Page 66 of Damsel in Disguise

A sharp moan tears out of her the moment I fill her in one thrust. Her body clenches around me, reacting exactly the way it’s supposed to.

I never liked to look at her face each time I fucked her. I’ve always taken her from behind, always kept her turned away, detached from the act in a way that made it easier to exist through.

Right now, that habit serves me perfectly—it’s not her I’m seeing. It’s Ariella Keinston.

The bed shudders beneath us with every brutal thrust, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall in a growing rhythm, harder and faster. I lift my gaze again—inevitably, instinctively—and find her.

She’s no longer careful. The faintest shift in fabric betrays her presence

Ariella peers from behind the curtain with a recklessness that borders on deliberate now.

A slow, almost disbelieving breath drags through my lungs as my eyes lock onto the subtle movement of her hand sliding down and disappearing lower along her body.

For a second, I wonder if I’ve finally lost the line between control and delusion.

But no. I know what I saw.

Ariella Keinston is touching herself to the sight of me fucking my wife.

The thought pulls a raw growl out of me. My grip tightens involuntarily, hips snapping harder into Delilah as something dark, possessive, and entirely unhinged coils through my chest.

She doesn’t know the truth—doesn’t know what Delilah really is, what this marriage actually means—which almost makes it worse, or better… I can’t decide.

For now, the only thing corrupting my mind is to keep extending the moment.

Relentless pressure builds low in my back. My balls draw tight, the sensation climbs too fast, and drags higher by the image burning my mind—Ariella being railed under me.

A rough and unrestrained groan tears out of me, making me come hard.

The force steals the rhythm from my body, thrusts breaking into slower, deeper strokes—long, dragging movements wringing the feeling dry.

My head dips, breathe ragged, control slipping just enough to let the edge bleed through me before I force it back down.

Eventually, the motion stills, and I drop back onto my knees. The weight of a dull, satisfying tension lingers beneath my skin.

Delilah rolls onto her back, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her body spent.

I don’t look at her for long. Instead, I stand and head straight for the bathroom to clean up.

Water hits my skin again. It’s meant to ground me, but my mind doesn’t follow. It stays behind the curtains. On the shadow that moved. On the way, her hand disappeared between her legs like she couldn’t tame her desires anymore.

I don’t usually fuck after a shower. It’s inefficient. Unnecessary. An inconvenience.

But tonight? I don’t regret it. Not even the slightest.

When I step back into the room, dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, the air feels calmer.

Delilah is already asleep, her breathing soft and even, the bedside lamp on her side turned off.

My gaze goes to the curtains first. No movement. Too still.

I scan the room slowly, every corner, every shadow, every possible place she could be hiding.

Nothing. No presence. Has she left?

An exhale from something between dismissal and dissatisfaction slips past my lips.

I shake my head and walk back to the bed. The mattress dips under my weight as I pull the blanket over my body and settle in to sleep.