SLIPPERY SINS 1

“Mmm… yes. Just like that…” I moaned, gripping the sheets as my husband’s tongue licked up the slick between my thighs like he was savoring dessert. His mouth was greedy, worshipful, relentless.

“Are you ready for me, my love?” he asked, his voice low, thick with lust. His hand gripped the base of his cock, thick, long, and leaking with pre-cum. It twitched as he rubbed it against my entrance.

“Fuck me,” I gasped. “Fuck me, please…”

He lined himself up, teasing the swollen tip against my soaked pussy. My body arched, desperate to be filled.

And then…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Fuck no!” I bolted upright, heart racing, breath ragged. The damn alarm blared from the nightstand like it was mocking me.

I grabbed it and flung it against the wall. It shattered on impact. Good.

My nipples throbbed, painfully hard beneath the thin silk of my nightdress. As I moved, they brushed the fabric, sending jolts through me. I couldn’t help but touch them.

God, they were so sensitive.

Kyle was already gone. As always.

He left before dawn and didn’t return until the middle of the night. Our honeymoon had been the last time we made love, three fucking months ago.

I slipped a hand between my thighs, and my fingers came back wet. Dripping. But no matter how much I rubbed, it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed him. I needed his ten inches buried deep inside me, his mouth on my breasts, his hands pinning me down and taking me apart.

But he wasn’t here.

I groaned, frustrated, and rolled out of bed.

The cold shower didn’t help. If anything, it pissed me off more. My body was on fire, and I was stuck in this lonely icebox of a marriage, playing house while starving for touch.

I threw on a pair of bum shorts and a white crop top with no bra, because what was the point? My nipples still pressed against the fabric like tiny accusations. I padded barefoot to the poolside and collapsed onto a lounger.

I unlocked my phone. Messages from my girls.

And one from an unknown number.

Frowning, I tapped the message open.

“It’s me. Matt. I’m back in town. Can we talk?”

Matt.

The ex who ghosted me eight months ago like I didn’t exist. No explanation. Just vanished. I’d met Kyle two months after that, and now here I was, married to a man who treated work like his mistress.

My heart pounded as I typed back:

“I’m married. Don’t contact me again.”

Then I blocked the number.

****

I must’ve drifted off under the heat of the sun, because the next thing I heard was the doorbell ringing.

Groggy and annoyed, I stood up and stretched. Kyle’s house was massive, some billionaire ego-trip of a mansion dropped in the middle of nowhere. But I liked the isolation. The staff cleaned in the morning, cooked, then disappeared to the staff quarters, which were a full five-minute drive away, near the barn.

If I wanted privacy, I got it.

I walked barefoot to the door, dragging my fingers through my hair.

When I opened it, my breath caught in my throat.

Matt.

Standing there like he hadn’t disappeared. Same dark eyes. Same arrogant mouth. Same energy that made me feel things I didn’t want to admit.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

“I know I fucked up. I just wanted to explain.”

“I’m married.” I tried to close the door. He caught it with one hand.

“Please, Riella. Just five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

Goddamn him.

I sighed and stepped aside. “Five. And don’t touch me.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, walking in. I led him to the poolside, my skin buzzing.

We sat. He stared at the water.

“My family had a car accident. I lost everyone. It shattered me. I was hospitalized for months. I didn’t want to drag you into that kind of grief. I couldn’t even breathe, Ri.”

He looked like hell, but still beautiful.

The part of me that used to love him ached.

“And I didn’t deserve to know?” I asked, eyes narrowing.

“You did. I was a coward. I regret every second of how I handled it.” He reached for my thigh, his hand brushing my bare skin. I didn’t stop him.

His touch was warm. Familiar.

Dangerous.

“You didn’t respect me,” I whispered, sadness threading through my anger.

His hand stayed there, steady, rubbing gently.

“I know. I was foolish.”

The heat pooled between my legs again. I bit the inside of my cheek. My body was betraying me with every second that passed.

“Okay. I forgive you,” I muttered, mostly to end this moment before I did something stupid.

He smiled faintly. “Can I hug you?”

I hesitated. Then nodded.

His arms wrapped around me, strong and solid. My nipples brushed his chest. My breath hitched.

I moaned quietly, involuntarily.

He leaned in, lips at my ear. “You okay?”

No. Not even a little.

I pulled away, looking up at him. He towered over me.

“Is your husband not satisfying you?”

My jaw dropped. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you moaned. Because your nipples were hard when you pressed against me. Because I remember how you used to whimper when I touched your little pussy. And you’re moaning the same way now.”

My thighs clenched. My pussy pulsed.

“I’m not starved,” I lied. Poorly.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m married,” I said sharply.

Matt took my hand, slid off my wedding ring, and placed it on the glass table beside us.

“There. Now you’re single.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” I whispered.

His eyes drifted to my chest. I followed his gaze and cursed.

My nipples were visibly erect under my crop top. He reached out and brushed one with his fingers, just the faintest touch.

I shivered.

Then I pushed him back. “You need to leave.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I went too far. I just wanted you to feel something good again.”

He walked out. And I stood there, heart hammering.

I tore off my clothes and dove into the pool.

The cold didn’t help. I was burning from the inside out.

I slid my hand between my legs and tried desperately to come. I rubbed and moaned, back arching, water rippling around me.

But it wasn’t enough.

He’d lit a fire in me that no water could put out. I stopped what I was doing and tried to text my girls about it, but I ended up deleting the message and sighed in frustration.

***

Later That Night…

Kyle stumbled in at exactly 12:00 a.m. His shoulders sagged. He dropped onto the bed and passed out before I could say a word.

I sat beside him. He looked so exhausted, it almost made me feel guilty.

Almost.

I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my hands over his chest, leaning in close. I was starving for him.

“Baby, I want you,” I whispered.

His dick twitched in his briefs. He opened one eye. “I want you too… but I’ve had such a long day…”

“Babe, it’s been three months. Please. I need this.”

He groaned. “Okay. Just grind on me, baby. Turn me on.”

I straddled him, peeled off my shorts, and rubbed my dripping pussy against his cock, still trapped in his briefs. It felt so good, just enough friction to tease, but not enough to satisfy.

He moaned, started to get hard… and then he started snoring.

Again.

His erection softened beneath me.

That was the last straw.

I climbed off, touched myself till I came, angry, empty, and then rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

Still starving.

And now… thinking of Matt..