"Hubby's not home til Monday. I think I forgot to lock a window. I'm a lil drunk..."
I'm hard as soon as I see her message. I hadn't heard from Mia in a little while, but I'd figured she'd text eventually. She always does.
Right away I start calling people to cover my shift. It's not too difficult -- it's Friday night and the bars are packed, there's always someone looking to pick up a little extra work.
I smoke a J and head over to her place at around 10. It's a nice neighborhood so I make sure to park up the street a little way -- an old beater of a car like mine isn't exactly welcome around here, and the last thing I need is some fucking Karen calling the cops on me again.
When I walk over I stick to the shadows, staying close to the hedges. Up ahead, her husband's bigass house looms, lights on in every window.
The fence is higher than I remember, and I curse as I pull myself over it. Fucking...she could have left the gate open, or something. I guess that's not the point, though -- she calls me over when she wants a thrill. Well I'll give her one alright.
I half-fall into their big backyard, cursing again as I land and climb up to my feet. It's a nice place, I have to admit as I look over the lawn; her dipshit husband has enough money to buy himself some good stuff at least, I gotta give him that. I dust myself off and set to work looking for the way in.
There's tons of windows and a few doors, but all of them are locked. What the fuck? Did she invite me over just to mess with me?
It's not until I look up that I see it -- an open window on the second floor.
Fuck. What the hell, Mia? Why not open one a little easier to get to? For sure she's trying to piss me off...she must want it bad tonight.
Gritting my teeth, I struggle up the side of the house, thankful now for the tall fence and hedges, hoping no one will see me, hoping I won't break my damn neck.
Luckily their fancyass house has little ledges I can grab onto, and after a lot of swearing I'm up on the sill, slipping through that goddamn window, ending up in an empty bedroom.
There's a note on the floor in front of me; I recognize Mia's handwriting.
"Shoes off :)"
I roll my eyes. After all that trouble breaking in, I'm supposed to act like some regularass houseguest? Grumbling, I do as the note says. I wanna be invited back again, don't I? Gotta pay to play.
I make my way stealthily into the hall and down the stairs; from somewhere near I can hear a TV blaring. It's a trashy reality show, from the sound of it...just the sort of shit Mia would watch.
I creep through the house, following the noise, and find her in a cozy carpeted den near the dining room. She's on a couch wearing a black lace babydoll, her wine bottle more than half-finished.
Damn does she look good though. At 5'1 she's a petite Puerto Rican, her olive skin already flushed from drinking. She put on makeup for me, her eyelashes done and everything, her hair up and colored an enticing red-brown. At 26 she's looking fine as hell -- she's still skinny like she was when we were dating, but a few years of being a trophy housewife has fattened her ass up some. Not that I mind; not at all.
I sneak up behind her as she's engrossed in the show and grab her by the throat.
"Ah!" she gasps, her pulse racing against my palm. She looks back at me, eyes wide, and then a sly smirk crosses her face. "Took you long enough," she purrs.
"Shut up," I growl, flexing my grip, making her gasp again. "I had to climb up the side of your god damn house."
Her mouth falls open at my rough touch, and a wicked grin lights up her eyes. "Mmm, yeah...I forgot to mention it was a different window than last time," she says in a strangled voice.
I grin in spite of myself, squeezing just a little bit more. "You are such a bitch," I growl, pulling on her, maneuvering her easily, forcing her to face me over the back of the couch.
"I know. What are you gonna do about it?" Her eyes flash in challenge, and my smile grows.
"Whatever the fuck I want," I say leaning in, sticking my tongue down her throat.
It wasn't always this way -- it wasn't until after we'd broken up that we'd both realized we wanted to fuck like we didn't care about each other. That had been some of the best sex of my life, back then. Then she'd gone and ruined it by marrying some rich old fuck from her church. I'd figured after that I wouldn't hear from her...but two years later she starts texting me again. Apparently the old guy just doesn't do it for her, apparently she needs what she used to have.
Which is fine by me -- I need it too.
She moans into my kiss, returning it with a greedy sultry passion, purring against me, her fingernails raking up and down my arms. I put my other hand in her hair and pull her petite body up onto the back of the couch, drawing her to me. She's soft and pliant -- I love how she responds to my roughness. I always have.
Finally I break away, my forehead against hers, breathing deep. "You're playing games with me tonight, huh? You wanted to piss me off with that little window trick, is that it?"
She smiles through my strong grip on her windpipe, nodding her head. "Yeahh...I was hoping you'd be madder. I want you to fuck me up tonight, Derek. I want you to treat me like shit -- I want you to treat me like a fucking whore." Her eyes flash and she leans in, biting my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
