I closed my eyes against the temptation, against the tip of my ex’s tongue poking out, her hand moving rhythmically under the short skirt.
“This is wrong,” I said, but my hand was moving to my pants, just to adjust, just to relieve the ache there.
Maybe if I didn’t take it all the way out. . .
But Christabelle was thrusting her hips forward and back, her fingers deep in her pussy.
“Oh,Frankie, I want you so badly. . .I never forgot you. . . god I wish these were your fingers. . .”
I squeezed my eyes shut as my fingers closed over my dripping shaft.
I was a married man. . .
I loved my wife.
I was going to stop.
Just a few more seconds.
Just a few more strokes on my aching cock.
Then I’d stop.
But Christabelle’s eyes were blown with arousal, her body so close I could smell every inch of her delicious skin, and her breasts were shaking as her hand began to move faster now, her breath catch on a gasp.
“Oh, I’m coming!”
She threw her head back against the fridge, and my hand was stroking my dick faster, then faster, a ragged groan coming from someone else, someone else entirely, someone who wasn’t a complete bastard. . .
My cum landed with a sickening splat, spraying the floor of my wife and I’s coffee shop, dripping down between the cracks of the wooden floors we’d just refinished last winter.
“This can never happen again,” I croaked hollowly, regret sitting like a stone on my chest, seeping like poison into my bones.
“I have to go.”
I couldn’t be that weak again, I thought wildly as I hurried home.
This was just one mistake.
One mistake she’d hopefully never find out about. . .
CHAPTER 8
Jillian
“It’s not what it looks like,” Frankie panted hastily, shoving Christabelle away. “I can explain.”
But there was another woman’s hand on his dick, and for some reason my eyes lit on her perfect nails, the way the fuchsia pink color looked against the angry throbbing red color of his shift.
Time seemed to slow down, and my blood was a whoosh in my ears.
In one second, everything I knew about my marriage was turned upside down.
Because the rest of it didn’t matter.
The orgasm still tingling between my legs, the hot latte he had on the counter for me, the ten years together.
None of it mattered with his dick down another woman’s throat.
