The bedroom spins a little as I stumble through the doorway, my limbs loose from the rum. Our laughter from earlier still echoes in my ears, the conversation about Roombas and werewolf porn somehow breaking the ice in a way I never expected. Now we're here, crossing the threshold into something that can't be undone.
I watch Tara's silhouette against the warm glow of our bedroom lamp, her movements fluid and confident as she reaches for the hem of her shirt. My mouth goes dry as she pulls it over her head in one smooth motion, revealing her body inch by glorious inch. No bra, just her perfect breasts and that impossibly defined six-pack I'd forgotten about until now. Seven years, and somehow, she's even more stunning than in my memories.
"Holy shit," I whisper, unable to stop myself.
Time folds in on itself, and for a disorienting moment, I'm back in her apartment, watching her undress after a long day at work, knowing she paid for my time but treated me like something precious anyway. The déjà vu hits so hard I have to blink several times to remember where, and when, I am.
I glance over at Sabrina, suddenly panicked that I've already messed this up. She's settled into an armchair, her eyes heavy-lidded and hungry as she watches us. The rum has painted high spots of color on her cheeks, her pixie cut adorably mussed.
"Are you okay, baby?" I ask, my voice sounding far away, even to my own ears.
Sabrina's smile is loose and genuine, her head tilting slightly as she nods. "Yes," she says, the single word carrying so much desire it makes my skin tingle. "Keep going."
Tara's hands find my shoulders, turning me back to face her. Her body is so close now I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. Her fingers trail down my chest, finding the buttons of my shirt with practiced ease.
"Can I take this off?" she asks softly, her red eyes seeking mine for permission. "Is this okay?"
The careful question sends a rush of warmth through me. She was always like this, always checking, always making sure I was comfortable, even when she was technically the one in charge. It was what set her apart from every other client I ever had.
"Yes," I breathe, lifting my chin to give her better access to my neck.
Her lips brush against my throat, feather-light at first, then with growing pressure as she works each button free. I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation of her mouth trailing fire along my collarbone, down to the hollow of my throat.
"Still okay?" she murmurs against my skin, her hands sliding my shirt from my shoulders.
I nod, not trusting my voice anymore. Across the room, I hear Sabrina's breath catch, the sound somehow both vulnerable and arousing. I force my eyes open to look at her, needing that connection, that reminder of why we're doing this.
Tara's hands move to my belt now, her fingers deftly working the buckle. "And this?" she asks, her voice a purr that makes my knees weak. "Can I take this off too?"
"Yes," I manage, my voice breaking slightly on the word.
I'm getting hard already, my body responding to her touch with embarrassing eagerness. Part of me feels guilty about how natural this feels, how quickly my muscles remember the way we fit together. But another part, the part currently drowning in rum and nostalgia, is just relieved to surrender to something that once felt so right.
As Tara slides my pants down my legs, I find myself thinking about how strange it is that her hands still feel the same after all these years. Gentle but confident, knowing exactly how much pressure to use, where to linger, where to tease. It's like muscle memory, the way my body reacts to her touch without conscious thought.
"I missed this," Tara whispers, so quietly I'm not sure if she meant me to hear.
The confession sends a shiver down my spine, and my eyes flick to Sabrina again, checking her reaction. She's leaning forward in the chair now, one hand pressed between her thighs, her gaze locked on where Tara's fingers trace the waistband of my boxers.
Tara kneels before me, looking up with those tranquil red eyes as she hooks her fingers into the elastic. "May I?" she asks, and the formality of it, the careful respect in her tone, makes my cock twitch visibly beneath the thin fabric.
I nod again, unable to look away from her face. She slides my boxers down slowly, her eyes never leaving mine as my erection springs free.
"You're even more beautiful now," she murmurs, rising to her feet again.
Her naked body presses against mine, skin to skin, and I gasp at the contact. Her breasts are soft against my chest, but her stomach is all hard muscle, a delicious contrast that makes my head spin. Or maybe that's just the rum.
"Are you ready?" Tara whispers, her breath warm against my ear as her hands glide down my sides.
The question hangs between us. I look into those hypnotic red eyes and feel something ancient and familiar stir within me.
"No more questions," I murmur, my voice husky with need. "The answer is yes, Tara."
A smile blooms across her face, both victorious and tender. She takes my hand and pulls me toward the bed with gentle insistence. I follow willingly, my feet unsteady from the alcohol but my intent clear. The mattress dips beneath our weight as she guides me down beside her.
Before I can think, her lips are on mine, soft and insistent. The kiss deepens immediately, our drunken tongues meeting in a dance that feels both new and achingly familiar. She tastes like rum and something uniquely Tara that I'd forgotten until this moment. My hand instinctively cups her face, drawing her closer.
"No kissing!" Sabrina's voice cuts through the haze like ice water, sharp and immediate.
I jerk away from Tara so quickly I nearly fall off the bed, my head spinning from the sudden movement. My eyes find Sabrina, wide with alarm and genuine remorse.
"I'm so sorry, Sabrina," I stammer, heart pounding with sudden sobriety. The fear must be naked on my face, fear of disappointing her, of crossing the one boundary she explicitly set.
Sabrina's expression softens almost immediately. She rises from the chair and approaches the bed, her hand reaching out to stroke my cheek.
"It's okay, baby," she says, her voice gentler now. "I know you're drunk. It's okay."
The relief that floods through me is so intense it's almost painful. I lean into her touch, grateful for her forgiveness, for her understanding. She brushes her thumb across my lower lip, a possessive gesture that reminds me whose I truly am, despite what's happening in this room tonight.
"Just remember the rules," she adds, her eyes flicking to Tara with renewed warning.
Tara sits back on her heels, watching our exchange with an expression I can't quite decipher. There's something calculating in her gaze, something that makes me uneasy despite the alcohol dulling my senses.
"No kissing," Tara repeats, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Understood."
Sabrina nods once, satisfied, and returns to her chair. The moment of tension passes, but something has shifted in the room's atmosphere. I feel caught between these two powerful women, each claiming different parts of me, Sabrina my heart, Tara my history.
Tara's hands press firmly against my chest, pushing me back down onto the mattress.
"There's a lot more than just kissing, you know," she purrs, straddling my hips with practiced ease. The weight of her feels so familiar it makes my chest ache.
I glance toward Sabrina, seeking reassurance, but Tara's fingers grip my chin, redirecting my attention to her. Her mouth finds my neck, hot and hungry, tracing a slow, wet path up to my ear. The sensation sends electric currents straight to my groin, and I arch involuntarily beneath her.
"Still so responsive," she murmurs against my skin, her teeth grazing my earlobe.
Without breaking contact, her arm stretches toward the nightstand where Sabrina had thoughtfully placed condoms earlier. The foil packet crinkles between her fingers as she tears it open with her teeth.
"Let me," she whispers, rising slightly to position the latex barrier at my tip. Her fingers work with deft precision, rolling it down my length while maintaining eye contact. Something about the clinical necessity of the condom makes this feel both more real and more surreal.
The sensation of her hands on me after all these years is overwhelming. They feel like home, a home I abandoned, a home I sometimes still dream about when Sabrina sleeps soundly beside me.
With agonizing slowness, Tara positions herself above me, guiding my cock to her entrance. The heat of her is palpable even through the latex as she sinks down, taking me inside inch by excruciating inch. A whimper escapes me before I can stop it, the tight, velvet grip of her body around mine feels simultaneously new and achingly familiar.
"Fuck," I gasp, my hands finding her hips, fingers digging into smooth skin.
My mind flashes back unbidden to those nights when she was the only client I ever trusted enough to go bareback with. The intimacy of it, the recklessness, the way she'd look into my eyes afterward like she owned a piece of my soul. And maybe she did.
Tara begins to move, her powerful thighs flexing as she rises and falls above me. Her rhythm is deliberate, almost teasing, exactly how she knows I like it. My body responds instantly, muscle memory overriding the seven years between then and now.
She rocks against me in a smooth, unhurried pace at first, her hips moving in hypnotic circles that make my toes curl. Each downward thrust takes me deeper, and I can't help but grip her waist tighter, urging her on. Her rhythm quickens gradually, her breathing becoming more ragged as she picks up speed. The bed begins to creak beneath us, a steady percussion accompanying our movements.
"You feel so good," I gasp, my head falling back against the pillows as she rides me harder, faster.
Tara's pace becomes relentless, her body slamming down onto mine with increasing urgency. The controlled grace from moments ago transforms into something primal and desperate. I'm groaning now, unintelligible sounds escaping my throat with each thrust. My fingers dig into her hips hard enough to leave marks, guiding her movements as pleasure builds at the base of my spine.
Through half-lidded eyes, I watch as Tara turns toward Sabrina, her voice husky with exertion. "Can I mark him? Leave something to remember me by?"
I shift my gaze to find Sabrina slouched in the armchair, her pants discarded on the floor beside her. Her blue eyes are glazed with lust as she works three fingers in and out of herself, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. The sight of my wife pleasuring herself while watching me with another woman sends a fresh wave of arousal through me.
"Yes," Sabrina pants, her hips rising to meet her own hand. "Mark him up. Show me what he likes."
Permission granted, Tara's mouth descends on my neck with predatory hunger. Her teeth graze my pulse point before she latches on, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. The sweet sting of it sends shockwaves through my body, my cock twitching inside her as she continues to ride me mercilessly.
"You always loved this," she whispers against my throat, moving to create another mark just below the first. "Remember how I'd leave you covered in reminders?"
I do remember. God help me, I remember everything. The way she'd claim me with her mouth, painting constellations across my skin that I'd admire in the mirror when I was alone. How I'd press my fingers against the tender spots when I missed her, the dull ache a comfort somehow.
"More," I hear myself beg, the word tumbling from my lips before I can stop it.
Tara obliges immediately, her mouth working its way across my collarbone, down to my chest. Each new mark she creates feels like she's reclaiming territory, reestablishing ownership of a body she once knew by heart. I arch beneath her, offering myself up with an eagerness that should shame me.
Sabrina's desperate moans flood my ears, punctuated by the slick sounds of her fingers working frantically between her thighs. But I can barely focus on her, my entire world has narrowed to Tara's body above mine, the hypnotic rhythm of her hips, the wet heat gripping me even through the latex barrier between us.
"God, you feel amazing," I gasp, my head swimming with rum and desire.
Tara's face hovers above mine. Sweat glistens on her perfect abs as she works herself on my cock, her movements becoming more erratic as she chases her pleasure.
"Open your mouth," she commands suddenly, her voice low and husky.
"We can't kiss," I remind her, though my body aches for the feel of her lips against mine again. "Sabrina said…"
"Just do it," Tara interrupts, her expression hungry and determined. "Trust me."
Something in her voice bypasses all my defenses. I part my lips obediently, opening wide as she hovers above me. A single thick strand of saliva forms between her parted lips and mine, stretching thin before breaking. Then she tilts her head slightly, gathering more moisture in her mouth before letting it drip slowly, deliberately into mine.
The intimacy of it hits me harder than any kiss could. I accept her offering eagerly, swallowing as her essence mingles with mine. It's filthy and primal and perfect, more intimate than the condom-covered sex we're having, a claiming that bypasses Sabrina's careful rules while technically honoring them.
"Holy shit," Sabrina gasps from across the room, her voice breaking on a moan.
I turn my head just in time to see my wife's back arch dramatically, her body convulsing as clear fluid sprays from between her legs, splashing across the rug. The sight of her completely undone, coupled with Tara's body clenching around mine, pushes me dangerously close to the edge.
"Look at me," Tara demands, her fingers digging into my jaw to redirect my attention. "Stay with me, Leo."
Her hips slam down harder now, her rhythm becoming frenzied as she chases her own release. I can feel her tightening around me, her inner muscles fluttering with the beginning of her orgasm.
"I'm close," I warn her, my fingers digging into her thighs as I try desperately to hold back.
"Me too," she pants, grinding down against me in tight circles that hit a spot deep inside her. "Don't you dare look away."
Our bodies ignite together, a perfect synchronicity of pleasure. My hands desperately grasp at her stomach, fingers tracing the defined ridges of her abs as our eyes lock in an unbreakable connection. I'm drowning in those red irises, falling through time as ecstasy pulses through me in waves that seem endless. Each contraction of her body around mine draws another shudder from deep within me, milking every last drop as I empty myself completely.
"God, Leo," she breathes, her body trembling above me as she rides out her own climax, never breaking eye contact. "I've missed this... missed you..."
Tara collapses against my chest, her breath hot and ragged against my neck. Her heart hammers against mine, our pulses gradually slowing in tandem. For a disorienting moment, I forget where I am when I am.
I blink away the haze of pleasure, suddenly remembering we're not alone. My eyes find Sabrina sprawled in the chair, her chest still heaving from her own release. A lazy smile spreads across my face as I regain my bearings.
"Was that good, honey?" I pant, my voice hoarse and breathless.
Sabrina nods, her blue eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied. She looks utterly wrecked in the most beautiful way, slumped against the cushions with her hair sticking up at odd angles.
"Are you ready to…" I begin, but my words cut short as Tara's fingers suddenly grip my chin with surprising force, wrenching my attention back to her.
"You think you and I are done?" she demands, her voice sharp with something that sounds almost like anger. The gentle lover from moments ago has vanished. "We used to go all night, remember?"
Her grip tightens, fingers digging into my jaw as she turns my face toward Sabrina.
"What about you, cuck?" Tara calls across the room, her tone dripping with contempt. "You want to see me absolutely ruin your husband, right?"
I expect Sabrina to bristle at the crude language, the deliberate provocation. Instead, her eyes darken with unmistakable hunger, even as her lips thin with annoyance. The conflict on her face is fascinating, territorial irritation warring with primal arousal.
After what feels like an eternity, Sabrina gives a single, tight nod.
Tara's mouth curves into a smile that is utterly merciless.
"I'm not done with you by a long shot."