4
Damon gave her what she asked for. His hips drove into her, his dark thighs slapping against the backs of hers, and Laura screamed. Not a porn scream. A real one, raw and startled, the sound of a woman who had just discovered she could make that noise.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” she was saying, her voice rising with each word.
The desk was scraping across the floor with every thrust, and the coffee mug finally went over the edge and shattered on the carpet. Nobody looked at it.
Laura came. I knew because I knew her body better than I knew my own, and I knew what her orgasm looked like.
Her back arched, her hands clawed at the desk, and she went silent for a long moment before the sound caught up.
When it came, it was a sound I had never heard from her.
A long, shuddering cry that broke in the middle and kept going.
Damon didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, his hands tight on her hips, and Laura’s body shook against the desk until her arms gave out and she collapsed flat against the flyers, gasping.
Damon slowed. He was still inside her, still hard. He leaned over Laura’s back, his mouth near her ear, and said something I couldn’t hear. Laura laughed weakly against the desk. He kissed her shoulder. Then he straightened and started moving again.
Laura lifted her head. She looked at me across the room. Her face was wrecked. Mascara smudged, hair stuck to her cheek, mouth swollen. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“You okay?” she asked me while she was being fucked, her voice hitching on every stroke.
“Yeah,” I said. My cock was in my hand. I’d given up pretending I wasn’t jerking off.
“Turn her over. I want to see her face.” The words came out before I knew I was going to say them.
Laura’s eyes widened.
Damon pulled out, took Laura by the hips, and flipped her onto her back on the desk. Flyers stuck to her sweaty skin. Her legs came up, and Damon stepped between them, his cock dark and slick against her thigh. Laura looked up at him then turned her head toward me.
Damon pushed back into her. Laura’s mouth opened.
From this angle, I could see everything. His cock sliding into her, her body taking him, the way her abdomen tensed on every stroke. Her breasts moving with the rhythm of it. Her face open, unguarded, showing me exactly what he was doing to her.
This was what I’d wanted. Not the idea of it. Not the fantasy at three in the morning. This. My wife on her back on a desk, looking at me while another man fucked her, the expression on her face telling me that this was better than anything I’d ever given her.
Damon’s hands were under her thighs, holding her legs apart. He fucked her steady, deep, watching her face the way he’d watched the crowd at our kitchen table. Reading her. Adjusting. Finding what worked and staying there.
Laura reached for me. Her hand stretched out across the desk toward my chair.
I stood up, cock in hand, and took her hand with my free one. Her fingers laced through mine and squeezed. She was holding her husband’s hand while another man fucked her on a desk, and the squeeze said everything she couldn’t say out loud. I’m here. I’m still yours. This is ours.
“I’m going to come again,” she said, looking at me, not at Damon. “He’s going to make me come again, Greg.”
Damon drove in harder. Laura’s grip on my hand tightened until it hurt. Her back arched off the desk. She came with her eyes on mine, her mouth open, her body clenching around a cock that wasn’t mine, and I watched every second of it.
Damon was close. I could see it in his jaw, in the way his rhythm shortened.
“Inside me,” Laura said. She was still looking at me when she said it. “Come inside me.”
Damon drove in deep and held. A low groan came out of him, the first uncontrolled sound he’d made all night.
Laura’s eyes closed. She made a soft, satisfied sound as she felt him finish. Then she turned her head, looked at my cock, still in my hand, and let go of my fingers to wrap her hand around my cock instead.
Her grip was warm and sure as she stroked me three times, four, her thumb sliding over the head on each pass.
I came so hard my knees buckled. I braced myself on the edge of the desk.
Laura aimed me onto her belly, onto the mess Damon had already made, my cum mixing with his on her skin.
She kept stroking me through it, slow, milking every last drop, watching my face while she did.
The three of us stayed where we were for a moment. Laura on the desk, just breathing. Damon leaning against the wall, his cock softening against his thigh. Me gripping the edge of the desk with one hand, my knees still unreliable.
Laura looked down at her belly, at the mess the two of us had made on her. She ran a finger through it, idly, and laughed. “Well,” she said, “that happened.”
Damon chuckled. He crossed to a small sink in the corner of the office I hadn’t noticed before, ran some paper towels under the faucet, then brought them back. He handed them to Laura, and she cleaned herself off, sitting up slowly on the desk, flyers sticking to her back.
“You all right, Greg?” Damon asked.
I was tucking myself back in. My hands were shaking. “I think so.”
Laura slid off the desk. She stood in front of me, naked, and put her hands on my face. She looked at me the way she used to look at me. The way she’d stopped looking at me somewhere in the middle of our marriage without either of us noticing.
“Take me home.”
I drove. Laura was in the passenger seat with her hand on my thigh, her hair still a wreck, her blouse buttoned one hole off. She didn’t fix it.
Neither of us said a word for the first five minutes. Then she laughed, quietly, and I laughed, too. We drove home through the empty streets laughing at nothing and everything.