Tempting Desire

I stood in the kitchen, staring out the window, fingers tightening around my coffee mug. The morning air had a crisp bite, but inside, the house felt charged--something heavier than the usual morning stillness, something stirring beneath the surface.

Claire was moving in today.

And I needed to get my head straight.

The sound of an approaching car pulled my gaze to the driveway. And then--there she was.

Claire stepped out, auburn hair shimmering under the sunlight, tumbling in effortless waves over her shoulders. She moved with the kind of natural grace that made it impossible not to watch.

Her skirt--**short, too short--**sat high on her thighs, the pleats shifting with every step, teasing glimpses of smooth, golden skin. A fitted white blouse clung to her frame, the buttons straining just slightly, the fabric thin enough to suggest, but not reveal.

And then, a flicker of yellow lace as she adjusted her bag.

I tore my gaze away, forcing myself to look anywhere but at her.

Sarah's voice rang through the house. "Claire's here!" she called, bright and cheerful as always, hurrying to the door.

I exhaled and followed her.

Sarah threw her arms around Claire, squeezing her in an embrace that contrasted sharply with the tight coil of tension inside me.

Claire laughed, squeezing her back. A light, effortless sound that somehow curled low in my stomach.

"You made it," Sarah said, beaming.

"Of course I did," Claire teased, nudging her playfully. "Did you think I'd change my mind?"

"Well," Sarah said with an exaggerated eye roll, "you have a habit of getting... distracted."

Claire smirked. "Oh, come on. I wouldn't leave you and Mark hanging like that."

Mark.

The way she said my name was casual, familiar--but something about it made my fingers tighten around the handle of her duffel bag.

Then, she turned to me, her lips curving in a slow, teasing way that made my stomach clench.

"Are you going to help with my bags, Mark? Or should I start moving in all by myself?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "He's a gentleman, Claire. He's not going to make you carry all your stuff."

Claire's gaze flicked to me, expectant, waiting.

I cleared my throat and reached for the duffel slung over her shoulder. As I did, her scent hit me--citrus and vanilla, light but intoxicating, clinging to the air between us.

I gritted my teeth. Get it together.

"Thanks," she murmured, her lips twitching. "I'll try not to make things too hard on you."

Sarah snorted. "Too late. You're already a pain."

Claire gasped in mock offense. "Me? A pain? Please, I'm a delight."

I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. It was just her personality--playful, teasing.

And I wasn't going to overthink it.

Not when I had Sarah standing right here.

---

The afternoon tested my patience.

Claire settled in like she'd always been here, like she already owned the space.

And me? I tried not to notice.

Tried not to watch the way her skirt rode up when she curled onto the couch, one knee tucked under the other.

Tried not to register the casual way she stretched, arching her back, her shirt pulling just slightly over her chest.

Tried not to let my gaze linger when she bent down to adjust her bags, and--fuck.

Pink lace.

A quick glimpse, a flicker of color, gone too fast.

I told myself it was nothing. That Claire wasn't doing anything on purpose.

That was just how she was.

By the time dinner rolled around, I was worn out from the effort of not looking.

And then, she appeared in a flowing white dress.

The fabric clung to her waist, draped over her chest before falling just high enough over her thighs. And the way it moved when she walked?

Hypnotic.

She plopped down in her chair across from me, grinning at Sarah.

Sarah poured wine into Claire's glass. "You're seriously not going to wear pajamas to dinner?"

Claire shrugged, taking the glass. "I could. But I figured I'd look presentable for my gracious hosts."

Sarah laughed. "You mean Mark. He's probably the only one who cares."

Claire's gaze flicked to me, a glint of mischief hidden behind her smile.

"I wouldn't want to be rude," she said, taking a slow sip of wine.

I shifted in my seat, forcing myself to focus on my wife, not the heat creeping up my neck.

"So," Sarah continued, "are you settling in okay? I know it's not exactly glamorous, but we want you to feel at home."

Claire set down her glass, running a finger along the rim.

"I'm settling in just fine," she murmured. Then, after a pause--too long, too deliberate--she added, "It's nice to have a place where I can... relax."

She looked at me when she said it.

A beat. A pause that sat too heavy in the air.

I cleared my throat, shifting my focus back to Sarah.

Sarah grinned. "Good! You're exactly what we needed around here--someone to liven things up."

Claire smirked, uncrossing her legs. "Oh, I'll do my best."

The hem of her dress slid up, just slightly, exposing red lace before she casually smoothed it down with her fingertips.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You're lucky Mark is a saint. If he were any other guy, I'd have to throw you out of the house."

Claire gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me! I am an innocent bystander here."

Sarah laughed. "You? Innocent? Please."

I forced a chuckle, trying not to let my voice sound as tight as my chest felt.

Because this was just how they were.

Claire was teasing.

Sarah was laughing.

And I was the idiot overanalyzing every little thing.

---

That night, Sarah curled into me, her body warm, familiar, safe. She pressed a lazy kiss to my jaw, her fingers tracing idle circles against my chest.

"You're quiet tonight," she murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

I exhaled slowly, forcing a chuckle. "Just tired."

A lie. A weak one.

She hummed softly, but didn't press. Instead, she leaned in closer, pressing her body against mine, her scent wrapping around me--lavender and something sweet.

Not citrus and vanilla.

I rolled her onto her back, sliding my hands over her hips, wanting to focus on her, on us.

But as I parted her thighs, as I kissed my way down her stomach, as I settled between her legs and took my first taste, my mind betrayed me.

Because I wasn't wondering how Sarah tasted.

I was wondering how Claire would taste.

Would her thighs be just as soft? Would she shudder the same way when I kissed the sensitive skin between them? Would her scent be more intoxicating, her taste more addictive?

I groaned against Sarah, burying my face deeper, trying to chase away the thought.

Her back arched beneath my tongue, her fingers slipping into my hair, pulling me closer.

But all I could see was Claire in that short skirt, her thighs exposed, the lace barely covering her.

What would she sound like?

Would she gasp the same way? Would she bite her lip, trying to hold back her moans, or would she beg me for more?

I felt myself grow harder, my arousal bordering on desperate now.

And it wasn't because of my wife.

I kissed my way back up Sarah's body, her nails dragging along my back, her legs wrapping around me as I pushed inside her.

Tight. Warm. Familiar.

But not who I wanted.

I clenched my jaw, thrusting deeper, letting my mind slip away from reality.

Sarah's moans filled the room, her body flexing, tensing, trembling beneath me.

And still, I imagined Claire.

I imagined her beneath me, her breath catching as I pushed inside her, her nails digging into my skin, her lips curling into that damn smirk.

I moved harder, chasing something I'd never have.

Sarah gasped my name, her body tightening, clenching around me as she came.

The sensation ripped through me, pushing me over the edge. My muscles locked, pleasure crashing through me in waves--violent, relentless, all-consuming.

I buried my face in Sarah's neck, my breathing uneven, my body spent.

And yet...

I wasn't satisfied.

I had taken my wife.

But I was starving for her sister.