The new neighbor 8

The quiet hum of my home office was a fragile shield against the chaos in my head. A week had passed since the desperate encounter in the hospital garage. We were back to the polite, meaningless texts, a digital dance of denial. But the hunger was no longer a dull ache; it was a sharp, biting pain. I was staring blankly at a patient file when my phone buzzed with a text from Kristen. It wasn’t a pleasantry.

Is Kelly home?

My fingers trembled as I typed back.
No. She took the kids to her mom’s for the day.

The reply was immediate.
Don’t move. I’m coming over.

There was no time to prepare, no time to think. Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find her standing there, wearing a big, almost frumpy-looking black jacket that went down to her mid-thighs, and a pair of simple sneakers. It was a completely unassuming disguise.

“Hey,” she said, a wicked glint in her hazel eyes as she brushed past me into the foyer.

“Hey yourself,” I replied, closing the door and locking it. “What’s with the—”

I stopped mid-sentence as she unzipped the jacket. She let it fall to the floor in a heap, revealing what she was wearing underneath. My breath caught in my throat. It was an impossibly sexy turquoise lingerie set. The bra was a delicate creation of lace and silk that pushed her breasts up, creating a deep, tantalizing cleavage. A series of intricate straps fanned out over her ribcage. The matching panties were little more than a whisper of lace held together by thin, strappy strings that accentuated the curve of her hips.

“I thought we could have a little more fun this time,” she purred.

My mind racing, needing a soundtrack for what was about to happen, I scrambled to connect my phone to the sound system. A moment later, a slow, pulsing R&B track filled the room. Kristen smiled as she guided me to the couch and pushed me down. She began a slow, sinuous lap dance, her body moving with a practiced fluidity. Finally, she straddled my lap, leaning in to whisper, “Tell me you’ve missed me.”

“You have no idea,” I rasped.

That was all she needed to hear. She slid off my lap and knelt on the floor in front of me. Her skilled hands freed me from my jeans, and she took me into her mouth. It was slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating, driving me to the absolute brink of madness before she stood up. “Not yet,” she whispered. She climbed back onto my lap, facing me, and with a practiced movement, guided me inside her while pulling her panties to the side. She began to ride me, her rhythm slow and deep, her eyes locked on mine.

But the couch wasn’t enough. Not this time. Fueled by a raw, possessive urge, I hooked my arms under her legs, stood up with her still wrapped around me, and carried her from the living room. Her eyes widened in surprise and then darkened with renewed lust as she realized where I was going. I carried her into my bedroom—our bedroom—and laid her down in the center of the bed I shared with Kelly.

The sight of her, spread out on my marital bed in that turquoise lace, shattered the last of my restraint. I pulled her lacy panties down her thighs, kicking them to the floor. I was on her in an instant, pounding into her with a savage intensity. Then I flipped her over, entering her from behind, my hands gripping her hips as I drove into her in a hard, primal rhythm.

She was the one who changed the pace. With a gasp, she rolled over, pushing me onto my back and climbing on top. She took me inside her again, her back arching. “I want you to see me,” she panted. Reaching behind her back, she unhooked her bra. She pulled it off and tossed it aside, freeing her perfect, heavy breasts. She began to ride me in a steady, hypnotic cowgirl rhythm, and I watched, completely mesmerized, as her tits bounced with every downward thrust.

The sight pushed me over the edge. Taking control, I flipped her onto her back one last time, pinning her beneath me in missionary. I hooked my hands under her knees, pulling her legs up high as I plunged into her as deeply as I possibly could. The raw, skin-on-skin friction was overwhelming.

“Look at me, Kristen,” I commanded, my voice a guttural rasp.

Her hazy, pleasure-filled eyes focused on mine. Her pupils were dilated, her lips parted. In that moment, seeing the absolute surrender in her eyes, I let go. I didn’t pull out. I kept my gaze locked on hers as I came with a guttural groan, emptying myself deep inside her womb, feeling the hot, pulsing rush of my release as she squeezed around me. My face fell beside hers looking towards my nightstand where a picture of Kelly and me from our wedding day sat facing me. That rush of pleasure quickly melted into guilt as I could feel it build up inside my gut. How were things ever going to go back to normal?