Tempting Desire Pt. 07

Claire moves like she's underwater--slow, deliberate, her gaze locked on mine as if peeling away layers with each sway of her hips. She undresses one piece at a time, not for show, but for power. When she straddles me, her bare skin grazing mine, her lips press against my neck like a secret.

I want to stop her. I want to ask where Sarah is. But I don't. I can't.

Her breath is warm. Her hands are bolder now. And just as I give in completely--

I wake.

But the weight on my chest is real. So are the lips on my neck. Only they're not Claire's.

It's Sarah. My wife.

She grins softly, her voice a murmur. "Happy anniversary, baby. Thought I'd wake you up right this time."

And I want to kiss her back. I want to mean it.

But my body still remembers the way her sister felt last week--when Claire and I crossed that line we swore we never would.

Now Sarah takes me slowly, deliberately--the same pace Claire used, like they share something unspoken. Her body presses into mine as if she's claiming territory, reminding me who I belong to. Her fingers trail my ribs, her breath warm at my ear, the scent of her skin clean and floral, familiar. My hands move on reflex, gliding over her thighs, her back, as if trying to reconnect the pieces of us I'd shattered.

Her pace builds, grinding slow at first, a rhythm meant to pull me in, but my mind drifts. I blink and it's Claire again--her perfume darker, her breath tasted like wine and recklessness. That morning flashes through me in fragments: her teeth on my shoulder, the breathy way she said my name, the way her nails felt on my spine.

Sarah moans softly against my neck tightening around me, and I finish inside her. But it isn't her body that brought me there.

It's the thought of Claire's lips dripping with my cum.

Sarah smiles, satisfied, brushes hair from her face, and gets up. "We've got dinner reservations tonight. Don't forget."

I nod. My throat is dry.

Claire had been staying with a friend since that morning we spent together. I had tried texting her, but she hadn't really been responsive. I don't know if she was feeling guilty herself--or if she was just done with the game now that she'd won.

That afternoon, Sarah's phone lights up on the kitchen counter. She picks it up, grinning.

"Claire," she says brightly. "Hey, you okay?"

A pause. Then, "Yeah of course--we can swing by and grab you before dinner. No problem."

My stomach clenches. The knife twists. I pretend to be reading something on my phone, but I can feel the blood draining from my face.

Sarah turns to me, beaming. "Claire's ride bailed. She asked if we could pick her up on the way to the restaurant."

I nod slowly. "Yeah... sure. No problem."

My skin starts to itch. My collar suddenly feels too tight. Because tonight, I won't just be sitting across from my wife at dinner.

I'll be sitting beside the woman I betrayed her with--pretending nothing happened.

When we pull up to where Claire was staying, she's already outside waiting.

She's wearing a short black dress, cut high on the thigh and low across the collarbone. Her hair is loose, tumbling down her shoulders in soft, effortless waves. She looks dangerous.

She leans in through the open passenger window, eyes locked on mine. Her perfume hits me first--something dark and sweet--and then her smile.

"Did you miss me?" she teases, leaning over to hug me through the car window.

I freeze for a beat before Sarah laughs beside me. "Of course we missed you! I just hope you had a good time with your friends."

Claire slides into the back seat, her voice silk. "I did. But honestly, it's way more fun just staying in with you two."

Sarah laughs again, tossing a playful glance at me. "Careful, you keep saying things like that and you'll end up with a permanent invite."

Claire leans forward between the seats, her lips close to my ear. "Maybe that's exactly what I want."

I can't breathe.

Sarah's laughing again, assuming it's all harmless fun. The car rolls forward, toward dinner. Toward disaster.

And Claire--Claire just sits back, her fingers grazing my shoulder as she smiles out the window like she owns the night.

At the restaurant, the wine flows easily. Too easily.

Claire crosses her legs, leans toward the table, and smirks just as the server walks away. "I went on a date this week," she says, swirling her glass lazily. "And the guy was... very dominant. The kind who doesn't ask twice. Just tells you what to do."

Sarah raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?" she says with a grin. "You usually don't go for the bossy types."

Claire shrugs, playing coy. "Normally no. But this one... God, it was hot. He didn't even kiss me at first. Just looked me in the eye and said, 'Open your mouth.'"

I choke slightly on my drink. My fork clinks against the plate.

Claire keeps going. "And I did. No questions. No hesitation. Just... gave in."

Sarah laughs, cheeks flushing. "Jesus, Claire. Since when did you get so shameless?"

Claire's eyes flick to mine, slow and deliberate. "Since I found someone who knows how to take control."

My pulse pounds in my ears. Every word she says is laced with that morning--our morning. Her mouth. My hand in her hair. The way she moaned when I told her what to do.

Sarah doesn't notice. She's still laughing, shaking her head.

But me? I can't meet Claire's eyes again. Not without giving something away.

Claire sets her wine glass down and grins wider. "Well, happy anniversary to you two. I hope you have a great night."

Sarah chuckles, "Thanks. And don't worry, we will."

Claire leans back, stretching just enough for her dress to ride up slightly. "I'll try to stay out of your way."

She winks--just at me. Not subtle. Not even trying to be.

Sarah smirks, sipping her drink. "Don't say it like that, you make it sound like we're trying to get rid of you."

Claire shrugs. "I'm just saying... sometimes the third wheel spins things in a more interesting direction."

They both laugh.

I force a smile, but inside, my brain's spiraling.

I can't stop thinking about how I might get Claire alone.

Not if. Not maybe.

When we get home, Sarah takes my hand and leads me toward the bedroom, barefoot and glowing from the wine and laughter. Her hair's a little messy from the breeze, her eyes soft with warmth. She looks beautiful. And mine.

I try to believe that's enough.

I ease her back onto the bed, kissing her neck, feeling her relax beneath me. My hands find the hem of her dress and slide it up around her waist, fingers skimming the soft skin of her thighs. She hums lightly, eyes half-closed, trusting.

I lower myself between her legs, breathing her in--warm, familiar, the scent of lotion and skin and love.

But as my mouth moves against her, a flicker of memory invades Claire.

I try to shake it. I try to focus on Sarah. On the way she gasps when I kiss her just right. On the way her fingers curl in the sheets.

Still, I compare.

The taste. The way their hips move. The noises they make when they're close.

And I hate myself for doing it.

But I do.

And I can't stop.

I let her come down from the high slowly, gently, watching the way her breath catches, the way her lips part. She looks at me like I gave her the world.

Then I climb onto her, her body still humming, and press into her with a slow, measured rhythm. Her hands run along my back. She whispers my name.

But my mind isn't quiet.

I move inside her and wonder, Did Claire moan louder? Did she tighten more? Did she want me more?

I chase the feeling, and it catches up to me--hard, fast, wrong.

Too much wine. Too much guilt.

As the rhythm builds, I lose track of time--of breath, of self. And then, it slips out.

"Claire..."

Sarah stills beneath me.

Her eyes find mine in the low light. Not anger. Not shock. Just... curiosity. A strange stillness. Like she's trying to decide if what she heard was real.

Then she smiles--faint, a little sad, a little wild. "It's okay," she whispers. "If you need to... pretend."

I freeze. But she keeps going, her voice softer now. "I'm Claire, I want you to cum inside me."

Her fingers brush my cheek like she's comforting me. Like she's offering a gift I didn't ask for. "Don't you want to come inside my sister?"

The words land like a punch. Like a hand wrapping tight around my throat.

And I let go.