The Noose - A Dave Williams Story 6

**THIS STORY HAS THE BEGINNING OF A HOTWIFE/CUCKOLD THEME - IF IT"S NOT YOUR THING THEN PASS ON BY**

David hadn't seen Samantha Ruiz since Emily's funeral when he walked into the cafeteria at the hospital. Blue scrubs that didn't hide her sultry curves and a smile that would melt steel. She was glowing, the kind of glow a bride-to-be wears effortlessly.

She stood when she looked up and saw him walking towards her with purpose. She hugged him - a hug he tolerated but felt uncomfortable. "What brings you to my neck of the words on a Tuesday afternoon?

David offered a small smile and sat across from her. "Sam, I need a favor," he said simply.

Sam looked puzzled but quietly said, "Not sure what I can do but I'll try."

"I need you to sit Dr. Hart and his wife with Mandy and Tasha."

She looked up sharply. "With Mandy and Tasha?"

"Yes."

Sam hesitated. "David... they're not exactly discreet. And Claire..." She trailed off, her brows knitting. "Is that really a good idea?"

He met her gaze, unflinching. "They'll be fine. Besides, you wanted Emily there in spirit? This'll do."

Her frown deepened. "I don't understand."

He took a slow sip of his coffee, letting the silence thicken before he spoke. "Jonathan and Emily were fucking."

The words hit her like a slap. She blinked, once, then again--processing, rejecting.

"No," she said quietly. "That can't be true. Emily adored you. I saw the way she looked at you."

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "She also looked up at Jonathan. On her knees. On her back. Bent over the passenger seat while he was still wearing his wedding ring."

Sam paled. "David..."

"I saw the autopsy report. Seminal fluid in the vagina, rectum, and oropharynx." He didn't flinch as he said it, didn't soften the blow. "She died with pieces of him still inside her."

She stared at him, stunned. "Jesus Christ. Jonathan? Coming home from the conference."

He leaned forward then, lowering his voice until it coiled like smoke around them. "I want Mandy and Tasha at that table because I'm going to fuck one of them before your wedding. And we both know those two can't keep a secret if their lives depended on it."

"Why?" Sam whispered. "What do you want from this?"

His gaze was steady, calm. Too calm.

"I want Jonathan to know what it feels like. To wonder. To hurt. To unravel. I want Claire to hear whispers she can't unhear. I want them to rot in the same silence I've been living in for the last year. Because, as I've already told Dr. Hart - I am going to fuck his wife like he fucked mine."

Sam sat back slowly, her fingers trembling against the edge of the seating chart. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"You told Jonathan? You actually told him you were going to fuck his wife?"

David's jaw flexed, his lips twitching with something close to satisfaction. His eyes--the same soft green that once made Emily melt--flashed with something far darker now.

"I told him exactly that."

"You..." she shook her head, breath catching. "You looked him in the eye and--"

"He knows," David said, his voice a low rumble. "He looked like he'd swallowed a live wire when I said it. Didn't even try to deny what he did. Just stood there in that smug little suit, that surgeon's arrogance, and confessed."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to something almost seductive.

"He told me Emily loved him. That he never meant for it to happen. That she couldn't stop coming back for more. That he was going to leave Claire."

Sam blinked, stunned. "Oh my God."

David's mouth twisted. "She died before he had the balls to do it. And now? He gets to go on with his life like nothing happened. Smiling at galas. Fucking his wife. Playing the good husband, while I'm left with a bed that still smells like her shampoo."

Her breath hitched.

"That's why I want Mandy and Tasha at that table. I don't need to whisper a word. Once they've had me, the rumors will do the rest. You know how they are--loud moans, louder mouths. And Claire will start wondering. What did I do? When did I do it? How did I do it."

Sam's cheeks flushed, her thighs shifting in her chair as something wicked moved through her, uninvited.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," she murmured. "But I think I get it."

David studied her. "Do you?"

Her eyes lifted to meet his. She swallowed, heart hammering.

"You're not doing this out of lust."

"Nope," he said simply. "I'm doing it because justice doesn't always wear a robe. Sometimes it wears lipstick and heels. Sometimes it moans my name loud enough to haunt him."

Sam sat there for a long moment, biting her lip. Then she reached for her pen and drew two tight circles around the names Mandy Croft and Tasha Bell on the seating chart.

"Table Eight," she said quietly. "Game on."

Two Saturdays later, the string quartet played something light and forgettable as champagne flutes clinked and laughter fluttered through the hall like perfume. Table Eight was tucked near the dance floor, close enough to be seen, far enough to be forgotten.

Jonathan Hart adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, visibly annoyed as he looked around at the sea of teal dresses and hospital-issued inside jokes. He leaned toward Claire, his voice low.

"Nurses? Really?"

Claire didn't look at him. She took a sip of her champagne, red lips kissing the rim of the glass.

"Jonathan, shut up. Do not ruin this evening," she said smoothly.

He stiffened, face pale.

She smiled sweetly at Mandy Croft across the table. "Tell me, have the ER nights been busy lately?"

But before Mandy could answer, Tasha Bell leaned in, eyes already dancing with mischief and barely contained lust. The table's idle chatter quieted as she rested her elbow against her champagne glass and said, "Busy doesn't even begin to cover it."

Mandy grinned. "You look like you're glowing. What happened to you?"

Tasha bit her bottom lip and let out a breathy laugh. "Let's just say I met a man. A real man. Older. Bigger. Confident as sin. He didn't just make me cum--he wrecked me."

The other nurses laughed, as Jonathan and Claire turned red. Mandy though was intrigued by her best friend and Mandy leaned in..

"Come on," she whispered, eyes sparkling. "You always say that. What made this one different?"

Tasha's eyes flicked around the table, knowing exactly what she was doing--and who was listening. Her voice dropped just enough to pull everyone in, a siren's murmur meant to snare.

All eyes turned to the voluptuous ER nurse with the dark curly hair, large tits, and mocha skin. "Honey, I've been with brothers who have been hung like mules - and they didn't do to me what this man did. I've been with women who thought they could eat pussy - and they didn't do to me what this man did. I've been with men and women who thought their fingers played you like a violin - they didn't do to me what this man did. Men who thought they were in control. But this man? He didn't ask what I wanted. He knew. He read my body like he'd written the damn manual."

She paused, savoring the attention, and let her tongue trace the rim of her glass before continuing. "He didn't fumble. He didn't hesitate. He just took what he wanted, how he wanted, and when he wanted. I've never cum so hard that I saw stars, this man damn near fucked me until I was passed out.

Mandy and the other nurses were well invested by this time as Tasha continued, "Dude made me tap out... TWICE."

Mandy shook her head, "No chance in hell someone made the mighty cock queen Tasha Bell, slut extraordinaire tap out."

Tasha laughed, "Girl, I know - and not once but twice. I swear I saw angels - white flashes - and more. He ruined me on his fingers, on his tongue, on his cock. He made me beg and I didn't even recognize the sound of my own voice."

Claire's hand paused halfway to her mouth. Jonathan had gone rigid, pretending to focus on his wine glass, but the tick in his jaw betrayed him.

Mandy let out a low whistle. "Jesus. I need more detail."

Tasha smirked. "He's thick, Mandy. Not just long--thick. You feel him for days. And the way he talked to me while he was fucking me. It's not just dirty talk - he commands. He says things you didn't know that you wanted to hear until they're echoing through your body like thunder."

The nurse beside them--Sherry, maybe--shifted in her seat, crossing her legs tightly.

Tasha kept going.

"He didn't just give me orgasms. He took them. Ripped them from me like he owned them. Like he owned me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just screamed and clung and let him do whatever he wanted. And the worst part?"

Mandy raised her brows, hanging on the words.

"I'd let him do it again in a heartbeat."

There was a brief, heady silence. The kind that descends when people realize they've crossed from conversation into confession.

Claire finally looked at Jonathan, her voice dry and low.

"Maybe you should be taking notes."

He didn't answer. But the flicker of panic in his eyes was unmistakable.

Mandy couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay," she said, eyes wide, voice hushed like they were sharing some sacred, wicked gossip, "you cannot talk like that and not tell me who he is. Come on, Tash. I need a name."

Tasha didn't answer right away. She just smiled--slow, decadent, and full of secrets. She swirled the champagne in her flute, not even pretending to be coy. She was relishing this, and everyone at the table knew it.

Then she bit her lip, glanced toward the entry doors, and gave the subtlest, most deliberate nod.

Every head turned.

Walking through the doors was none other than David Williams. He stepped in like something from another world. Imposing. Unbothered. Commanding in a dark charcoal suit that clung to his powerful frame like it was sewn straight onto him. A dark stubble lined his jaw, his green eyes calm and unreadable, but with a quiet confidence that dared the room to look away.

Claire Hart's breath caught--but not enough to show. Not to someone untrained. Her spine straightened, her shoulders pulled tight, but her face remained composed. Still, inside her, everything tensed. It wasn't just surprise. It was heat. Confusion. A low, simmering awareness she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Beside her, Jonathan froze. Not the kind of freeze that could be written off as mere surprise.

No, his knuckles turned white around the stem of his wine glass. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle twitched near his temple. His eyes locked on David like prey spotting a predator that had already licked its lips.

Claire turned toward him, just slightly, catching the way his body had gone stiff, the pulse ticking fast in his neck. Interesting.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice smooth and low, just for him.

Jonathan blinked, pulled from wherever his mind had just gone. "Nothing," he said too quickly. "Just... didn't expect to see him here."

Claire raised an elegant brow. "I'm sure that Dr. Williams and David would have been invited.

Jonathan stared, "Didn't think he'd show up alone." He couldn't look away from the man who knew everything. At the man he couldn't stop. At the man who had already told him--calmly, clearly--that he was going to fuck Claire. And Jonathan hadn't told her. He couldn't - because that would be an admission of his own guilt.

He didn't know what terrified him more: that she might find out... or that she might not stop it.

Tasha, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smile, enjoying the way everyone at the table was suddenly a little breathless, a little flushed.

Mandy reached across and grabbed her arm. "Tasha. No way. That's him?"

Tasha grinned, all wicked amusement. "Mm-hmm."

Mandy glanced back at David, her eyes dragging down the line of his chest, the strength of his thighs, the sheer presence of the man. "Oh my god. Isn't that Dr. William's widow?

Claire felt the need to correct her grammar, but she didn't know why. "Widower my dear, David is a widower - a man who had their spouse taken away from them cruelly and too soon."

Mandy didn't hesitate. She was done listening--done imagining. She was hungry for the truth behind the smirk on Tasha's lips and the flushed heat in her voice.

With one last sip of wine and a little lick of her bottom lip, she stood and smoothed the curve of her tight burgundy dress. It hugged her body like a second skin, showing off the hours she spent on her feet in the ER--and in the gym, deadlifting more than half the men she worked with.

The room seemed to part for her as she moved. Each step deliberate. Her hips swayed with a little extra heat, a little extra purpose. Her eyes were locked on one man only.

David Williams.

He stood near the far wall, speaking with the father of the bride, drink in hand, posture relaxed, but eyes always sharp. He saw her coming. And he didn't look away.

When she reached him, she didn't waste time. She rose onto her tiptoes, her breasts grazing his chest, just enough for him to feel the press of warm flesh and firm curves. Her lips brushed his ear, her voice a husky purr only he could hear.

"I want what she had," she whispered.

David's deep chuckle rolled through his chest like thunder on the horizon. His green eyes flicked to the table behind her--straight to Tasha, who was watching with smug satisfaction. She lifted her glass in a silent toast.

Mandy turned just enough to let her fingers find the inside of David's elbow and loop through. He didn't resist. He never would.

Without another word, they turned and walked out together.

Claire's wine glass clinked against her teeth before she caught herself. Her lips were slightly parted. Her face flushed--not with embarrassment, but something far darker. Something hotter. Something hungry.

Tasha, still reclining in her seat like a queen watching her plan unfold, raised her glass high. "Guess our room upstairs is gonna smell like animal sex tonight."

One of the other nurses choked on her champagne. Jasmine giggled.

"To Mandy," Tasha continued, voice rich and wicked. "To David. To amazing, mind-blowing, scream-til-your-throat-is-raw sex."

She drank.

Claire crossed her legs tightly under the table, pressing her thighs together against the slow pulse blooming between them. She hated that she was affected. Hated that the idea of David with another woman, especially one so eager and willing, made her skin burn.

And beside her, Jonathan sat frozen. Paler than before. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. His stomach churned like acid. Because he knew what David was doing.

And worse-- He knew he deserved it.

About 90 minutes had passed. The wedding reception had mellowed, dinner had been served, first dances had, and some of the more rousing music had started to wind down. It was late, some guests had drifted away while couples danced slower, the buzz of alcohol mingling with candlelight and soft music. But at that table--that table--the air was anything but calm.

Laughter rose from one corner. Silverware clinked. But the sharpest sound was the echo of stilettos on polished floors. Mandy was back.

Hair tousled. Cheeks flushed. Her dress slightly wrinkled like it had been hastily slipped back on. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, glowing with satisfaction and exhaustion in equal measure. She eased back into her seat like her legs barely worked, letting out a slow, dreamy exhale as she picked up her glass.

Every eye turned to her.

Jasmine, who had been steadily sipping vodka and cranberry all night looked on with growing interest in everything. She leaned in, voice husky with anticipation and liquor. "Well?"

Mandy paused, closed her eyes, and actually shivered. Then, she laughed--soft, low, disbelieving. "You know that feeling when you think you've had good sex? Like, you think you know what your body's capable of? And then someone just... blows that whole belief system to hell?"

Tasha smirked knowingly and topped off her wine. Jasmine leaned in further.

Mandy didn't stop.

"I don't even have words for most of what happened. At one point, I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing. I know I stopped thinking. There were moments where I didn't even remember where I was--just what he was doing. What I was begging for."

She looked around the table, flushed but unashamed. "I've had men. I've had women. I've had toys, pairs, trios, a Vegas weekend I thought was wild... but this? This was next level. He doesn't just fuck you--he breaks you open and makes you like it. Makes you thank him for it."

Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "I came so hard the second time I cried. I don't even cry."

Tasha chuckled knowingly, "How many?"

Mandy sighed, "I stopped counting at 7. Hell, I squirted three times - I may have to sleep with you tonight - my bed is a fucking swamp."

Tasha lifted her glass to her lips, "You made it to 7? I lost count at 6 but know there were too many more to count."

Mandy lifted her glass and the two women clinked them together in a knowing toast.

There was a collective exhale around the table--everyone stunned into silence, arousal, or sheer disbelief.

Twice during her vivid retelling, Jonathan made a move to rise. His hands trembled slightly, and his complexion had gone an ashen gray. But each time he shifted-- Claire's hand landed on his thigh. Light. Controlling. Possessive.

Her nails grazed him once, softly, reminding him not to move. Her expression stayed icy calm, her gaze never leaving Mandy, but her message was clear. You will sit. You will listen. You will stew in it.

Jonathan's jaw twitched, rage and humiliation and guilt swirling in his gut like poison. But he didn't dare stand. Not with Claire's fingers digging in slightly tighter every time he tried.

Mandy leaned back, sighing contentedly. "God help the poor soul I ever try to date again. Man, woman, alien, I don't care. It won't be the same. He... ruined me."

Tasha grinned like a cat who'd just licked cream from the bowl. Jasmine fanned herself.

And Claire? She took a slow sip of her wine, eyes never leaving Mandy. Then, with a tone too smooth, too deliberate, she murmured, "Sounds unforgettable."

Jonathan nearly choked. And that was just the beginning.

The ride home was quiet at first--too quiet.

Jonathan's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his molars might crack. The darkness outside the car felt suffocating, but it was nothing compared to the silence between them.

Claire sat poised in the passenger seat. Immaculate. Still. The Ice Queen, even now. Her legs crossed, her hands resting on her lap, not a strand of hair out of place--though her calm was a mask Jonathan couldn't begin to understand.

Trying to break the silence, and desperate to reassert any kind of control, he scoffed and muttered, "Those two little sluts--just throwing themselves at him like heat-starved animals. No shame."

Claire didn't answer. He kept going, voice tinged with resentment and fear, hoping that maybe she'd join him in his bitterness.

"God, Mandy could barely stand when she walked back in. Bragging like she'd won a damn prize. I mean, how pathetic can you be? Screaming it to the table like some badge of honor--"

"Jonathan."

Her voice was soft, cold. Icy steel cutting through his tirade. He faltered. Claire turned her head slowly toward him, her eyes sharp, expression unreadable--but dangerous. Her voice didn't rise, but the words landed like frostbite.

"If someone ever did to me what David did to them..." she said calmly, "I would want the world to know too."

Jonathan blinked, confused, but she didn't give him time to recover.

"Men like that--men who look like that, who move the way he does, with that voice, that smile... that kind of power?" She leaned in slightly, her voice still too calm. "If a man like David Williams decided to fuck me like that? Make me lose control like that?" She paused for just a beat--just enough to make sure her words struck bone. "I would want everyone to know I was his."

Jonathan opened his mouth--then closed it. His stomach twisted violently.

Claire looked away then, back out the passenger window, as if she'd said nothing of consequence. But she wasn't done. Not quite.

"I'd be proud to be another notch on his bedpost," she added quietly. "Because unlike some men... he knows how to make it count."

The silence that followed was deafening. That was the moment Jonathan knew. He didn't stand a chance. Not against David Williams. He was even beginning to doubt what Emily had seen in him, if it had all been a lie.

He knew they had good sex together, but she had told him that he had a bigger dick, that he was a better lover, that he was perfect for her. He was beginning to think it was all a lie - that Emily liked being with him because he was gentle, smaller, less demanding.

He also knew that if--when--David decided to take Claire, it would be over. Irrevocable. He wouldn't just take her body. He'd ruin her - just like the two nurses - And worst of all, Jonathan wouldn't be able to look away. He would have to watch. David would make sure of it.

Claire lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind anything but.

Jonathan slept beside her, his breathing shallow, rhythmic. She could feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheets. But the man in her mind, the one igniting the heat that now simmered low in her belly, wasn't lying beside her.

It was David.

The way he had looked when he walked through that door--the slow, commanding confidence in each step. The smug, knowing smile that said he had already won. The way Tasha's voice trembled with memory, and the way Mandy had returned, flushed, glowing, her legs barely able to carry her...

Claire's thighs pressed together under the covers, instinctively.

She had never been the jealous type. Not in that petty, insecure way. But watching those women talk about him--no, not just talk. Worship--it stirred something inside her. Something deep and hungry and dark.

She glanced at her husband's sleeping form.

Jonathan. The man who had driven Emily to her death. The man who she now suspected, had taken what didn't belong to him. And the man who knew, if David truly decided to make a move, would lose her--completely. Because David wouldn't just seduce her. He would claim her.

Claire let her hand drift down her body, her breath catching as her fingers traced over the silk of her camisole, lower, where the heat had bloomed into something needful. She closed her eyes.

In her mind, it wasn't Jonathan's hands on her. It was David's--rougher, surer. His voice, low and commanding in her ear. His mouth. His weight. The way he'd make her unravel like the others, only more. She wouldn't break, she would shatter.

The mattress shifted slightly as her body began to arch, her breath no longer quiet.

Jonathan stirred, eyes flickering open. He didn't move. He didn't say a word. He knew.

He felt the subtle tremors of the bed. Heard the quiet, breathless gasps. But he didn't speak. Didn't dare. Because what made it unbearable wasn't that she was touching herself.

It was the soft, helpless sounds of her pleasure--the kind he'd never drawn from her. The way her body shuddered, clenched, and finally released in a quiet cry she buried in the pillow. She came undone... not for him. And lying there, frozen in the bed he shared with his wife, Jonathan realized he had already lost.

Three days had passed since the wedding, and Claire had done everything she could to drown the lingering images in work. Contracts. Site visits. Development meetings. Anything to keep her from thinking about the sound Mandy made when she returned to the table. Anything to erase the way Jonathan had looked like a man already mourning the loss of his wife.

She was halfway through reviewing the renovation bid on a high-rise downtown when her secretary popped her head in.

"Claire? Sorry to interrupt, but... David Williams is here. No appointment. Asked if you had a minute."

Claire's pen froze mid-note. Her pulse kicked in her throat.

David Williams.

She swallowed and adjusted her blazer as calmly as she could manage. "Sure. Send him in."

The door closed behind her secretary a moment before it reopened.

He stepped in like he belonged there--tailored suit, easy confidence, not a single apology in his expression. Claire stood to greet him, instantly aware of every nerve in her body. She extended her hand with the professionalism she'd worn like armor for years.

"David. This is a surprise."

He shook her hand, held it just a second longer than polite. "Didn't want to bother Alexandra with this one. Thought I'd run it by you directly."

"Of course," she said, motioning to the chair across from her desk. "Please, sit."

Claire dropped back into her seat, trying not to notice how his legs spread, how relaxed he looked--how out of place he made Jonathan seem just by existing.

"I've got a client," David said, "looking at a potential mixed-use development. They're eyeing that strip off Hamilton near the water."

Claire leaned forward, grateful for the topic, for the chance to speak business--the one place she still felt in control. "That lot's been sitting for a decade. We've run numbers, but zoning's always been an issue."

David nodded, his voice smooth and easy. "Exactly why I wanted your insight. They've got deep pockets and political reach. If it makes sense structurally and financially, we could make zoning fall in line."

She relaxed slightly. "I'd be interested in seeing what they have in mind."

And then, he shifted.

His smile stayed charming, but his eyes changed. Sharpened. As if they had finally arrived at the real reason he came.

"So," he said, leaning forward, his elbows resting casually on the desk, "did you enjoy the wedding?"

The air in her lungs turned thick. She felt her cheeks flush instantly, heat rushing like a wildfire from her neck to her ears.

He knew.

She opened her mouth, trying to summon some clever deflection, some professional response--but the only words that came out were, "I heard you and the nurse had a better one."

David's grin deepened, the small dimple in his right cheek appearing as his gaze locked onto hers with unapologetic heat. "First come, first served," he said. "You could have walked over before Mandy did."

She should've been offended. Outraged. Disgusted.

But she wasn't.

She blushed again, her body betraying her, warmth pulsing low in her belly. "I'm married," she whispered.

David leaned in, brushing the back of his fingers against her forearm--barely touching, but it was enough to send her skin to fire.

"Are you sure that would stop you?"

Claire swallowed, eyes flicking to the door, the glass wall. Her heart beat so loud she was sure he could hear it.

"I'm married," she said again, quieter this time.

David reached for her hand, and this time, she didn't stop him. He laced his fingers through hers and lifted it to his mouth, holding her gaze like a weapon. "That's not an answer," he said.

She couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

And then--his mouth.

Warm. Wet. Possessive.

He slid her finger slowly between his lips, and Claire felt a bolt of desire shoot through her so violently she thought she might come undone right there in her chair.

Her breath trembled. Her resolve shattered.

"... No," she whispered.

David stood, letting her hand go with deliberate slowness. "Dinner at your place was amazing last time," he said with that signature, dangerous calm. "We should do it again."

She blinked, still disoriented. "When...?"

David's smirk returned as he buttoned his jacket. "Thursday. Don't tell Jonathan. Let's surprise him."

Claire could only nod, her stomach hollowing, her thoughts crashing into each other like waves in a storm.

David turned to the door, pausing just before he opened it. "I'll bring the development proposal," he said over his shoulder. "We can brainstorm a bit."

And then he was gone.

Claire stared at the empty doorway for a long time, her heart still thundering, knowing that dinner wouldn't be about zoning. And knowing that, on Thursday, she wouldn't be able to stop it.

The sun had barely risen, soft light filtering through the linen curtains as Claire sat at the edge of the bed, her robe loosely tied, coffee cooling in her hands. She hadn't slept much--too many thoughts, too many what-ifs. She could still feel the ghost of David's mouth on her finger, hear the dark velvet in his voice, "That's not an answer."

She hadn't given one. Not really.

Behind her, Jonathan moved in the bathroom. The sound of the electric toothbrush, the thud of a drawer closing, the casual hum he always did when he was trying to fill silence. He had no idea. Not yet.

Claire took a sip of her coffee and stared out the window, not seeing the skyline, not seeing the day. Just him. David.

The way he'd stood in her office--utterly confident, completely unapologetic. Like he knew what he was going to take from her. And like he knew she was going to give it willingly.

And worse... he was right.

She felt it under her skin. This low, simmering ache that wouldn't go away. That had curled inside her since the wedding and only grown stronger. It terrified her how easily David had crawled inside her head, under her skin, between her legs.

Guilt clamped onto her chest like a vise. She wasn't this woman. She didn't cheat. She didn't play games. She didn't want to be this woman. But God help her, she had already started the descent.

"Morning," Jonathan said, stepping out of the bathroom, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. He looked... normal. Safe. Predictable.

Her husband.

"Morning," she answered softly, setting her cup down and standing to smooth her robe. "Sleep okay?"

He nodded and leaned in to kiss her cheek. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean into it either. He didn't seem to notice.

She watched as he adjusted his tie in the mirror, the same way he always did--centered, double-checked, a slight tug. He was trying, in his own way. Trying to hold them together. But she was already slipping through his fingers. If he knew who was coming for dinner tonight...

"Big meetings today?" he asked as he moved to grab his phone from the nightstand.

Claire nodded. "A few. Need to talk with some folks about a big development down by the river.."

He turned, curious. "Anyone I know?"

Claire hesitated. Swallowed. "Well, David Williams brought the proposal yesterday. I am meeting with his client this morning."

Jonathan's hand froze mid-scroll. "Oh." The silence stretched.

Claire cleared her throat and moved toward the closet, hoping the conversation would drop. But she could feel his eyes on her.

"That was fast," he said finally. "After the wedding."

Claire didn't turn around. "They're ambitious. It's just business." She didn't believe it. And from the silence behind her, neither did he. He didn't press. "I invited him to dinner on Thursday night. I thought he and I could iron out some business before you got home for dinner."

When she turned, Jonathan was already slipping on his jacket. She caught him looking at her, something unreadable in his eyes. Fear? Doubt? Surrender?

The reality that on Thursday night David Williams was going to fuck his wife, in front of him caused his stomach to flip - and blood to begin to flow into his dick. "You look beautiful," he said gently. "As always."

Claire smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you."

They moved around each other like dancers who'd forgotten the steps. And by the time Jonathan grabbed his keys and left with a quiet "See you tonight," Claire felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind of temptation roaring in her ears. And still--she didn't move away.

On Thursday morning Jonathan left the house early and drove to Dave Williams house. A house he had dropped Emily off at more than once - a house where he had dropped by and fucked her in their marital bed. This time the roles were reversed.

The knock was hard. Desperate.

David glanced up from his kitchen island, sipping his espresso in a black T-shirt and slacks, barefoot, unhurried. Whoever was at the door had been pounding for a full minute before he finally made his way over.

When he opened it, Jonathan stood there, disheveled, pale, eyes sunken like he hadn't slept in weeks.

David leaned against the doorframe, sipping calmly. "Well. This is new. What's the matter, Jon? Lose your spine somewhere between here and your safe little condo?"

Jonathan pushed past him, into the modern, steel-and-glass interior.

David didn't stop him.

"Don't do this," Jonathan said, his voice cracking. "You've made your point. With Jasmine. With Tasha. With Mandy. With every fucking nurse you've--"

David chuckled, dark and smooth. "So that's what this is. You're here to talk me out of fucking your wife."

Jonathan turned, nearly shouting, "She said she'd resist. She told me she would!"

David smirked. "Of course she did. You needed to hear that. But I've seen how she looks at me. Hell, you've seen it too."

"I'm begging you," Jonathan said, his voice breaking. "Just... leave her alone. Please."

That smile vanished.

David took a step closer. "And you believed her."

Jonathan's fists clenched. "She's my wife."

"She's a woman who's never been touched the way she wants to be touched," David shot back. "She's hungry, Jon. And you? You're starving her."

Jonathan's face twisted, but before he could speak, David's voice dropped lower, deadlier.

"Want to talk hunger? Let's talk about Emily."

The color drained from Jonathan's face. "Don't."

David stepped forward. "You remember the accident, don't you? You remember what really happened."

"Shut up."

David didn't. "You told the police the sun was in your eyes, that you didn't see the truck roaring at you at 45 mph. That she had unbuckled her seat belt to reach for her purse - but that wasn't it? She was unbuckled because she was sucking your dick!"

Jonathan froze.

David's jaw flexed, his eyes sharp and brutal. "Come on Jonathan - tell me what you wouldn't tell the police. Tell me the truth instead of your little fucking lies. You watched her die. You sat there while the cops tried to piece it together, playing the grieving friend, but you knew what they'd find."

"Stop."

"You watched her die with your cum still fresh in her mouth. Fresh."

Jonathan recoiled like he'd been struck.

Jonathan's lip trembled. "I didn't mean to--"

"Did she die screaming your name? Did you even TRY to save her Doctor Hart? Or were you more concerned about the truth coming out?"

"I SAID I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"

The words ripped from Jonathan's chest like a wound torn open. He staggered backward, gripping the edge of David's countertop like he was going to be sick.

David advanced, voice venomous now. "You didn't just lose her. You killed her."

"I LOVED HER!" Jonathan shouted, breaking down. "We'd just finished... she was teasing me, laughing--she was putting her seat belt back on, purposefully putting it between her tits to tease me--and I looked at her, just for a second--" His knees gave out. He collapsed to the floor, sobbing violently. "I looked at her instead of the road... I saw the truck but it was too late..." He covered his face with shaking hands. "I saw her die. I watched it happen. And now it's happening again."

David stood over him, silent for a long moment. Then, calmly, like he was reading from a menu, he said, "Difference is... this time, she won't die."

Jonathan looked up, a broken man.

David crouched in front of him, voice cold and low. "This time, you'll live through it. You'll watch me take her. And you won't be able to do a damn thing to stop it."

Jonathan was still on the floor, trembling, eyes bloodshot and wild, the weight of guilt pressing down on him like a boulder. David's words sliced deeper than any blade ever could, and for a moment, there was just silence--thick, suffocating.

Then something snapped. Like a match striking dry tinder. Jonathan surged to his feet with a roar, the kind that came not from courage but pure desperation. Spit flew from his lips, rage boiling over. "You smug bastard!"

He lunged. Sloppy. Uncoordinated. Fueled by grief, not skill. Jonathan had never been in a fight in his life - and it showed.

David's smirk returned.

He sidestepped the first punch easily, letting it sail past his shoulder. The next came looping in like a child's tantrum--it was almost sad. David caught Jonathan's wrist, twisted, and pushed him off-balance. Jonathan stumbled, nearly falling into a chair.

Another swing. This one wild and overextended.

David ducked it without effort. "Jesus, Jon," he said, shaking his head, "have you ever been in a fight?"

Jonathan snarled, breath coming in ragged bursts. "You don't get to touch her--you don't get to take her!"

"Oh," David said coolly, "but I do."

And then, as Jonathan charged one last time, David's eyes darkened. He stepped into him. And with a single, precise punch--driven like a piston--David buried his fist into Jonathan's solar plexus. The sound that followed was grotesque.

A guttural gasp, a dry heave of a breath that didn't come. Jonathan collapsed to his knees, eyes bulging as he clawed at the air, winded like a rag doll crushed beneath a boot.

David crouched beside him. Calm. Measured. Cruel. "You feel that?" he said, voice low and intimate. "That choking sound? That hollow gasp for breath? Get used to it."

He leaned in closer, lips near Jonathan's ear now. "You're going to hear it again tonight. Right after she moans my name. Right after she begs me. And you'll know that I'm not just in her body--I'm in her head."

Jonathan wheezed, face flushed, still trying to catch a full breath.

David stood up slowly, straightening his shirt sleeves.. "Now get the fuck out of my house before I stop holding back."

He didn't watch as Jonathan crawled to the door like a broken animal. Didn't flinch as the door clicked shut behind him. David simply poured himself a fresh espresso, eyes already on the evening ahead.

The house was warm with the scent of garlic, herbs, and roasting meat. A bottle of red breathed on the counter. Claire moved from kitchen to dining room, every motion deliberate, every detail scrutinized and perfected.

She checked her lipstick again in the hallway mirror, then tucked a stray curl behind her ear--only to immediately undo it, letting the hair fall loose and seductive around her face. Her blouse was crisp, fitted just enough. Not too much cleavage, but she knew the line.

She told herself it was about being professional. Polished. Confident.

But her eyes kept flicking to the front door. Her pulse had been tapping just beneath her skin all day. Not even the clink of wine glasses or the low hum of music could drown it out.

Then--

A knock.

She froze.

Not surprised. She knew it was him.

Every nerve ending went electric.

Claire opened the door with practiced ease, a smile in place. "David."

He stood there, sharply dressed, that same calm intensity behind his eyes. In his hand, another incredible bottle of wine.

"It smells amazing in here," he said with a smooth grin as he stepped inside. "You always make a house feel like home."

She closed the door slowly behind him. "You didn't need to bring anything."

"You say that every time," he said, handing her the bottle. "And yet--every time, I do."

She gestured to the kitchen. "Come on in. You remember the layout."

"Oh, I remember everything," he said softly.

Claire swallowed, hard. Her heels clicked against the hardwood as she moved back into the kitchen, setting the wine on the counter. David followed behind her like a shadow, not crowding her--yet somehow filling the entire space.

"I met with your client this morning," she said, trying to keep the tone light, focused. "Interesting proposal--though I'm curious what else you think we need to go over..."

She turned to face him just in time to see the shift in his expression.

The polite professional veneer melted into something rawer. Hungrier. He stepped forward. She didn't move.

One hand lifted--confident, deliberate--and rested gently on her throat. Not squeezing. Just... there. A reminder. A promise.

He pushed her back, slow but firm, until she was pinned lightly against the refrigerator door.

Her breath caught. And then he kissed her. It wasn't gentle. It was claiming.

She resisted--at first. Her hands pushed against his chest, trying to remember her script, her marriage, her morals. But then the dam cracked. The Ice Queen melted in David's arms

Her fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Their mouths moved in perfect sync, tongues tangling, breath mingling. It was fire and hunger and the collapse of restraint.

When he finally pulled back, her eyes fluttered open, dazed. Her voice was barely more than a tremor.

"I can't do this," she whispered. "You should go."

David smiled. That devastating, cocky, knowing smile. And he kissed her again. Deeper. Slower. As if he had all the time in the world. His hand moved to her ass, and she didn't protest, she responded. As the kiss continued, his other hand snaked between them to her breast. She felt like every place he touched on her body was an inferno. Her brain was telling her to run - her body was begging her to stay.

When he pulled away, she was breathless. Unsteady. "I'll go," he said, voice a velvet threat, "after Jonathan gets home." He let the silence stretch, the implication lingering in the air between them like smoke. "And not a second before."

10 minutes later, Jonathan stepped through the door, trying to breathe like a man who hadn't just been broken to pieces that morning. He could still feel David's fist in his gut, still hear the rasp of his own breath clawing back into his lungs.

But it wasn't just that. It was the envelope. It was the goddamn truth.

And the truth was now sitting in his dining room, sipping wine like he owned the place.

Claire met him at the door, brushing his cheek with a kiss that barely grazed his skin. He looked at her--really looked at her--and something in his stomach turned cold. She was too bright, too flushed. Her blouse was slightly off-center. Lipstick just a little too perfect.

She was trying to pretend. And failing. David stood behind her, his presence loud in its quietness. He gave Jonathan a slow, unreadable smile.

"Claire's not sure I should stay," David said, lifting his glass. "But if you want me to go, say the word."

Jonathan hesitated. Then his eyes fell to David's briefcase on the floor near the table. The corner of a manila envelope peeked out, just enough to reveal the familiar county seal and the word Coroner. Panic surged in Jonathan's chest.

He looked at David, then Claire. "No," he said finally. His voice was hollow. "You should stay. We--we owe you that much. After Emily..."

Claire shifted beside him, her spine going rigid. But she didn't speak.

Dinner was served. The three of them sat around the candlelit table, plates full of roasted lamb, herbed potatoes, and sautéed greens. It should have felt elegant. Celebratory.

Instead, it felt like theater. A performance with only one person holding the script.

Claire barely touched her food. She kept fidgeting with her napkin, her fork, her wine glass. And she kept stealing glances--quick, guilty flashes--at David.

Jonathan saw it all. And David? David played with it.

He didn't touch her, not again. But his words were careful daggers dipped in honey. Teasing compliments, clever banter, the kind of flirtation that could still be laughed off if anyone wanted to lie to themselves.

"I always forget how good your seasoning is, Claire," he said, licking a drop of wine from his lower lip. "It lingers long after the bite is gone. It tastes so good on my lips."

Claire shifted in her seat. Her breathing was shallow and she blushed.

Jonathan stared into his plate. He didn't eat.

The silence built like pressure in a bottle--until David set down his glass, leaned back in his chair, and smiled at them both.

"Claire. Jonathan. We've been talking a lot lately."

Jonathan's stomach clenched.

Claire looked at him, alarmed. "David--"

But he didn't stop.

"He truly loves you," David said softly, looking at Claire. "That's what all of this is about. He wants you to have everything you've ever dreamed about. Every touch, every sound, every sensation you thought you'd only imagined." He paused, letting it breathe. "That's why I'm here tonight."

Claire's fork slipped from her hand and clattered against the plate.

David looked at Jonathan now. Cold. Calm.

"He wants you to be shown things. Taught things. Things you've never dared speak aloud."

Jonathan looked like he might be sick.

David's voice dropped, slow and deliberate. "Things you heard about at the wedding, and he knows he's not man enough to give that to you."

Claire's lips parted. A silent breath.

David leaned in, eyes locked on her. "And he wants to watch it all."

Claire's breath hitched. She looked at her husband--eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Not with innocence. Not anymore. But with a stunned confusion, as if she was asking him silently, Is this real? Is this what you want?

Jonathan couldn't meet her gaze. He stared at the table, his hands clenched so tightly in his lap his knuckles had gone white.

Then--David. Calm. Still. Dangerous in that eerie, patient way.

He looked from Claire to Jonathan, his voice a velvet blade.

"Well?"

Jonathan swallowed hard, still silent.

So David pushed. "Tell her, Jonathan. Tell your wife what you want."

Claire's head whipped toward David.

His gaze never left Jonathan. "I'm not asking you again, boy."

Jonathan finally looked up. His face was pale, his jaw trembling, his eyes full of something between humiliation and grief. David didn't use his name, his title, he called him boy

"I... I want her to be happy," he mumbled.

David's expression didn't change. "That's not a fucking answer, I have answers, boy. Answers to questions you do not want asked. Now answer the fucking question."

Claire looked back at her husband again, lips parted, chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.

"Jonathan," she whispered. "Say something."

David leaned forward, his voice low but sharp enough to cut.

"Do you want her to be touched?" he asked. "Do you want her to be fucked? Do you want to see her unravel in someone else's hands while you sit there and pretend it doesn't break you?"

Jonathan let out a choked breath--somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

"You said you loved her," David continued. "Prove it."

Jonathan looked up at Claire, and for a second he looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, already falling. "I want her to feel things I can't give her," he whispered. "I want her to know what it's like... to lose control."

Claire's lips trembled.

"And I want to watch."

David sat back slowly, a wolf satisfied with the way the sheep had started walking themselves into the woods.

He reached for his wine and raised it slightly.

"To honesty," he said. And drank.

After dinner, David ordered Jonathan to clear the table while he and Claire moved into the den. He told Jonathan that he had permission to join them when he was finished.

Jonathan's hands trembled slightly as he stacked the last of the plates in the sink, the clink of porcelain louder than it should have been in the silence of the kitchen. His chest felt tight, not from exertion, but from something deeper--raw humiliation and the slow burn of something he couldn't name. He lingered for a moment, hands gripping the edge of the counter, before slowly making his way toward the den.

Claire sat on the edge of the leather sofa, posture rigid, wine glass untouched beside her. Her eyes darted to the hallway as Jonathan reappeared, but her thoughts were elsewhere. This wasn't her. The composed, sharp, untouchable woman--the one who dominated boardrooms and made developers sweat--had been rattled. Not by Jonathan. By him.

David held out his hand and Claire stood. David, just behind her now, the hum of his presence stirring the air between them. When his fingers brushed her hair aside and his lips found the hollow of her neck, Claire closed her eyes without thinking. Her breath hitched. The touch was electric--intimate, effortless. She hated how easy it was to lean back into him. How the scent of his cologne and the firmness of his hands overrode her instincts.

She was tall. Commanding. Used to towering over men in heels and intellect alike. But not now. Not with him. With David, she felt... small. Not in the belittled sense--but delicate. Like something he could lift, possess, hold in his hands without breaking a sweat.

Her lips parted as he whispered something low--she didn't even process the words. Just the heat behind them. The dominance in the way he spoke, like he already knew how she'd react.

Claire's fingers twitched against her thighs, aching to touch, to pull away, to give in--she couldn't tell.

Jonathan stepped into the room, and David didn't move. Didn't flinch. He simply met Jonathan's eyes over Claire's shoulder, one hand still possessive at her neck, the other sliding from her waist up to her breast.

Claire's breath was shallow now, her thoughts spinning in a cyclone of guilt, confusion... and desire. With her eyes closed she didn't even realize Jonathan had walked in and seen her, head back, eyes closed, another man's hand on her breast.

"Tell her again, boy" David said to Jonathan, voice calm. "Tell her what you want."

Jonathan's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked at his wife--his brilliant, complicated, breathtaking wife--and saw her leaning into another man's touch. And he saw something else too. Something he hadn't seen in years. Hunger. Wonder. Need.

His throat was dry. His dignity, shattered. But he still loved her. "I want you to have what you've been missing," he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "I want you to feel alive again."

Claire opened her eyes and looked at him. Her eyes shone, not with tears--but with the burning weight of a choice she hadn't realized was already being made.

David smiled--but not unkindly. Confident. Patient. Certain. This night wasn't about chaos. It was about control--and surrender.

Claire stayed still, her back to David, eyes locked on Jonathan. Something had shifted in him, in all of them. Her husband looked... hollow. Guilty. Not like the man who once owned every room he walked into. Tonight, he looked like a man paying penance--and she didn't yet understand why.

Behind her, she could feel the energy of David's presence--calm, in control, and completely unrattled. Then came his voice, low and commanding, "Don't turn around yet, Claire. Keep your eyes on your husband."

Jonathan flinched. Claire noticed. A twitch of the jaw. A faint tremor in his fingers as he reached up and adjusted his glasses. She didn't understand what she was looking for in his expression--but something was wrong.

David moved across the room without sound, but his gravity stayed pressed against her skin. Then she heard the subtle rustle of clothing. Her breath caught, and her body betrayed her again with a shiver she hoped neither man saw. Jonathan did.

Claire's lips parted to speak, to question--but nothing came out.

"Jonathan," David said smoothly. "Bring your wife here."

Claire's head snapped slightly to the side--not quite looking at David, but testing the boundary. Jonathan hesitated.

David's voice was calm, but laced with iron. "Now."

Jonathan stepped toward her, his face unreadable. He placed a trembling hand on the small of her back. Claire stared at him, searching--why are you doing this?--but all he gave her was a small nod. A silent permission. Or was it surrender?

She let herself be turned, slowly, toward David.

And there he stood--shoulders broad, posture easy, his confidence unshaken. He was powerful, no question. But what truly undid her wasn't his body--it was his poise. That effortless control. That look in his eyes that saw everything. Her eyes drifted down his body, his thick chest, his lats created that sculpted V, his hips, and then between his legs.

His cock wasn't huge, but everything is in context. He was much larger than her husband, longer, thicker, and just more everything. Jonathan saw it too, and now everything about Emily unraveled. She had told him that he was bigger, better, and more - and now he knew that it was all a lie. He couldn't deny her love for him, or his for her - but her desire was not because he was bigger or better.

Claire's knees went weak, and she hated herself for it. David didn't speak. He didn't need to. Claire took a breath, sharp and shallow. Her mind screamed for answers, for logic, for anything to ground her in reality. But all she could feel... was the heat.

David's eyes never left hers. His expression was calm--almost clinical--but beneath it, there was fire. A challenge. A promise.

Claire swallowed hard, the air between them thick with everything unspoken.

Jonathan stood just behind her, silent, reduced. She could feel his unease like static on her skin. And it only fueled the sense of imbalance that David wielded so effortlessly.

"You feel that, don't you?" David asked her softly, stepping closer, his voice like velvet dragged over steel. "That pull? That storm under your skin? The heat growing deep inside of you?"

Claire's lips parted slightly, but no words came.

David reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek--just enough to feel her pulse jump beneath her skin. "It's not weakness, Claire. It's truth. You've spent so long being in control, bending everything around you to fit your world. But right now... that control is slipping. And that's not a bad thing. You've spent too long settling for an inadequate lover - you know what you heard and saw at the wedding. You need someone strong enough to unlock the slut hidden under all of those layers of control."

Behind her, Jonathan said nothing. She wanted to turn and see him, to read his face--but David caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kept her eyes forward. She didn't know why she felt the need to kneel, but she did. When she started to, David stopped her.

"Not yet," he said. "Not until you hear it from him."

Claire's breath hitched.

David looked past her now. "Jonathan. Tell her again."

Jonathan's voice was hoarse, panicked. "Tell her what?"

David didn't blink. "Tell her why I'm here. Tell her what you need her to feel."

Claire turned her head slightly, enough to glance back at her husband. What she saw gutted her--shame, grief... and something else. Submission.

"I need..." Jonathan started, then stopped. He clenched his jaw. "I need you to let go. Just for tonight. I need you to feel something real."

Claire turned fully now, eyes narrowed. "You think this is real?"

Jonathan didn't answer. He just looked at David.

David stepped forward again, positioning himself just behind her. His voice was in her ear now, low and deliberate. "He's not asking you to betray him. He's asking you to free him. And maybe... yourself."

She closed her eyes. Her body was trembling--not from fear, but from the war inside her. A part of her wanted to scream, to push them both away. But another part, deeper, darker, and honest, wanted to see what happened next. What happened when the woman who controlled everything finally let it all go.

David waited. No pressure. Just presence.

Claire opened her eyes and met Jonathan's gaze. For the first time in their marriage, he looked small. Human. Fragile. And still... he nodded. The room held its breath.

Claire's breath felt shallow, caught somewhere between fear and thrill. Her pulse beat at the base of her throat like a warning bell; she wasn't sure she wanted to silence.

David's presence behind her was gravitational--steady, inescapable. Her eyes flicked once more to Jonathan. She searched for anger, jealousy, even disgust.

But all she saw was surrender.

That cracked something in her. Not weakness... but vulnerability. A kind she had never expected from him. It made her feel powerful. Dangerous. Desired.

"I don't understand," she said finally, her voice quiet but edged with heat. "You want to watch?"

Jonathan's eyes shimmered with guilt and longing. "I want you to feel what I couldn't give you. And I want to face what I did."

Claire blinked. "What you did?"

David's hand came to rest on her hip. Not pushing--just reminding her he was there, that the dynamic had already shifted and they were all just catching up.

"Emily," Jonathan said, barely able to say her name. "She died because of me. And I've lived in that shadow every day since. David... he knows. He owns it. And somehow, owning me through it."

Claire turned slightly, looking over her shoulder at David, who met her gaze without blinking. There was no smirk now. No arrogance. Just control. Mastery. He didn't need to raise his voice or force a moment. He was the moment.

"And you?" she asked him. "Is this revenge? Control?"

He smiled faintly. "Clarity."

Claire shivered, and it wasn't from the temperature.

"You live your life holding every piece together," David continued, voice velvet-smooth. "Every meal, every meeting, every moment choreographed. But underneath that... there's chaos. Passion. Need."

He stepped in front of her now, commanding her full attention. He tilted her chin up with one hand, eyes searching hers.

"You deserve to be undone, Claire."

The words hit like a pulse through her. Her eyes flicked to Jonathan again, one last time, silently asking if this was really what he wanted.

He nodded once. A tear ran down his cheek.

Claire turned back to David, her lips parted. "And if I fall apart?"

David's fingers slid into her hair, slow and firm. "Then I'll put you back together. Piece by piece."

Claire's breath caught in her throat. Her skin buzzed--not from David's touch, but from the absence of it. He stood in front of her like a storm held at bay, all strength and silence, waiting.

Her body burned. Every inch of her was alert, aware, hungry--and it scared her. It scared her more than David's quiet dominance, more than her husband's tearful surrender.

She looked at Jonathan--her husband, the man who had always been so sure, so proud, so composed. Now, he looked... diminished. Not broken, but bowed. As though something inside him had finally snapped loose and drifted away.

And part of her hated that.

But another part--the part that trembled in her thighs and pulsed between her ribs--felt freed.

Her body begged for permission her mind wouldn't grant. Her heart beat hard against the cage of her chest. This wasn't who she was. This wasn't what she did.

And yet... she had never been wanted like this. Never seen like this.

David hadn't moved. He didn't reach for her. He didn't demand. He simply watched. Waited.

"If this is what you want, you need to say it," he said, voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Or I won't touch you."

Her mouth opened. Closed. Claire's fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Her body swayed slightly toward him without permission. Her thoughts raced, colliding like waves against stone. Her lips trembled with the effort of denial, but the truth had already seeped through her skin.

David's eyes flicked to Jonathan's. He knew the price he would pay if she said no. He also couldn't deny how hard his dick was in his pants, which confused him. "Please, Claire. Please." His voice sounded pathetic in her ears, weak, pleading, broken.

Claire looked into David's green eyes, searching. She found no cruelty. No mockery. Just heat. Power. Patience. The last wall inside her cracked. She lowered her eyes. Her voice barely made it past her lips. "... Yes."

The sound was a whisper, but it shattered everything. Claire stepped forward, breath uneven, her pulse roaring in her ears. And then--slowly, reverently--she sank to her knees. The moment held. Charged. Tense. Sacred.

And David, still motionless, simply looked down at her with the expression of a man who already knew the ending. But he was savoring every second of the unraveling.

Jonathan didn't move. Couldn't. His back was pressed against the wall, but it might as well have been stone. He watched, his mouth slightly open, breath shallow, as Claire whispered that one syllable--"yes"--and slowly sank to her knees before David.

His world didn't shatter at that moment. No--worse. It twisted.

Something dark and primal stirred in the pit of his stomach, coiling like smoke, filling him with a heat that made no sense. He should have felt rage. Or betrayal. Or shame. But what he felt instead... was a pulse. What caused him shame was a deep, low throb of something he couldn't name. His dick was harder than it had ever been, even with Emily. He hated it. He hated himself for it.

But as Claire's fingers slowly rested on her thighs, head bowed, posture reverent, he couldn't deny the truth screaming inside him. His body reacted. His breathing changed. And it disgusted him almost as much as it fascinated him.

She looked... at peace. No, not peace. Something more dangerous. Surrender.

A word that had never existed in their marriage. Claire had never yielded--not to him, not to anyone. She was steel wrapped in silk, brilliant and beautiful, with a spine that never bent. Until now. Until David. And it was all his fault.

And yet... Jonathan's stomach flipped with something that wasn't just jealousy. It was envy. The way David commanded the room, the way Claire responded to his touch--her body, her breath, even her silence--it lit a fuse deep inside Jonathan, a place he'd buried beneath logic and respectability. A place that craved to feel something this raw.

But his shame roared back. He clenched his fists, heart pounding, trying to beat it back. What's wrong with me? He wanted to scream. How could he possibly want this? After everything--after Emily, after David's threats, after the cold weight of guilt that pressed on his chest like a slab of stone. Yet he watched. He couldn't look away. Just like David knew he would.

Claire, his wife, knelt before another man. Not out of fear. Not because she was coerced. Because she chose it. And in that moment, Jonathan realized this wasn't just about David asserting control or Claire discovering something buried deep inside her.

This was about him, too. His guilt. His weakness. His affair, the accident. His failure to satisfy something in Claire that now unfolded like a secret, sacred ritual before him. He hated David. He wanted Claire back. And he wanted... more.

Jonathan's knees buckled slightly, and he gripped the edge of a nearby chair to steady himself. He was unraveling--and aroused. Ashamed--and alive. And as his wife remained still before another man, something inside Jonathan whispered: You were never in control of her. Emily was all lies. And maybe, this isn't just what you deserve, it's what you desire.

Claire's head was spinning and before she could object Dave gently held out his hand and brought her to her feet. He kissed her, deeply, passionately. His hand lifted her dress as his fingers teased her over her panties. Claire's body betrayed her again and she returned the kiss till her mind registered her current situation. Jonathan didn't protest, and David's finger was getting more insistent. When his long middle finger slid underneath the leg of her panties and found her wetness, she moaned into his mouth.

The situation, the kiss, his tongue, his finger - it was all too much and before she knew it, Claire had rolled her hips gently forward, inviting his long finger inside. She soon found that what she heard at the wedding was right, he knew exactly where and how to touch. Claire had never cum easily, but holy shit she was about to lose control.

She broke the kiss, because she needed to breathe, to moan, to cry out. Her knees buckled, as David knew they would, which allowed him to wiggle his finger even deeper inside of her wet pussy, deeper than anyone or anything had ever been. She felt like she was going to go into convulsions as her stomach tightened and she felt her body grip the invading finger. The orgasm that roared through her body was just how Tasha and Mandy had described it, it was like it was demanded of her, torn from her very soul. Did she have one, two, three? Or was this just one long and ongoing cum festival - she didn't know and she didn't care. Dave returned to the passionate kiss, as she felt her husband slip up behind her and started to unzip her dress. Claire was confused, but had also just had the biggest orgasm of her life and didn't want it to stop.

As soon as the kiss ended, she felt both David and Jonathan put light pressure on her shoulders, again inviting her to her knees facing Dave's large dick, which was bigger than she thought possible, and still not fully erect. Claire was at a loss for words, she couldn't imagine this is something Jonathan wanted, it felt like time was frozen as she stared at Dave's cock. At least 7" semi erect Claire estimated, two full inches larger than Jonathan when he was fully hard. She licked her lips as she realized how thick his cock was too. She felt her pussy drip in anticipation even as her brain thought that it was not going to be comfortable. This cock was larger than any Claire had ever seen and much larger than Emily had insinuated to Jonathan. David gave it a couple of strokes for good measure so that Claire got a real good look at what she was about to endure. Just as she began to object, the sensation of Jonathan's hands on her head guiding it forward to Dave's waiting member made her realize, he really did want this to happen.

That moment of distraction was all it took for Dave to slip the tip past Claire's lips and fill her mouth, his foreskin sliding back as the large ridge pushed deeper with each gentle thrust of his hips. Claire knew she couldn't possibly swallow him whole yet she also knew he was going to try as the tip continued to work its way deeper into her waiting throat.

Dave's hand replaced Jonathan's, controlling her head as he continued to fuck her face but the words he spoke confirmed her worse nightmare. "Ok cuck, we don't need your help anymore. Sit down and enjoy the show." Dave's hips gave one final thrust pushing his cook further down Claire's throat.

As he sank my cock deeper into her Dave could feel her tongue instinctively flick against it, her throat reflexively sucking down. Claire noticed too, as a blush crept up her cheeks as she lowered her eyes.

"Good girl," Dave encouraged, his cock growing harder and harder as he pulled it in and out of her, filling her mouth more and more with each motion. "There you go, bob that little head of yours, I'll turn you into a good little cock slut."

Claire should have been mortified, but his demeaning words just drove her on. She wanted more. By now Dave's cock was pushing full mast. She wrapped her right hand around the base, which Dave immediately changed to her left hand, so that her wedding ring twinkled in the light.

Claire struggled but she kept pushing his thick cock deeper into her throat. Dave felt her throat clamping shut as she briefly gagged, but she didn't stop. Dave took full advantage and started to fuck her mouth, pushing his cock in full with each thrust. "That's a good little slut."

Claire moaned as she slid her knees apart and sank lower to the floor. "Jeus," mumbled Jonathan as Dave buried himself into his wife again and again

He could see his wife's resistance wavering. Dave felt her tongue become more active, licking and lapping at the underside of his cock, her attention becoming more eager. "Yeah, you like that, don't you, my little slut? You like sucking a real cock?" Normally Dave wouldn't have bothered with the porno dialog but frankly he was getting a kick out of sticking it to Jonathan. The look of horror on his face was priceless.

"You like it, don't you? Nod your head for me, tell me you like it," he demanded, hand gripping her hair again, the pressure building inside of him. Claire hesitated, then reluctantly she nodded her head as Dave pushed deep into her once more as he came.

The explosion of cum almost choked Claire to death. Some spewed out her nose and the corners of her mouth but for the mother load, Claire had no choice but to swallow. As Dave pulled out, Claire gagged profusely spilling more cum all over the rug.

Claire was covered in sweat, panting for air - even as cum dripped down her chin. Dave lifted Claire's spent body to her feet and when she was able to stand unattended he took her hand, "Take me to your room." It wasn't a request, it was a demand and she felt obliged to obey.

Claire was still trying to catch her breath when unnoticed Jonathan rose from his viewing spot on the couch and followed the pair a few steps behind. He took a seat at his desk and promptly removed his pants so he could stroke his own less than impressive hard on to the action that was about to take place on his marital bed.

Dave slipped her bra off of her shoulders and undid the clasp. As it fell away from her torso the cool air hit her damp nipples causing them to harden instantly. One was soon covered by Dave's mouth as he kneaded and sucked at her perky tits. She was unceremoniously pushed back onto the bed. Dave went to the closet and grabbed 2 of Jonathan's ties and tightly bound her wrists.

As Claire regained her composure she tried to squirm across the bed only to have herself pulled back by her ankles to the edge of the bed. "Sorry, little on, we're not even close to being finished yet." Dead silence followed, Claire felt almost paralyzed as she gazed up at Dave's body hovering above her. The next moment she felt her panties being slid down her legs and thrown across the room into Jonathan's lap. Jonathan lifted them to his nose, he had never smelled his wife so aroused. Her panties were soaked through.

Dave grabbed Claire's ankles and spread her open as he lowered his head between her silky thighs. In no time she was moaning and squirming to the rhythm of Dave's tongue flicking her clit. Jonathan had never heard his wife make sounds like this before as Dave's tongue slipped into her slit and he sucked in all of the right places. Dave had to hold her thighs to keep her squirming to a minimum. The next event shocked Jonathan even more, as Claire convulsed and squirted a gusher into Dave's mouth. Her hips bouncing up and down on the bed, completely out of control for what seemed like an eternity.

Claire was still soaking wet. The bed was soaking wet. Dave's face was soaking wet as he moved in above her and planted another passionate kiss on her lips. Jonathan was rethinking his decision at the same moment Dave positioned the tip of his cock in line with Claire's pussy and forced the head in. Her eyes sprung open and she felt herself being stretched to new limits. Dave steadily pressed the entire 8 inches into her waiting womb. It was too late now Jonathan thought, as Dave undid her wrists and positioned Claire's arms above her head and began to thrust, forcing her thighs wider and wider.

Finally, Claire simply wrapped her legs around Dave's tight ass and allowed him full access to her pussy. The sensation was both mesmerizing and addictive. How was she ever going to be satisfied by Jonathan after being ravaged by this monster cock. Jonathan sat quietly at his desk, stroking his cock and contemplating his decisions that caused him to be in this situation.

The action got more intense when Dave flipped Claire over and lifted her ass into the air. Being filled from behind made Dave feel even larger than before as Claire released again in waves. She began to wonder if she could handle the onslaught that was about to come when Dave released his seed

Dave gripped her hips, his large hands spread out over her ass, and that feeling of being possessed drove her to another massive orgasm, this one triggered Dave's powerful orgasm of his own. After a few more powerful strokes she felt Dave tense and his cock started to spasm filling her womb with wave after wave of steaming cum. This was enough to drive her over the edge one last time again and the combined orgasm was the most intense Claire had ever experienced.

Afterward they both lay spent on the bed still coupled for several minutes until Dave turned her head and kissed her gently one final time. Dave rose and headed for the shower leaving Jonathan and Claire alone. Jonathan, naked on the chair covered in his own cum. Claire, prone on the bed, Dave's cum dripping from her well used pussy. "So did you get to see what you wanted?"

In reply, Jonathan's head went between his wife legs as he began to lick and kiss her well fucked pussy until Dave returned from the shower. He dropped his towel in Jim's lap, his huge cock hanging inches in front of his face. "So Jonathan, we need to understand the rules."

Jonathan thought that one fuck would settle the score, he tried to look at Dave, but was distracted by the huge prick hanging so close. "What do you mean?"

Dave slowly turned and walked to lean against the dresser, his massive form filling the space. "That pussy you are eating - that's MINE - whenever I want."

Jonathan made the mistake, "What? You bastard - that wasn't the agreement!"

Claire sat up, "What agreement?"

Dave looked at Jonathan and shrugged. Jonathan turned to his wife, a tear running down his face, "Emily and I were having an affair when she died."

Claire jumped up and the right handed slap landed with a crack on Jonathan's cheek, "So, the fucking rumors at the gym were true. But what agreement?"

Dave shrugged, "Turns out there was fresh semen in Emily's oral cavities at the time of the accident. Also, in her ass and her pussy - your husband and my wife had quite the conference it seems."

Claire slapped her husband again and walked over to the broad shouldered man leaning against her dresser. Her small hand reached out and wrapped around his dick, "Then we have some time to make up for."