They were finishing dinner—roast chicken and garlic mashed potatoes from the local Willow Creek Market—when Brian caught Mia off guard.
“So, spill. What’d you get up to today?”
In their marriage, Brian had always been the stoic accountant, buried in spreadsheets at his downtown firm, never prying into Mia’s afternoons. Why the sudden spark of interest?
Mia forced a casual smile, twirling her fork. “Grabbed coffee with Francesca at the market, then we strolled through Central Park—y’know, the one with the old gazebo. Ended up catching a matinee.”
“Which theater?”
“The Regal on Elm Street.”
“What flick?”
“‘Eternal Echoes.’ Total tearjerker—beautiful cinematography, had me ugly-crying by the credits.”
Brian nodded, popping a last bite of potatoes into his mouth. No follow-up. Mia exhaled, her pulse steadying.
The truth? She’d spent those stolen hours tangled in Miles’s arms at his loft overlooking the river, their bodies slick with sweat from 3 to 5 p.m., before slipping into the theater’s velvet seats for cover. It started with a text from him that morning, buzzing her phone during her grocery run: Thinking about how wet you get just from my voice. Tell me you’re soaked already. Her thighs had clenched reading it, the words igniting that familiar heat low in her belly, pulling her straight to his door like a magnet.
Last Tuesday, the autumn sun had poured through the loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows, warming their skin as Miles tugged her into the bathroom. Steam rose fast from the hot spray, fogging the mirror.
“You want this?” he asked, his voice low and rough, eyes locked on hers as he stripped off her shirt. “Say it, Mia. Tell me you need me inside you.”
“Yes,” she breathed, heart pounding. “I need it. All of you.”
His rough palms slid over her breasts, soaping them slowly, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened into tight peaks. She gasped, arching into his touch. Water poured over her shoulders, hot and relentless, as he spun her against the cool tile. His mouth claimed her neck, teeth nipping just enough to leave faint marks she’d cover with scarves later.
“God, you taste so fucking good,” he growled against her ear, one hand dipping between her thighs. His fingers found her folds, swollen and slick—not just from the water, but from the ache he’d teased all week with those dirty texts. “How wet are you for me? Say it.”
“So wet,” she moaned, hips bucking. “Dripping, Miles. From thinking about your cock all day.”
He lifted her leg over his hip, his thick length—hot, veined, throbbing—pressing at her entrance. “Good girl.” One hard thrust, and he filled her deep, the stretch burning sweet as her walls clenched around him. The rhythm built savage, hips snapping, water drumming like their pulses. His free hand pinned her wrist above her head, holding her steady as she cried out, the spray mixing with her gasps. She shattered first, pulsing tight around him, pulling his hot release deep inside until it spilled down her thighs with the runoff.
They toweled off quickly, but he wasn’t done. In the bedroom, he grabbed a soft towel from the chair, looping it around her wrists and tying them loosely to the headboard.
“Trust me?” he murmured, testing the knot.
She nodded, thrill sparking through her as the fabric held her in place—light, teasing restraint that made every touch electric.
“Say yes if you want me to stop anytime.”
“Yes—keep going,” she whispered, pulse racing.
He started slow, tongue tracing her inner thighs, hot and wet, until he reached her core. She writhed, begging as he licked her clean, then deeper, sucking her clit until she bucked against the bonds.
“Fuck, you taste like mine,” he rasped, freeing her wrists just to flip her onto all fours. One hand fisted her damp hair, the other circling her clit in firm strokes as he thrust in from behind—deep, relentless, skin slapping loud against the brick walls. Each plunge hit harder, her moans turning to sobs as she came again, clenching around him like a fist, milking him until he groaned and spilled hot inside her.
Brian’s voice had been even, almost affectionate—no red flags waving. But two days later, over morning coffee in their sunlit kitchen, he circled back.
“Where’d you head out to today?”
Mia’s stomach knotted. She couldn’t confess the afternoon lost in Miles’s king-sized bed, sheets twisted around their sweat-damp bodies.
“Nowhere, really. Just hunkered down here.”
“Why the hermit life?”
“Didn’t feel great—headache from the pollen, probably.”
“Headache, huh? Need anything for it?”
“Nah, I binge-watched some Netflix and whipped up that lasagna you like.”
His eyes lingered a beat too long over his mug. Why the interrogation? Mia’s mind raced, paranoia flickering.
The next morning, as Brian’s SUV crunched down the gravel driveway toward Evergreen’s skyline, she dialed Miles.
“Brian’s grilling me like a suspect. Where I’m going, who I’m with… it’s freaking me out.”
“You think he’s onto us?”
“God, I hope not. But yeah, maybe.”
“Chill, babe. You’ve pulled this off a dozen times. Plan for today still good?”
“I… I think we should pump the brakes. A few days off, just to play it safe.”
“Fine. Thursday at 3? Same spot?”
“Thursday it is.”
She hung up, regret twisting in her chest. A week would have been smarter—let the dust settle.
Thursday dawned crisp, fallen leaves scenting the air through their open windows. Over scrambled eggs and toast at the breakfast nook, Brian leaned in closer than usual, his knee brushing hers under the table—a rare spark in his touch.
“Big plans today?”
Mia’s fork froze mid-air, color draining from her cheeks. First time she’d prepped a lie before dawn.
“Eh, winging it. Nothing locked in yet.”
“No hot dates or errands?”
“Nope. Playing it by ear.”
He held her gaze, a cryptic half-smile playing on his lips. “Whatever you get into, I want every juicy detail tonight. Make it vivid.” His fingers grazed her hand, lingering, sending an unexpected shiver through her—reminding her of the man she’d married, before the routines dulled the fire.
Brian usually bolted at 9:30 for the office grind, but today he holed up in his home study till noon—papers shuffling, phone buzzing with client calls. He finally peeled out at 12:15. Mia’s fingers flew to her phone.
“Scratch today. I’m convinced—he’s suspicious. Acting all off.”
Miles’s voice sharpened over the line, irritation crackling. “This is all in your head, Mia. You’re spiraling over nothing. Hysterical much?”
The call devolved into barbs—Mia accusing him of recklessness, Miles snapping back that she was the one complicating their escape. Defeated, cheeks burning with shame, Mia rang Francesca.
“I need you. Like, now. It’s all crashing down.”
Francesca arrived within the hour, her sleek Prius pulling up to the curb. The two women—Mia with her tousled auburn waves, Francesca with her sharp bob and designer jeans—curled up on the living room sectional, mugs of chamomile steaming between them. Francesca had always been the loyal confidante, but deep down, she’d envied Mia’s soft curves, the way men like Miles gravitated to her easy allure. Now, though, it was Francesca’s turn to pull the strings. She absorbed the spill: the affair, the paranoia, the fight.
“He’s onto something, hon. Brian’s not the type to grill without cause. Lay low on Miles. Give it space.”
Alone after Francesca left, Mia’s thoughts drifted to Miles’s touch—the way his callused hands gripped her hips, the low growl in his throat as he pinned her against the loft’s exposed brick. Their row stung because she was guarding her vows, not because she wanted out. But Miles? Selfish to the core, blind to the chains of a ring on her finger. A married woman in Willow Creek couldn’t just chase whims without fallout.
Her phone buzzed—Brian. “Hey, gorgeous. What’s the vibe?”
“Francesca’s popping by for girl talk.”
“See you tonight. Can’t wait.” There was a huskiness in his voice, a promise that made her pause—had he always sounded this hungry?
Mia pocketed the phone and dissolved into quiet sobs, burying her face in a throw pillow that still smelled faintly of Brian’s cologne.
By Friday afternoon, the weight had become unbearable. Mia slipped out under the guise of a “solo walk” through the park, her heart hammering as she texted Miles one final plea: Loft. Now. We end this clean. The river glittered below like shattered glass as she climbed the stairs to his door, the familiar creak of the hinges twisting like a knife. Miles pulled her inside before she could speak, his mouth crashing onto hers in a kiss that tasted of desperation and bourbon—raw, devouring, his tongue sweeping deep to claim her.
“Don’t say it,” he murmured against her lips, hands yanking at her sweater hem, bunching it up to expose her lace bra.
She broke away, breathless, tears pricking her eyes. “We have to stop. Brian knows—feels it. I can’t lose everything for… for this.” Her voice cracked, but her body betrayed her, arching into his palm as he cupped her breast, thumb circling her nipple until it hardened, aching hot under the fabric.
Miles’s eyes darkened, fury mixing with raw need. “One last time. Let me have you—all of you. You want that? Say it.”
“Yes,” she whispered, nodding through the tears. “One last time. Make me feel it.”
He backed her toward the bed, clothes shedding in a frantic trail—her jeans pooling at her ankles, his shirt ripped open to bare his chest, dark hair dusting the hard ridges of his abs. They tumbled onto the mattress, his weight pinning her, cock hot and hard against her thigh. She spread her legs wide, guiding him to her entrance—wet, ready despite the ache in her chest.
“Do you want me inside?” he asked, tip teasing her folds.
“God, yes—fuck me, Miles.”
He pushed in slow, inch by inch, stretching her tight with that deep burn she craved. Her walls fluttered around his girth, gripping him as he groaned, face burying in her neck, inhaling her vanilla-salt scent. His hips rolled deep, grinding against her clit with every thrust, building that tight coil in her belly. She raked nails down his back, heels digging into his ass to pull him harder, the wet slap of skin filling the room, her moans sharp and rising.
“You’re so tight—fuck, Mia, come for me.”
She did, shattering in waves, clenching hard around him until he followed, spilling hot and pulsing deep inside.
But she wasn’t done. As he shuddered above her, still buried, she whispered against his ear, voice raw: “Take me everywhere. My ass—yours tonight. But only if you make it good for both of us. Promise?”
“I promise,” he rasped, eyes softening with awe. “We’ll go slow. Tell me if it’s too much.”
He withdrew gently, slick with her arousal, and positioned her on her knees. Lube from the nightstand—cool and slick—coated his fingers as he circled her tight entrance, pressing one in slowly. She whimpered, the stretch intense but easing into heat as he added a second, scissoring gently while his other hand stroked her clit in firm, wet circles.
“Breathe, baby. Feel how you’re opening for me? So hot, so ready.” The burn shifted to pleasure, sparks firing up her spine as she rocked back, moaning low. His free hand traced her hip, soothing, building her higher.
“You good?” he checked, voice thick.
“More—give me more,” she begged, the fullness craving him now.
He positioned his tip, pushing in agonizingly slow—the stretch white-hot at first, making her bite the sheet, but then blooming into deep, throbbing bliss as he filled her completely, inch by velvet inch. He paused, buried deep, letting her adjust, his chest pressed to her back, lips brushing her shoulder.
“Fuck, you feel incredible—like you’re pulling me in deeper.”
She nodded, tears from the intensity mixing with gasps of pleasure, her hand slipping between her legs to rub her clit, slick and swollen.
He started shallow, thrusts building to a steady pound, his balls slapping wet against her below, every drag sending electric jolts through them both—her nerves alight, him groaning at the tight, gripping heat.
“So good, Mia—your ass is fucking heaven, squeezing me just right.”
She met him thrust for thrust, the dual sensations overwhelming, her clit throbbing under her fingers until the orgasm hit like a storm—raw, full-body shudders, walls pulsing around him in hot waves that dragged his release from him too, jets of heat flooding her as he cursed her name, collapsing with her in a sweaty, trembling heap. They lay tangled, breaths ragged, the river’s murmur outside a soft echo to their quiet afterglow.
The moment Francesca’s taillights faded down the driveway, her phone lit up. Miles.
“Fran, I’m wrecked. Talk to me.”
“About?”
“Mia’s ghosting after our blowout. Says it’s over. But I need her—can’t breathe without those afternoons. Convince her, please. I’m dying here.”
“It’ll blow over. I chatted with her—tonight’s dinner at our place? You can play the knight, soothe her edges.”
Ethan, Francesca’s husband, was out of town—no, wait, Miles was the one tangled in this web, but Francesca’s secret thrill was reeling him in. She’d plotted this for a month: dismantle Mia’s hold, claim the prize. And tonight? She’d make him forget every stolen glance.
“Okay. Tonight.”
Francesca’s lips curved into a predatory smile as she drove home to their riverside condo. Satisfaction hummed through her veins. Tomorrow, she’d seal it—deeper, hungrier.
The next morning, Francesca stirred in silk sheets, her body aching sweetly from Miles’s relentless hunger the night before. No rush, no regrets—just the thrill of conquest. She’d dropped to her knees after dinner, mouth wrapping hot around his cock, sucking deep to erase Mia’s taste, her tongue swirling as he fisted her hair and groaned, thrusting until he spilled down her throat in salty pulses.
Now, she reached for her phone on the nightstand. Brian’s name flashed.
“Thanks, Francesca. You’re a rock. That advice? Gold. A few pointed questions, and Mia’s melting—realizing I give a damn, even from the office. Last night? I surprised her—pinned her to the kitchen counter, fucked her slow and deep until she screamed my name. Things are electric again; our spark’s roaring. I owe you big.”
“Anytime. Mia’s joy is my mission.”