Tempting Desire

Claire was driving me insane. Every teasing glance, every whispered laugh she gave as she brushed past me in the hall--it felt deliberate, calculated. Our video exchanges only poured gasoline onto the fire, making the ache unbearable. I'd tried to keep a grip, keep those last few lines drawn tight, but God, I was losing.

Sarah was glowing, thrilled by our reignited passion in the bedroom. Either she didn't know or didn't want to know what really lit that flame. And honestly, maybe she didn't care as long as it burned hot enough.

But I cared--I cared because all I could think about was Claire. I was consumed by the need to feel her. Her skin, her mouth, against me. The scent of her lingered, haunted me, crept into my dreams.

Something was about to give--and I wouldn't stop it this time.

***

After dropping Sarah off at work, the drive home felt heavier than ever. Weeks of tension built up in my shoulders, settled deep into my bones. Claire's teasing laughter, her breathy voice in those messages, the stolen, loaded glances across the breakfast table--every moment chipped away at whatever boundaries I'd desperately tried to hold onto, but each glimpse of her thighs, every flash of her wicked, knowing smile weakened my resolve.

As I headed to my room to take a quick nap before my day started, I quickly undressed.

When I opened the door to the bedroom, I was surprised. I felt it happen--the slow, undeniable tightening, the rush of blood surging south, the way my body responded before my mind could even catch up.

She was laid out before me, waiting. Claire...

Her head tipped back over the edge of the bed, hair spilling down, loose and wild. The only thing left on her was that delicate lace choker--a whisper of restraint when everything else about her was raw, exposed.

Her lips--Jesus, her lips. Soft, slightly parted, swollen. She looked hungry, wanting.

My gaze dragged down, following the curve of her neck, the way it arched just enough to expose the delicate dip of her collarbone, the slow pulse beating beneath her skin. My fingers itched to grip her there, to feel her heartbeat against my palm, to make her pulse harder.

Lower.

The soft rise and fall of her chest. The way her stomach tensed when I gazed over her skin. The perfect swell of her hips, made to be held, to be pulled against me.

The scent of her filled the air, heavy, intoxicating. The proof of her pleasure was already slick against the inside of her thighs.

The moment she heard me, she didn't flinch. Didn't turn. Didn't hesitate. She just whispered, "You can have me... if you want."

Fuck.

I exhaled sharply, my restraint unraveling with every second I stood there. Every rational thought, every moral line I had drawn for myself dissolved beneath the weight of her presence, the weight of this moment.

I stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Claire didn't move, just watched me.

I stood at the edge of the bed now, inches from her face, so close I could already feel the soft, warm pulse of her breath against me.

She still hadn't looked up. Hadn't needed to. Because we both knew--it was already too late.

This wasn't my wife.... it was her sister.

A line I shouldn't cross. One I should have stepped away from the second I walked in.

But I didn't. I couldn't. Because I wanted this.

My fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head just enough to meet my gaze. Her lips were already parted, waiting.

I exhaled slowly, my voice a low, rough command. "Open your mouth and relax your throat."

And she did.

The second she opened her mouth, I claimed it. I slid deep, burying myself to the base, my breath stalling as the heat of her wrapped around me--wet, tight, all-consuming.

Fuck.

Her throat flexed, tightening, then loosening as she adjusted to me, the muscles working, pulling, drawing me deeper.

I didn't move. Not at first. I just stood there, letting myself feel it.

The slick warmth. The soft, instinctive caress of her tongue as it curled against me. The slight tremble in her body as she took me exactly how I wanted.

I exhaled slowly, trying to hold on, trying to keep control.

After a moment, I eased back, inch by inch, watching her lips glisten as I pulled free--only to push back in, just as slow, just as deep. A steady, deliberate rhythm. Not rushing. Not yet.

Just savoring the way she held me, the way her breath felt, the way her throat welcomed every inch of me like she had been made for this.

The moment I began to slide free, her lips trembled around me, her tongue lingering, unwilling to let me go completely. But I wasn't leaving her.

Not yet.

I kept the tip between her lips as I moved, shifting over her, my body pressing her deeper into the bed. The heat of her skin brushed against mine.

I kissed my way down, slow, deliberate, letting my mouth map her body, taste every inch.

The curve of her ribs. The taut plane of her stomach. Lower still, until I was settled between her thighs, my hands gripping them, feeling the warmth radiating off her, the heat of her already slick, already aching.

Her scent--thick, intoxicating--filled my lungs, drowning me.

Fuck.

I brushed my lips against the soft inside of her thigh, and she shuddered, her breath stalling, her fingers gripping the sheets.

She didn't have time to recover.

Because at that moment, I pushed deep into her mouth again, filling her, forcing her to take me. Her muffled moan sent a shockwave through me, vibrating around me, tightening her lips in a way that nearly had my control slipping.

I let out a warm breath against her, teasing, waiting--until she twitched beneath me, needing more.

Then, I parted her with my tongue, slow, deep, tasting everything.

She choked on a gasp, her body jerking, tightening around me in response, her nails raking against my thighs, her back arching off the bed.

I groaned against her, the sound vibrating between her legs, making her squirm, making her helpless against what I was doing to her. Together, we let the rhythm take over. each of us reacting to the the others skill.

Her taste. Her scent. The way her tongue worked over me, slow and skilled, the silky glide of her lips pulling me deeper. It was too much. Overwhelming.

I let go.

A guttural groan vibrated against her as I came, hot and thick, spilling over her tongue, into her mouth, down her throat. And she took it, as much as she could. I didn't pull away, didn't stop, letting whatever she couldn't swallow spill past her lips, streaking down her cheeks, adding to the slick warmth between us.

And still, my mouth was on her.

Tasting. Claiming.

Her thighs trembled, her body strung tight, her breath breaking apart in uneven gasps. She was close. So fucking close. I could feel it, the way she clenched around nothing, the way her hips arched against my mouth, chasing what she needed.

But I wasn't ready to give it to her. Not yet.

As she reached the edge, as her body prepared to snap, I pulled away.

I felt myself harden again, still in her mouth, her lips stretched around me, the heat of her breath teasing my already growing need.

Fuck.

I tore myself from her, standing abruptly, leaving her panting, aching, unfinished.

I watched her, eyes wild, lips swollen, slick, her body still trembling from what I had almost given her.

Almost.

I smirked, my voice low, rough. "Not yet." She let out a frustrated, needy whimper.

I stood there, watching her.

Her lips were swollen, parted, dripping with my pleasure, a thin trail running down her chin, pooling at the delicate curve of her throat. Fucking sinful.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, skin glistening with sweat, catching the dim light, shimmering with the evidence of what I had done to her. Her hair--wild, tangled, a dark halo of chaos against the sheets-- I wanted her.

And between her thighs--God.

Swollen. Wet. Ready.

Her body arched, thighs pressing together, hips shifting, seeking friction that I had just stolen from her. A craving she couldn't control.

And still, she waited. She didn't beg, didn't demand--she just offered. And fuck that made me want her more than anything.

I exhaled slowly, gripping her hips, dragging my palms over the curve of her waist as I turned her, shifting her beneath me.

Her back hit the mattress, her head landing in the center of the bed. Now, her legs hung off the foot, open, exposed, vulnerable.

I stepped between them, my hands sliding down the length of her thighs, feeling the soft tremble of muscle beneath my touch.

The moment my lips met her throat, I felt her pulse--rapid, frantic, betraying the calm she tried to hold. The lace choker brushed against my mouth, a delicate contrast to the heat of her skin, the softness beneath it.

I lingered there, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss against it, my tongue teasing over her pulse point, tasting the rush of blood pounding just beneath the surface.

She shivered.

Moving lower, dragging my lips down the slope of her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. I felt her chest rise against me, felt her nipples tighten beneath my tongue as I circled one, teasing, claiming her with slow, deliberate motions.

My hands roamed freely now, mapping the curves I was quickly memorizing, sliding down her stomach, feeling the heat of her skin, the way she tensed under my touch.

My fingers reached her vagina, hot, slick, already pulsing with need.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to go slow, to savor the moment as I spread her open, my fingers teasing against the soft, drenched folds before finally sliding in.

Jesus.

A broken moan slipped from her lips, her hips tilting up, instinctively chasing more.

My thumb moved, slow circles over her moist clit, feeling the way she reacted, how her breath stuttered, how her thighs trembled.

But I wasn't done.

I let the tip of my length tease against her, pressing, retreating, pressing again, just enough to drive her wild.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, her head rolling back, her body completely open to me.

I had been patient. I had teased, tasted, tormented.

Now, I was going to take her.

Heat. Pressure. The raw, unbearable friction of her wrapped around me.

The moment I drove into her, she tightened, clenched, pulled me in deeper.

Fuck.

Her legs wrapped around my waist, locking me against her, each thrust sinking me further, each desperate movement dragging me into the slick, pulsing heat of her.

Her skin was damp beneath my hands, soft and burning, the tremors in her thighs growing stronger as I gripped them, using them for leverage, for control. I needed to feel every inch of her.

The rhythm between us wasn't just movement--it was a force, a hunger, a wildfire spreading faster than either of us could contain.

She was building. I could feel it.

The way she clenched, tighter, hotter, wetter. The way her body arched, helpless against the onslaught of pleasure.

I quickened, my fingers digging into her thighs, my grip solid as I drove into her, over and over, chasing the moment I had denied her before.

And then--she shattered.

Her entire body tensed beneath me, back arching, her muscles locking around me, pulsing, trembling as she came.

A strangled moan escaped her lips, her release spilling over me, drenching, marking, claiming me in return.

God.

At the sensation, I broke.

The moment she clenched around me, a deep, guttural groan ripped from my chest as pleasure crashed through me, violent, uncontrollable.

I buried myself deep, pulsing, spilling, filling her completely. The sensation was too much--the tight, rhythmic squeeze of her walls, the heat, the slick, sinful mess of us mixing together, slipping down her thighs.

Fuck.

I stayed inside her for a breath, one last moment to feel everything--the way she trembled, the way she had completely unraveled beneath me.

Then, slowly, I pulled out, watching as our release dripped from her, proof of what we had done.

But I wasn't done with her yet.

I gripped her hips, guiding her off the bed, lowering her until she was on her knees before me.

She didn't resist. She didn't hesitate.

I brought myself to her lips, still sensitive, still slick with her, with us, with everything we had just done.

She parted her mouth, soft, obedient, taking me in one last time.

Her tongue moved slowly, cleaning me, tasting the remnants of our pleasure, licking away every last drop.

Her eyes flicked up to mine, dark, hazy, completely spent.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers brushing over her jaw before I finally stepped away, my body still buzzing, still remembering the way she felt wrapped around me.

Without a word, I left the room, heading into the master bathroom, stepping into the steaming water of the shower.

It was time to start my day.

When I came out, she was gone.

Then the guilt came. my mind still tangled in everything that had just happened. The room smelled like her, like temptation, like a mistake I knew I'd make again.

There was no undoing this.

***

Days passed. At first, panic set in. I kept waiting for Claire to break, to slip up, to drop hints around Sarah, or worse--push even further. But she didn't. Instead, she went silent, utterly indifferent, as though our heated moments in the shadows never existed at all.

Claire had gotten what she wanted. Claimed her prize. Taken it right out of my hands and left me starving.

No more teasing glances across the dinner table, no accidental brushes of her skin against mine in passing. Even the playful, loaded words she'd once whispered, full of double meanings and raw promises, disappeared. The house felt hollow without the electric tension she'd brought with her.

I should have been relieved. Thankful, even. But her sudden withdrawal only intensified the ache she'd ignited. It was like she'd lit a fire and simply walked away, leaving me burning, restless. Now I was the one watching her, desperate for a sign, anything--a smile, a knowing look, an accidental touch.

Anything.

She didn't push anymore because she didn't need to. She'd already shattered my control, left it in pieces scattered between our tangled sheets.

Now it was me, standing in the quiet she'd created, chasing after the very thing I'd tried so desperately to resist.

The quiet should have been a relief. A return normal but I caught myself looking for her. Listening for her. Searching for any hint that she was thinking about it as much as I was.

Claire didn't give me anything. She went about her days like she had before, lounging in the sun, stretching in ways that made my stomach knot, walking through the kitchen in nothing but an oversized shirt and the faintest scent of citrus lingering in her wake.

She wasn't avoiding me. That would have given me something to react to. No, this was worse. This was calculated indifference.

Sarah noticed how wound up I was becoming.

Over dinner one night, she studied me carefully as she twirled pasta around her fork, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"You've been quiet lately," she said, her tone casual, but I knew better. "Work stress?"

I nodded automatically, swallowing down the real answer.

She hummed, unconvinced, then shot Claire a look. "You haven't been tormenting my husband too much, have you?"

Claire only smirked.

"Me?" she said, feigning innocence as she leaned back in her chair, her hair falling over one shoulder. "I've been a perfect houseguest, haven't I, Mark?"

The way she said my name--slow, deliberate, with just enough of a pause to remind me that she knew exactly what she was doing--sent a shiver through me.

Sarah laughed. "That's debatable."

I forced a chuckle, keeping my focus on my plate. But beneath the table, my fingers curled into my thigh, gripping hard enough to keep myself in check.

I didn't trust my own body anymore.

it was time to sleep.

***

Warm. Wet. The slow, deliberate pressure of lips and tongue, pulling me from the depths of sleep into something hazy and consuming. Sensation overtook me, my body responding before my mind had fully caught up.

Claire.

The name flashed in my head like a fever dream, the ghost of her touch still imprinted on my skin, the memory of that morning when she had taken everything and left me.

But then, my eyes opened.

And it wasn't Claire.

It was Sarah.

My wife.

Her hair spilled over my stomach, her mouth working over me with an enthusiasm that made my chest tighten with guilt. She had no idea. No idea that my first instinct had been Claire. No idea that my body had betrayed me before my brain could stop it.

Sarah was always eager to please, always willing to make sure I was satisfied. But it had never been like this. Not this intense. Not this... desperate.

Had she noticed something was off? Was this her way of pulling me back?

I groaned, my fingers sliding into her hair--out of instinct, out of appreciation, out of an attempt to ground myself in this moment with her. Not Claire.

Sarah.

She hummed against me, the vibration sending a pulse of heat through my spine. My stomach clenched, my breath stuttering as I fought to stay present.

But in the darkness, in the half-conscious haze, my mind still drifted.

I imagined it was Claire's mouth. Claire's hands, steady and teasing. Claires tounge dragging me deeper into her. The way she had looked up at me that morning. The way she had swallowed everything, not just my release, but my restraint.

My hips bucked involuntarily, a rough sound escaping my throat.

Sarah moaned in response, taking it as encouragement, picking up her pace. She was good--she had always been good--but now my mind was wired differently. Now I knew something else. Something forbidden, something reckless.

And that knowledge made it impossible to separate the two.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the rush, fighting the way my body was already hurtling toward release. Sarah had no idea that my pleasure had nothing to do with her.

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back the guilt, holding back Claire's name from slipping past my lips.

And when I finally came, it wasn't Sarah's face It was Claire's I imagined.