Pt. 01 – Temptation in the City

My girlfriend Erin called that morning while rushing through the airport. She always picked up the slack. Her sister never planned ahead--Erin just covered for her like she always did. Her sister's apartment was sitting empty and she didn't trust her to have locked up properly before flying out for a bachelorette trip. Erin was flying out too--for work--and asked me to swing by, check the doors, water the plants, and grab a package off the porch.

It sounded simple. I told her I'd handle it.

When I pulled into the complex and parked, the sun was low and the air thick with late summer heat. I climbed the stairs to the third floor, key in my palm, her voice still in my head.

A small box sat on the mat--plain cardboard, her name printed in black ink. I picked it up before reaching for the knob.

It turned without resistance.

The door was unlocked.

I stepped inside and let it swing shut behind me. It was quiet. Still. The air was warm.

I set the box on the kitchen counter and pulled out my phone. Texted Erin: "Door was unlocked. Got the package. Her keys are right here on the counter too."

She replied right away: "Ugh. Of course she did. Can you stay there tonight? If you lock up behind you, she'll be locked out at 6am. If you don't lock it, it's wide open all night."

"Yeah, I'll stay."

I let the message sit on the screen for a moment, then locked the door behind me and kept walking.

The place didn't feel empty. It felt paused. Like it was waiting for something. Or someone.

I ran my hand along the back of the couch as I passed, eyes scanning the space. A hoodie was draped over the armrest. One of those oversized ones she always wore with nothing underneath. Her scent clung to it--subtle but real. I didn't touch it. Not yet.

In the kitchen, two wine glasses sat in the drying rack, one still smudged with lipstick. A bottle of something white was open on the counter with the cork pushed halfway back in. I touched the bottle. Still a little cool. Maybe from the night before. Maybe she had someone over. Maybe not.

I walked past the dining table--still cluttered with a makeup bag, tangled jewelry, a bottle of hairspray, a cracked compact mirror. One of her heels sat underneath, tipped on its side like it rolled off mid-change. The place didn't feel staged. It felt lived in. Fast. Loud. Hot.

The hallway was dim. I brushed my fingertips along the wall as I moved. The bathroom door was open. I stepped inside and flipped the light.

Everything was where she left it. Toothbrush lying flat. Gold hoop earrings in the soap dish. A face towel still damp over the sink. A pair of panties--black lace--hung over the edge of the hamper. Not buried. Not hidden. Just dropped.

I stepped closer.

The scent pulled me in. Heat. Sweat. Fabric softener. Skin.

My jaw tightened.

Something curled in my chest.

I picked them up.

The fabric was soft, thin, and still warm. The scent rushed up--deep, wet, musky. Not just worn--soaked in her. Like she'd been dripping when she pulled them down. My pulse thumped. My cock twitched.

Was she always that wet?

I reached into the hamper again.

Another pair. Still damp, but not as much. My breathing slowed. My hand moved differently now--deliberate, reverent.

One more. Drier. But the smell was deeper. Darker. Concentrated.

I held all three in my hands, pressed them to my face. Her scent filled my nose, coated the inside of my mouth. I tasted her without touching my tongue to anything.

I walked out of the bathroom without thinking, panties in hand, cock full in my jeans.

Her bedroom waited at the end of the hall. I stepped in, dazed, and sat on the edge of the bed. Clothes were everywhere--bras tossed over the footboard, dresses puddled on the floor, leggings inside-out. Her world. Her heat.

I flopped back onto the mattress. My cock surged in my jeans. I unzipped, freed it, and kept the panties to my face.

I smelled her like she was underneath me.

And I started to stroke.

Her voice circled in my head. Her laugh. The way she touched my arm when she talked. The way she leaned in too close when no one was paying attention.

My thighs tightened. My abs locked. I groaned into the sheets as cum flooded out of me in one hard wave, soaking the cotton beneath me.

I lay still. Breathing deep. Eyes closed.

The scent of her filled my nose and mouth.

I covered the stain with the edge of the comforter. I stayed in the bed. The room was quiet. My cock twitched again.

I checked my phone.

Her story was up. A tight selfie. Low-cut dress. Her smirk.

Caption: "Still bad. Still mine."

A green dot flashed under it. Just one. Me.

A second story hit. A meme: "If you can't handle the size, don't request the ride."

My cock stirred again.

This was no accident.

I got up and walked back into the living room. My legs felt heavy. I dropped onto the couch, grabbed the remote, and flipped on ESPN. The sound barely registered. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. Somewhere between the end of the highlight reel and a local ad break, I dozed off.