Sharing the Neighbor's Fertile Daughter (Sharing, Cheating, and Cuckqueaning #4)

Chapter One

I’ve always wanted to have children. I dream of little kid laughter in the yard, tiny footsteps racing through the house.

I want to be tripping over legos and stuffed animals in a mad dash to finish lunches before soccer practice.

I want to be buried under the detritus of a well-loved family. I want it all!

But it just isn’t happening. Sex has become routine, almost clinical.

Charting my ovulation cycle and timing everything perfectly has stopped me from feeling like a sexual creature.

Desire? What role does that play in fertility?

I feel like my husband just sees me as a vessel—and a broken one, at that.

Putting so much pressure on sex has only brought us further apart.

I don’t think about lust or passion anymore.

I don’t look at him and see the sexy man I married almost a decade ago.

I’m not sure if we’ll ever have the family we dreamed of, and lately it doesn’t even feel like I have the relationship either.

“Looks like the neighbor’s daughter is back from college,” Peter says, distracting me from my reverie. I’ve been staring through the TV, lost in my doom spiral again.

“Oh yeah?” It might be the first thing he’s said to me all weekend other than “Pass the remote.”

“Sweet girl.” His eyes are locked on the window. Is he imagining what it would be like to see our own baby off to college one day? “She’s really grown up.”

My heart aches. He probably doesn’t mean it, but it feels like a targeted attack.

Another punch to the gut because I haven’t been able to get pregnant.

Our kids should be growing up too—little pencil marks on the doorframes, crayon scribbles proudly displayed on the fridge—but I’m a failure. I just know it’s me.

“I’m going to go cut the grass,” he says, abruptly. I’ve been begging him to do it for weeks, but he always says he’ll get around to it. He probably sensed me getting weepy and can’t stand to be around it anymore.

“I’m ovulating tonight,” I remind him, my stomach twisting. “We should…”

“Yeah, of course. Just gotta keep trying, right?” He squeezes my knee and drops a kiss on my cheek. “It’ll happen. And if not, well, maybe it’s time to explore other options.”

He meant it to be reassuring but it still makes my chest tighten. We’ve talked about adoption, but I just haven’t been ready to admit defeat. We can’t afford something like IVF or surrogates. But I just can’t give up on the dream of having a little person made up of little me and little Peter.

As the lawnmower roars to life, I drift to the window to watch my husband work.

Instead, I see what drew him outside in the first place: the neighbor’s twenty year old daughter is bouncing on a trampoline in her bikini.

Her face is flushed, almost as red as her hair, and her smile is bright and innocent even as her impressive rack bulges with each leap, straining the knots holding her top on.

I’m embarrassed, worse than if I’d caught him watching porn. She’s more than 15 years younger than us and he’s watching her flop around half naked. Am I married to a pervert?

But I can’t stop watching either. Something freezes me in place, eyes glued to her healthy, pink cheeks; that flat, pale stomach; those massive tits that could hold so much mother’s milk.

I bet she’d make a great Mommy if she wasn’t still practically a kid herself.

Her body looks perfectly designed to bring life into this world and nourish it.

That’s why Peter’s out there mowing the lawn, so he can sneak a peek at the fertile younger woman next door. Of course he’s grown tired of our monthly routine. I can’t give him what he wants—what we both so desperately crave.

But she’s every man’s dream. My heart thuds in my ears when she notices him, waving coyly as she puts even more power into her bounce.

He waves back, grinning like a fool. He wants her.

His body is probably calling to her. She’s practically screaming “I’m breedable!

Put a baby in me!” and my pussy is pounding with jealous disbelief.

I can’t remember how long it’s been since lust made my blood sing like this.

It’s hot and intense and it makes my mouth water and my panties wet.

Peter mows the lawn, rubbernecking at the young woman like a car accident, oblivious to me watching.

I rub my breasts through my t-shirt, slipping past my sweat-stained bra to knead the flesh.

I have nothing on her massive jugs, but the contact feels good.

When her head disappears behind the fence line and doesn’t come back, I feel my disappointment like a physical ache. My husband manages to finish the job much quicker now, though he can’t resist looking over his shoulder like she might reappear.

My pussy is dripping. I slide one finger across my slit, parting the swollen lips and dipping it into my slick. Young and beautiful. Innocent and breedable.

I wait impatiently for him to come back inside, practically panting at the front door.

“Should we try now?” I ask, eagerly. He smells like grass and sweat and sunshine and it’s kind of intoxicating. When was the last time I hungered for him like this?

“I need a shower,” he says, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. It’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m asking for sex. I understand his confusion, but I can also see a bulge already straining the front of his pants. He turns his hips away from me as if he could hide his obvious erection.

“I’ll come with you.” I grin and wrap my arms around him from behind.

Now I’m stinky and sweaty too. He holds me to his body and we frogmarch to the shower.

Our clothes fall off. My nipples are hard little points and they ache when I see him, hard and leaking from his swollen tip.

Before I stop to consider it, I drop to my knees in the shower and lick it clean.

I know that his hard-on is for her, but I don’t care.

He’s probably thinking of her right now, as his hand tightens in my hair, imagining it was red and fiery like hers.

He’s probably imagining my cheeks sprinkled with her pretty little freckles, her pouty lips wrapped around his cock.

Let him. He’s still mine. I’m the one who gets to touch him like this.

If I’m good for nothing else, I can still do this, and it feels fucking good for me too.

I moan around his cock as I take him deeper, one of my hands slips between my legs and swipes my clit as I suck him back.

“Ugh, that’s good,” he moans as his fingers fall to my neck. His thumb hooks in the side of my mouth, pushing it open further, making more room for him to fuck my face. My throat makes a wet clacking sound as I swallow him back. “I’m ready. Bella—quick—”

He pops out of my mouth and helps me off the floor.

The hot water rains down as I face the wall and push my ass back.

He braces one leg on the side of the tub then thrusts inside me.

Our moans reverberate off the tile walls as he pounds my pussy.

His hands clench my waist, squeezing, pulling, then he erupts.

My walls flutter around him, milking every last drop of my husband’s cum.

We’ve done this hundreds of times over our relationship, but the heat is something new.

I squeeze my muscles as hard as possible when he pulls out, then he uses two thick fingers to pump his seed back inside me. The shower will wash most of it away, but we can always try again later. For the first time in a long time, I’m actually kind of looking forward to it.

As we’re drying off, the air between us feels a little lighter than usual. I still can’t get thoughts of Rose out of my head.

“Do you think I should get a boob job?” I ask, rubbing the towel through my hair.

Peter’s face twists in surprise, as if he’s truly never considered it before. “I think natural would be best for the baby,” he says finally.

I make a noncommittal sound in the back of my throat and don’t meet his eyes. What baby, I think. It’s been two years.