Neighbor's Wife: Part 2

Tuesday came with a different kind of quiet.

I was in my kitchen when I saw her car pull into the driveway next door a little after six. No silver SUV behind it. She got out alone, collected two smaller bags from the back seat, and glanced once toward my house before walking up the path. Ten minutes later my phone lit up with a number I didn’t recognize.

It’s Claire from next door. Husband’s flight got delayed until Thursday. I opened another bottle. Still feeling neighborly?

I stared at the message longer than I needed to. Then I typed back.

Give me five minutes.

I didn’t bother changing out of the T-shirt and jeans I already had on. The walk across the lawn felt shorter than usual. She opened the door before I could knock, like she had been watching for me through the glass.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

She stepped aside. I walked in. The second the door closed behind me I heard the deadbolt turn. The soft, final sound of it locked the evening into place.

Claire was barefoot, still in leggings and a soft gray tank top that left her shoulders bare. Her hair was down this time. She held out a glass of the same red wine from the week before. Our fingers touched in the exchange and neither of us pretended it was accidental.

“No groceries to carry tonight,” she said.

“I noticed.”

“Just the quiet house and too much wine for one person.” She walked ahead of me into the kitchen, hips moving under the dark fabric of the leggings. “I was hoping you might help with that instead.”

I followed. The kitchen looked the same as last time—clean counters, low lights, the clock ticking softly on the wall—but the air felt heavier. Claire leaned against the island and drank, watching me over the rim. I set my glass down without tasting it.

“Your husband is out of town until Thursday,” I said.

“He is.”

“And you locked the door.”

“I did.”

She placed her glass beside mine and closed the remaining distance between us. The light scent of her skin reached me before her hands did. One palm settled on my chest. The other rested at my waist. She looked up at me with the same calm curiosity from the previous week, only now it carried clear intent.

“I’ve been thinking about the way you looked at me while I put the groceries away,” she said. “I decided I didn’t want to wait until the next big shop to see if I imagined it.”

“You didn’t imagine it.”

“Good.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed me.

It started slower than I expected—testing, almost careful—then deepened the moment I answered it. Her mouth opened under mine. I tasted wine and heat. My hands found her waist and pulled her flush against me. The soft give of her tits pressed into my chest through the thin tank top. She made a small sound into the kiss and slid her fingers up into my hair.

When we broke apart she stayed close, breathing a little faster.

“Living room,” she said. “Couch is more comfortable than the counter.”

She took my hand and led me out of the kitchen. The living room was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner. A wide couch faced the dark fireplace. Claire stopped in front of it, turned, and pulled her tank top over her head in one motion. She wore nothing underneath. Her tits were full, nipples already tight. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her leggings and paused.

“Your turn.”

I stripped the T-shirt off and dropped it. Her eyes moved over my chest and stomach with open appreciation. Then she pushed the leggings and her panties down together and stepped out of them. Completely bare in the middle of her living room, she looked at me like the locked door had removed every reason left to pretend.

I closed the space between us and kissed her again, harder this time. My hands ran down her bare back and cupped her ass, pulling her against the hard ridge of my cock. She reached between us, opened my jeans, and shoved them low enough to free me. Her fingers wrapped around the shaft and stroked once, slow, spreading the wetness already gathered at the head.

“Been thinking about this since you walked the bags in,” she murmured against my mouth.

“Same.”

She stroked me again, firmer, then released me and sat on the edge of the couch. She leaned back on her hands and opened her knees. The low light caught the slick shine already visible between her thighs. I pushed my jeans and boxers the rest of the way down and knelt between her legs. The first long pass of my tongue through her cunt pulled a shaky exhale from her. She was wet and ready and responsive under my mouth. I licked her with steady focus, circling her clit, then sliding lower, until her hips started lifting to meet me.

“Noah—”

I pushed two fingers inside her while I sucked on her clit. Her head dropped back against the couch. The wet sound of my fingers moving in her cunt filled the quiet room. Her thighs tightened against my shoulders. I kept the rhythm exact until her breathing turned short and her fingers twisted in my hair.

“I’m going to come,” she said, voice frayed.

I didn’t stop. She broke against my mouth with a raw, open sound, her cunt clamping around my fingers in strong pulses while her hips rolled through the waves. I worked her through it until the trembling eased, then rose up over her, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and settled between her open thighs.

The head of my cock pressed against her entrance. Claire reached down, guided me, and pulled me into her in one slow thrust until I was buried to the hilt.

We both exhaled.

She was tight and hot and still fluttering from the orgasm. I braced one hand on the couch beside her head and started moving—deep, steady strokes that made her tits shift with every thrust. She wrapped her legs around my waist and locked me closer. The angle let me grind against her clit on each drive. Her nails dug into my back.

“Harder,” she whispered.

I gave her harder. The couch creaked under us. The wet sound of my dick sliding in and out of her cunt grew louder. Claire’s second orgasm built fast; I felt the flutter and clench around me and watched her face as she came again, quieter this time but deeper, her body pulling me in. The way she squeezed my cock dragged me right to the edge.

“Inside,” she said. “Do it.”

I thrust deep and came with a rough groan, flooding her while her legs stayed locked around me. The pulses seemed to last longer than they should have. I dropped my forehead to hers and stayed buried while our breathing slowed and the locked house settled around the fact of what we had just done on her living room couch.

Neither of us moved for a long minute.

Eventually I pulled out. Her husband’s wife lay spread beneath me on the ordinary family couch, flushed and marked with my come, the locked front door still sealing the night away from the rest of the street. Claire reached up and traced a slow line down my chest with one finger.

“Tuesday,” she said quietly. “He leaves every Tuesday through Thursday most weeks. I’ll leave the back gate open. You won’t need to text first.”

I looked at her—bare, satisfied, already planning the next time—and nodded once.

“Tuesday.”

She smiled, small and certain, and pulled me back down to her mouth.

We still hadn’t made it to the bedroom.

Neither of us seemed to mind.