Neighbour's Wife: Part 3

We didn’t move to the bedroom.

Claire stayed under me on the couch for another few minutes, legs still loose around my hips, my come slowly leaking out of her onto the cushion. Her fingers traced idle lines along my back. The locked house felt suspended—no headlights in the driveway, no distant garage door, only the two of us and the quiet tick of the clock in the kitchen.

“Again,” she said.

I lifted my head. She was already looking at me with fresh heat in her eyes. I kissed her once, hard, then pulled out and stood. She watched me with open interest while I stayed naked in the middle of her living room, cock still half-hard and shiny from her. Claire sat up, wiped the mess between her thighs with her discarded tank top, and rose to her feet.

“Kitchen,” she said. “I want the counter.”

She walked ahead of me without bothering to pick up her clothes. The leggings and tank top stayed in a small pile on the couch. I followed the pale line of her bare back and the soft sway of her ass into the kitchen we had stood in a week earlier with grocery bags and polite distance. She stopped at the island, placed both palms flat on the marble, and looked over her shoulder at me.

“Right here.”

I stepped behind her. She was still wet and open from the first round. I rubbed the head of my cock through the slick folds once, then pushed in to the hilt in a single thrust. The sound she made was louder this time—no more need to stay quiet. I gripped her hips and fucked her against the edge of the counter, deep strokes that made her tits swing with every impact. The marble was cool under her hands. My thighs slapped against hers. The wet noise of my dick driving into her cunt filled the kitchen.

Claire pushed back to meet every thrust. One of her hands left the counter and reached down to rub her own clit in tight circles. I could feel her fingers working between us, brushing the base of my cock on every stroke. The extra stimulation made her clench harder around me.

“Fuck—right there,” she gasped.

I kept the angle and the pace. The island shifted half an inch against the floor with the force of it. Claire’s arm trembled. She came with a raw cry, forehead dropping toward the marble, her cunt pulsing in strong waves around my cock. I fucked her through it without slowing, chasing my own edge now that she had broken again.

When I got close I pulled out, turned her around, and lifted her onto the counter. She spread her knees wide. I stepped between them and sank back into her in one hard push. This angle let me watch her face while I thrust—flushed cheeks, open mouth, eyes half-lidded and focused on the place where my cock disappeared into her. I reached down and rubbed her clit with my thumb in time with the strokes. She was still sensitive; the dual pressure made her whimper and lock her legs around my waist.

“Come in me again,” she said. “I want to feel it.”

I drove deep and let go. The orgasm hit harder than the first, pulling a rough groan from my chest as I emptied into her in thick pulses. Claire held me there with her legs, taking every spurt, her own breathing still uneven from the previous climax. For a long moment we stayed joined on the kitchen island of the house her husband paid for, the locked front door still sealing the night away from the street.

Eventually I eased out. Come slid down the curve of her ass and onto the marble. Claire looked at the mess, then at me, and gave a small, satisfied laugh.

“We really didn’t make it to the bedroom.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

She reached for a kitchen towel, cleaned herself in a few practical motions, and hopped down from the counter. Her legs were unsteady for the first step. I caught her elbow; she used the contact to pull me into another slow kiss that tasted like sex and residual wine.

“Living room floor next time,” she murmured against my mouth. “Or the hallway. I don’t care. Just not the bed I share with him. Not yet.”

The boundary was clear and strangely intimate. I nodded once. She stepped away, collected her clothes from the living room, and dressed without hurry while I pulled my jeans back on. The tank top clung to the faint dampness still on her skin. She didn’t bother with the panties; she simply stepped into the leggings and left the scrap of fabric on the couch cushion like a quiet claim.

At the front door she unlocked the deadbolt but didn’t open it immediately. Instead she leaned against the wood and looked at me fully dressed again, the ordinary neighbor who had walked across the lawn an hour earlier.

“Tuesday,” she said. “Back gate will be open. Come after seven. He never gets in before Thursday night.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I know.”

She opened the door. The early night air moved between us. Somewhere down the block a dog barked once and went quiet. Claire’s eyes held mine for another second, then she tilted her head toward my house.

“Go. Before I pull you back inside and we test how the hallway carpet feels.”

I crossed the lawn with the taste of her still in my mouth and the memory of her cunt gripping me on both the couch and the kitchen counter. Behind me I heard the deadbolt slide home again. When I glanced back the living room lamp was already off. Only the upstairs hallway light glowed faintly through the window, as if she had gone up to shower and erase the visible evidence while leaving the rest of the night intact under her skin.

I stepped into my own dark house and stood in the entryway longer than necessary, replaying the exact sound she had made when she came on the island and the clear, practical way she had already scheduled the next time.

We still had not used the bedroom.

From the way she had spoken, we weren’t going to anytime soon.

And the back gate would be open on Tuesday.