POV: Taylor
The kitchen smelled like garlic and roast.
Laughter echoed from the living room—loud, false, and sharp. Jay’s voice didn’t carry like the others. It never did. But I could feel him. Even without looking.
He was there.
And I was still wet with him.
I moved around the kitchen slow, trying to focus. The roast needed basting. The potatoes needed another toss. The salad hadn’t even been touched yet. My hands were working, but my head? Still pinned to the back of my SUV.
I took a slow breath.
It didn’t help.
My thighs squeezed together as I stepped away from the counter. The slick warmth between my legs was unmistakable.
I hadn’t cleaned up enough.
I hadn’t really cleaned up at all.
The first time I stood up afterward, I’d felt it—his cum, thick and heavy, already dripping down my inner thighs. I could still feel it now. Soaking into the lace panties I’d put on because they were the only thing that didn’t already smell like sex.
And now I was here.
Wearing that secret between my legs.
Stirring green beans.
And pretending everything was normal.
POV: Jay
She wouldn’t look at me.
Not directly.
But every time she crossed the kitchen in front of that open doorway, I watched her. Everyone else was talking—her husband, my wife, their father going on about politics like the world hadn’t just shifted.
But I couldn’t hear a word.
All I could see was her—Taylor—walking with that tight, careful gait. Every step reminding her of what I’d done to her body. What I’d filled her with. What she’d begged me for.
What we both knew we would do again.
I stared down at my plate.
Fork. Knife. Roast.
I should have felt guilty.
But all I felt was want.
POV: Taylor
I couldn’t sit.
Not yet. If I sat at that table, someone might see the flush in my cheeks. The heat in my eyes. The tremble in my hands every time I passed behind him.
Jay.
God, I could still smell him on my skin.
He hadn’t touched me in hours—but my body still remembered every thrust, every grip, every time he came inside me like he didn’t care what came next.
And now he was sitting across from my husband.
Quiet. Controlled.
But I knew better.
I could feel the pressure coming off of him like heat through glass. If I closed my eyes, I could still hear the way he moaned my name. The way he held me down as I shattered around him.
I spilled wine down my wrist.
“Shit,” I whispered, grabbing a towel.
“You okay, Tay?” my husband asked from the table.
I nodded without looking at him.
“I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t.
I was full. But craved so much more.
POV: Jay
I watched the drop of red wine fall off her wrist.
She caught it, but I saw her flinch.
If I stood up now—walked into that kitchen—took her right there on the counter, she wouldn’t stop me. Not really. She’d moan into my mouth and beg me to make her feel the way I did earlier. Her eyes would roll back when I pulled her hair and whispered how good it felt to fuck her in her husband’s house.
Instead, I sat still.
Fork. Knife. Roast. Anything to distract me!
And said nothing.
POV: Taylor
Dinner dragged.
The roast was dry. The conversation drier.
My husband barely acknowledged me unless he needed something—pass the salt, bring more butter, clear the plates—each word landing like an order instead of a request. He didn’t thank me. Only touched me to show possession. Didn’t even look at me unless he was frowning.
I’d spent the entire afternoon licking Jay’s cum off my fingers in the shower while my husband texted me sweet nothings between golf holes—and now I was here being treated like a maid.
My husband didn’t know what I tasted like when I came. He’d never earned that. Never made me shake. Never made me scream without shame.
Jay had done it in minutes.
And now I couldn’t sit across from him without clenching my thighs.
POV: Jay
I hadn’t spoken in fifteen minutes.
Every glance across the table was a risk. Every breath I took felt stolen. My wife, seated beside me, was three glasses of wine in and deep into a fake-laughing spree with Taylor’s husband.
And then she turned to me—sharp-eyed and sour.
“You could try smiling,” she said. “You look like you’re at a funeral.”
I blinked at her.
“Just tired.”
“Of what, sitting still all day?”
The table laughed.
I didn’t.
She rolled her eyes, already turning back to the conversation like I didn’t matter.
Taylor watched it all in silence.
I caught the flicker of something behind her eyes—rage, maybe. Or pity.
Or… possession.
POV: Taylor
She doesn’t deserve his cock.
Not his mouth. Not his fingers. Not the body that made me come so hard I forgot my name.
She sat there throwing petty digs at him like he was some background fixture, not a man who’d made me cry from pleasure hours earlier. Not the man I had cum on repeatedly, which I had never done before, while begging him to never stop.
I should be the one riding him home tonight.
Instead, I was stuck across the table from my own personal prison guard, cutting meat and pretending I wasn’t soaked in secrets.
POV: Jay
Her husband touched her arm like she was furniture.
Used words like “now” and “again” and “you know better.”
I watched her smile through it.
Watched her pour his drink, refill his plate, stand to grab dessert—her body still sore from what we’d done.
I bit my tongue until it bled.
Because I knew the truth now.
He’d never satisfy her again.
Not after this.
Not after me. Not after I stretched her tight hole.
POV: Taylor
The goodbyes were a blur.
I hugged Jay’s wife like I didn’t want to rip her necklace off and shove it down her throat.
I kissed my husband on the cheek like I didn’t want to disappear.
And then I stood by the front window as Jay stepped out onto the porch.
His wife stumbled. He caught her elbow like a reflex, steady but distant.
She leaned into him. He didn’t lean back.
At the bottom of the steps, he glanced up.
Just for a second.
Our eyes met.
It was explosive.
And then he was gone.
POV: Taylor – Later That Night
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and wondered how many layers I’d have to peel off to feel clean again.
My skin was red from scrubbing. My hair damp. My thighs still sticky.
He’d filled me hours ago. Claimed me. And no matter how many times I wiped and washed, I could still feel him inside me. Still hear his voice. Still taste the salt of his skin between my teeth.
Jay was in my blood now.
And my husband… was going to want to fuck me.
The thought turned my stomach.
I opened the drawer, pulled out my softest nightgown, and tried not to think about how much I hated being touched by him. I didn’t want to fight tonight. Didn’t want to explain. Didn’t want to endure a guilt trip or the berating about wifely duties.
So I lay down.
And waited.
He came in smelling like ego, tugging his shirt off like it was a ritual and not a threat.
“You already in bed?” he asked, tone clipped.
“Yeah. Long day.”
He didn’t say anything. Just slid in beside me and pressed against my side.
I went still.
He kissed my neck.
My stomach knotted.
Then his hand slipped down my hip and under my nightgown, fingers greedy and rough.
“You’re soaked.”
I flinched. “I guess I’m just… turned on.”
He huffed. “Doesn’t feel like you. Not as tight as usual.”
My throat closed.
So I did what I always did when I needed to survive.
I left.
I let him touch me. Let him roll on top. Let him thrust and grunt and finish without ever really being inside me.
Because I wasn’t there.
I was back in the SUV.
Pinned. Stretched. Worshipped.
I came over and over in Jay’s arms.
And now I was being used by a man who wouldn’t even notice if I cried.
POV: Jay – Same Night
The drive home was hell.
She talked the whole way.
About her family. Her hobbies. Yoga. How I should be more engaged. How I don’t listen. How I never smile. How the food was dry and the wine was cheap and Taylor looked tired lately, didn’t she?
I didn’t answer.
I kept my hands on the wheel and my jaw locked tight.
The car was cold. Her perfume too sweet. Her laugh too sharp. I wanted to roll down the window and let the night air strip me clean.
She ranted for thirty-eight miles.
I didn’t say a word.
Because in my head?
I was still inside Taylor.
Watching her fall apart.
Filling her again and again until she forgot anyone else existed.
I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.
“Are you coming in?” she snapped.
Eventually, I would.
But right now?
I sat in the dark.
And remembered everything.
