Her Husband's Best Friend Claims Us Both

Elena stood at the kitchen sink in her silk robe, the late afternoon light slanting through the blinds and catching the curves of her body beneath the thin fabric. At forty-two she still filled out every inch of her clothes like a woman half her age, full heavy breasts that swayed when she moved, a soft rounded belly that spoke of good living and two grown kids long out of the house, and hips that flared wide enough to make men stare when she walked past. Her dark hair was piled loosely on her head, a few strands sticking to the damp skin of her neck. Her husband Tom had been gone three days into his week-long trip out of state, and the house felt too quiet, too empty. She had been thinking about Jake again. She always thought about Jake when Tom was away.

Jake was twenty-eight, her husband’s best friend since college, all hard muscle and easy arrogance, the kind of younger man who filled a doorway just by standing in it. She had watched him for months—longer, if she was honest—watched the way his shirts stretched across his chest when he helped Tom move furniture, the way his jeans hugged the thick outline of his cock when he leaned against their kitchen island drinking beer. She had touched herself more nights than she could count with her husband’s snoring body beside her, fingers working between her legs while she pictured Jake’s big hands pinning her wrists, his mouth on her tits, that deep voice telling her exactly what he was going to do to her. Filthy, stupid fantasies. She never thought they would be anything more.

The doorbell rang.

She tightened the belt of her robe and padded barefoot to the front door, heart already beating a little too fast for no good reason. When she opened it Jake was there, six-foot-two of solid younger man in a faded black T-shirt and jeans, dark hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it on the drive over. His eyes dragged over her from bare legs up to the deep V of the robe before they met hers.

“Tom asked me to check on you,” he said, voice low and rough. “Make sure you weren’t lonely.”

Elena’s mouth went dry. “I’m fine. You didn’t have to come all the way over.”

“Yeah I did.” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, the door clicking shut behind him. The air between them tightened instantly. He smelled like clean sweat and whatever cologne he wore, something dark and expensive. His gaze stayed locked on hers, intense, unblinking. “You’ve been looking at me for a long time, Elena. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

Her pulse hammered in her throat. She should have laughed it off, told him he was imagining things, sent him home. Instead she felt her nipples tighten against the silk and heat pool low in her belly. “Jake—”

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers lingering, deliberate, tracing the line of her jaw. The touch was light but it burned. “I’ve wanted to claim you for years,” he said quietly. “Tom knows. He’s known. He gave me the green light before he left. Said if you wanted it, I could take it. Silent permission. He’s not dumb. He sees the way you watch me.”