.
“You’re fucking shameless,” I growled, stalking toward her.
She smirked, reaching for my belt. “You love it.”
I grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. “Does Amarendra know his wife’s a slut for her ex?”
She moaned, arching against me. “He thinks I’m at a meeting.”
I crushed my mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp as I ripped her panties aside and plunged two fingers into her tight, dripping cunt. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” I snarled. “All for me?”
“Yes,” she choked out, her hips bucking against my hand.
I finger-fucked her ruthlessly, my thumb grinding against her clit as she writhed. “Does he make you come like this?”
“N-never—”
I added a third finger, stretching her, owning her. “Who makes you scream louder?”
“You… fuck—always you*—”
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Amarendra.
I didn’t stop. “Answer it.”
She trembled but obeyed, swiping to answer with shaking fingers. “H-hi, baby.”
I twisted my fingers inside her, and she bit down on her lip hard enough to leave marks.
“No, I’m—ah—just finishing up,” she breathed, her voice strained as I dropped to my knees and dragged my tongue through her slick folds.
Her husband’s muffled voice came through the speaker. “You okay? You sound… off.”
I sucked her clit hard, and her legs shook. “J-just tired,” she gasped, her fingers fisting in my hair.
“I’ll be home soon,” he said.
“Mmm, can’t wait,” she moaned—right as I thrust my tongue inside her.
She hung up with a desperate swipe and threw the phone aside. “Fuck me. Now”
I stood, unbuckling my belt with one hand while the other gripped her throat, pushing her back against the mirror. “Tell me who you belong to.”
Her eyes were dark, wild. “You.”
I slammed into her in one brutal thrust, her tight walls clamping around me like a vise. “Say his name while I fuck you.”
She cried out as I pounded into her, each snap of my hips ruthless, punishing. “A-Amarendra—”
I spanked her ass hard, the sharp crack echoing off the tiles. “Again.”
“Amarendra!” she sobbed, her nails scraping down my arms.
I fucked her harder, my cock stretching her, claiming her. “Does he know his wife takes my dick better than his?”
“No—oh God—no—”
I gripped her hips, slamming her back onto me with every thrust. “You gonna tell him?”
She came with a scream, her pussy convulsing around me. “No!”
I followed her over the edge, filling her up, marking her in the one way he never could.
As we caught our breath, her phone buzzed again.
Amarendra: Miss you. Hurry home.
She turned, her lips swollen, her makeup ruined. “This isn’t over.”
I tucked myself back into my pants. “It never is.”
