Bareback Betrayal at Fertile Peak

The porch light was off, and Rupert kept it that way. Thirty-five years old, still in the gray button-down from the office, he stood in the side yard where the hedge opened just enough for a man to disappear, and he watched his own living room through the darkened window. The glass was cool against his fingertips. Inside, the lamp by the sofa threw a warm pool across the rug, and in that pool his wife was taking her heels off.

Corinne was twenty-eight, blonde, the kind of pretty that still surprised him when she turned too fast in a doorway. Her hair had come half out of the clip she wore for client days. The navy dress clung at her waist and rode a little when she bent. She had texted that she was bringing a colleague by to finish a deck. She had not said which colleague. Rupert had come home early from the airport after his flight was scrubbed, and instead of walking in he had killed the headlights at the curb and circled the house like a thief in his own yard.

Jerome set his bag on the armchair. Thirty-two, tall, dark-skinned, shoulders filling the dress shirt he'd worn through the late meeting. He looked around the room the way a man looks at a place he has been wondering about, then looked at Corinne longer.

"You sure nobody's coming home?" he asked.

"Conference through Thursday," she said. Rupert, inches from the glass, felt the lie land in his chest. She added, too fast, "I just wanted somewhere that isn't a fluorescent box. Water's in the fridge if you want it."

Jerome did not go to the fridge. He loosened his tie and watched her cross to the coffee table with a folder neither of them opened.

"You've been looking at me all week," he said. His voice was low, even, not a joke. "In the conference room. In the elevator. I'm not imagining it."

Corinne's mouth opened, closed. Color rose under the blonde fall of her hair. "Jerome. We work together. I'm married."

"I know who you're married to." He took one step, then stopped, leaving her the room to refuse him. "I'm not going to pretend I don't want you. If you want me to take my bag and go, say it and I will."

She didn't say it. She set the folder down and stared at the carpet. Outside, Rupert's pulse knocked in his ears. He could have tapped the glass. He could have walked to the front door. He stayed exactly where he was, breath fogging a small circle he did not wipe away.

Jerome came the rest of the way slowly. He didn't grab. He lifted his hand and waited until Corinne leaned, barely, into the space of it, and then he cupped her jaw and kissed her. She made a small broken sound and kissed him back, hands fisted in his shirt, then shoved at his chest and stepped away, breathing hard.

"We can't," she said. "We don't even have a condom. I don't keep them in the house. I'm not— I can't just—"

"Then we don't have to fuck." He was close enough that Rupert could see the sheen on Jerome's lower lip. "But don't tell me you don't want to. Your whole body just told me."

"I want to," she whispered, and the admission seemed to scare her more than the kiss. "That's the problem. I want to so much I can't think, and we don't have anything, and I am not getting pregnant because I got stupid on a Thursday."

Jerome's thumb stroked the hinge of her jaw. "I won't cum in you. I swear to you. I'll pull out. I'll finish on your stomach, your thigh, wherever you tell me. You say stop and I stop. But if you want me, Corinne, stop making the missing condom do the deciding."

She laughed once, shaky, and pressed her forehead to his chest. Rupert watched her shoulders rise and fall. He watched Jerome's broad hand spread over the small of her back, patient, not pushing. A minute passed. Another. Corinne's fingers opened and closed on the cotton of Jerome's shirt like she was arguing with herself in a language only her hands knew.

"You promise," she said into his chest.

"I promise. I will not cum in your pussy."

She lifted her face. Her eyes were bright, her mouth already swollen. "Okay," she said. "Okay. But you pull out. You hear me?"

"I hear you."

She kissed him again, and this time she didn't break it. Rupert's hand flattened on the window frame. The living room lamp gilded the line of her throat as Jerome walked her backward toward the sofa, their mouths open, her fingers dragging his tie loose and dropping it on the rug. Jerome's palms slid down her sides, over the navy dress, and settled on her ass, squeezing until she gasped against his mouth and rose on her toes. She was not reluctant anymore. She was choosing, and the choice was loud in the way she tugged his shirt from his waistband and shoved her hands up under it, palms mapping the heat of his back.

"God, you're warm," she said.

"Been thinking about this since the elevator on Monday." He mouthed the side of her neck, and her head tipped, blonde hair spilling. "The way you looked at my mouth when I was talking. You knew."

"I knew." Her voice had gone husky. "I told myself I was just tired."

He found the zipper at her spine and drew it down. The dress loosened. She let him push it off her shoulders, and it pooled at her feet, leaving her in a pale bra and panties that looked almost white against her skin in the lamplight. Rupert had bought her that set for her birthday. He recognized the little bow between her breasts and felt something hot and sick and electric move through him, and still he did not move from the hedge.

Jerome looked at her like he was memorizing the picture. "Beautiful," he said, simple as a fact. He unhooked the bra. Her breasts spilled into his hands, full, nipples already tight, and he bent and took one into his mouth, sucking slow while his other hand rolled the other peak between finger and thumb. Corinne's knees softened. She clutched the back of his head and made a sound Rupert had heard in their own bed, a sound he had thought was only his.

"Jerome— the window—"

"Curtains are half drawn. Nobody's out there." Jerome's mouth traveled to the other breast, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper. "Let me touch you."

His hand slid down her stomach, under the waistband of the panties, and Corinne's hips jerked. Rupert couldn't see Jerome's fingers, only the way her thighs pressed together and then opened, the way her mouth fell open and stayed open. Jerome stroked her through the thin cotton first, then under it, and whatever he found made him groan against her collarbone.

"Soaked," he said. "You've been soaked since we walked in, haven't you."

"Yes." She was rocking on his hand now, shameless, the reluctance burned off. "Don't stop. God, your fingers—"

He worked her panties down her legs and she stepped out of them, naked in the lamplight except for the small gold hoops in her ears. Jerome dropped to his knees on the rug without being asked. He hooked one of her thighs over his shoulder and put his mouth on her, and Corinne cried out, one hand braced on the sofa back, the other buried in his short hair. Rupert watched the flex of Jerome's shoulders, the wet shine when he pulled back to breathe and then went in again, licking her open, sucking at her clit until her standing leg shook.

"I can't— I'm going to fall—"

Jerome stood, mouth wet, and turned her toward the sofa. He stripped his shirt off, then his undershirt, belt, pants, boxers, efficient and unhurried. Naked, he was broad through the chest, narrow at the waist, his cock thick and dark and already hard, curving up against his stomach. Corinne stared at it. Her hand came up and wrapped around him, and she stroked once, twice, feeling the weight, the heat, the way he throbbed in her fist.

"You're big," she said, almost wondering.

"We'll go slow." He kissed her again, letting her taste herself on his tongue, and guided her down onto the cushions. She lay back, blonde hair fanned on the throw pillow, knees falling open. Jerome knelt between them and dragged the head of his cock through her slick folds, not pushing in, just painting her, nudging her clit until she lifted her hips and chased him.

"Bare," she said, eyes on where they almost joined. "We're really doing it bare."

"You can still tell me no."

She looked up at his face. Rupert saw the decision happen, the last thread of caution snapping behind her eyes. She reached down, fitted him to her entrance, and pulled.

"I want it," she said. "Fuck me. Just don't cum in me. You promised."

"I promised."

He sank into her in one long, careful thrust, and both of them groaned. Corinne's head tipped back against the cushion, mouth open, hands flying to his shoulders as he filled her. Jerome held still when he was buried, jaw tight, letting her adjust to the stretch. Rupert could see the place they joined, the way her body gripped him, the flush spreading down her chest. He had never watched his wife from the outside like this. He had never seen her face when someone else was all the way inside her, and the sight pinned him to the dark yard harder than any lock.

"Move," she begged. "Please move."

Jerome drew back and thrust again, deeper, setting a rhythm that rocked the sofa against the rug. Missionary, her legs wrapping his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. He braced one hand beside her head and the other under her thigh, opening her, and fucked her in long strokes that made the lamp shiver. Corinne met him, hips rolling, breasts bouncing, little breathless words spilling out of her — yes, there, harder, God you're deep. The wet sound of it carried even through the glass, a soft rhythmic slap that Rupert felt in his teeth.

"You feel insane," Jerome said against her ear. "So tight. So wet. I'm not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that."

"Then slow down," she gasped, and then contradicted herself by locking her ankles and pulling him deeper. "No, don't. Don't slow down. Just remember. Not inside."

"I remember." He kissed her, messy, and drove into her harder, the sofa creaking. Sweat shone on his back. Corinne's nails left pale tracks on his shoulders. She was close already; Rupert knew the tell, the way her brow pinched and her moans went high and thin. Jerome seemed to know it too. He slipped a hand between them and rubbed her clit in tight circles while he thrust, and she wailed, back arching off the cushion.

"Not yet," she panted. "I don't want to cum yet. I want—"

"Turn over."

He pulled out, cock gleaming, and she scrambled onto her hands and knees on the sofa without hesitation, ass up, cheek pressed to the pillow, looking back at him over her shoulder with her hair stuck to her mouth. Jerome knelt behind her, spread her with both hands, and pushed back in. The new angle made her shout. Doggy-style, he could get deeper, and he did, hips snapping, one hand gripping her hip, the other fisted gently in her blonde hair, not yanking, just holding her there while he fucked her. Each thrust shoved a broken sound out of her. Her breasts swung. The panties and the dress lay forgotten on the rug. Rupert's own cock was hard and aching in his pants, and he hated that, and he did not look away.

"Jerome— oh God— right there, right there, don't stop—"

"I'm close," Jerome gritted. His rhythm stuttered. "I'm close, baby, I gotta pull out—"

"Then pull out," she cried, but her hips kept working back onto him, chasing the angle, greedy. "Pull out, you promised, you—"

He tried. Rupert saw him try. Jerome started to withdraw, the thick shaft sliding free to the head, and then Corinne clenched and pushed back at the worst possible second, seating him to the hilt with a helpless moan, and Jerome's control broke. His whole body locked. A raw sound tore out of him, and he came, hips jerking, buried as deep as he could go, pulsing into her in thick involuntary spurts. Corinne's eyes flew wide.

"Jerome— you're— oh my God, you're cumming in me—"

"I can't— fuck— I'm sorry— I can't stop—" He was still throbbing, still emptying, one arm banded around her waist to hold her on him while the orgasm wrung him out. Heat flooded her. She felt every pulse, the sheer amount of it, the way it filled her and had nowhere to go but deeper. The shock of it — bare, unprotected, his cum pumping into her pussy after he had sworn he wouldn't — hit her like a hand between her legs. Her reluctance, her fear, the whole careful bargain, all of it flipped in a single heartbeat into something so filthy and so exciting she couldn't breathe.

She came immediately. The orgasm crashed through her before she could name it, violent, clenching, her pussy milking him in rhythmic spasms while she sobbed into the pillow. She shook so hard the sofa jumped. Jerome groaned at the squeeze, another weak spurt jerked out of him, and that only made her cum harder, crying his name, grinding back to keep him plugged inside her while her thighs trembled and her vision whited out.

When it ebbed she was gasping, forehead on the cushion, his softening cock still inside her, cum already leaking around him in a warm slick trail down her thigh. Jerome stroked her back, wrecked, apologetic.

"Corinne. I'm sorry. I tried to pull out. You moved and I— I didn't mean to. I'll get you whatever you need. A pill. Anything."

She was quiet for a long moment, breathing. Then she laughed, low and astonished, and looked back at him with blown pupils and a flushed, ruined smile.

"Don't apologize," she said. Her voice was hoarse. "That was the hottest thing that has ever happened to me. I felt you cum. I felt all of it. I came so hard I think I blacked out."

"You're not mad."

"I'm shaking." She reached back, held him in place when he started to withdraw, and clenched deliberately around his cock. More cum seeped out around the seal of their bodies. She watched it over her shoulder and bit her lip, and the sight made her hips roll again, slow, hungry. "I want you to do it again."

Jerome stared at her. "Again."

"Cum in me again." She turned, pushed him down onto the sofa so he was sitting, and climbed into his lap facing away from him, reverse, her back to his chest, her ass settling over his thighs. His cock was half-hard, slick with both of them, and she took it in her hand and stroked him back to fullness with quick, filthy pulls, spreading his cum over him like she wanted him wetter. "I know what I said. I don't care anymore. I want you to fill me up. I want to feel you shoot in me while I'm riding you."

"Corinne." His hands found her hips, but he didn't stop her. He was getting hard again fast, thickening in her fist, the recovery of a man who had wanted this too long to be finished. "You were scared of exactly this twenty minutes ago."

She lifted, notched him at her entrance, and sank down in one smooth drop, taking him to the root. Both of them moaned. She was sloppy with his first load, obscenely easy, and the sound of him sliding into his own cum made Rupert's knees nearly buckle against the siding. Corinne braced her hands on Jerome's knees and started to ride, reverse cowgirl, ass bouncing, blonde hair swaying down her back. Every rise showed Jerome's cock shining, every drop seated him deep and pushed a fresh trickle of cum out around him.

"It's my fertile time," she said, breathless, riding harder. "Right now. This week. I'm ovulating, Jerome. Peak. I can feel it, I've been aching for days, and you just came in me on the most dangerous night of my cycle, and I came so hard I saw stars, and I want you to do it again. I want you to cum in my fertile pussy. Fill me. Put it as deep as you can."

Jerome's hands tightened on her waist. For a second he looked like a man being handed something he had not dared to ask for. Then he planted his feet and thrust up into her, meeting her bounce, fucking her from below while she rode.

"You sure?" he asked, even as his hips snapped. "Say it clear."

"I'm sure." She reached down and rubbed her clit, circling fast, voice breaking. "Cum in me. I'm fertile and I want your cum in my pussy. Don't pull out. Don't you dare pull out this time. Give it to me. Knock me up if that's what happens. I don't care. I want it. I want to feel you flood me again."

That undid him. He fucked up into her in short, brutal strokes, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, the other pinning her hip so she couldn't lift off. The sofa thudded against the wall. Corinne's moans went ragged, high, continuous. Rupert watched her ass work, watched Jerome's dark hands on her pale skin, watched the mess smearing her thighs, and could not make his body obey the part of him that wanted to look away.

"I'm gonna cum," Jerome warned, voice shredded. "I'm right there. You want it, you take it—"

"Yes— yes— inside, cum inside me, please—"

He slammed her down and held her there, buried to the hilt, and came with a groan that seemed to start in his chest. Corinne felt the first hot pulse and cried out, grinding in small circles to keep him deep while he flooded her a second time, thicker, longer, jet after jet pumping into her already creamed pussy. The sensation — being filled again, fertile, on purpose this time, his cock jerking against her cervix — tipped her straight over. She orgasmed on the second spurt, clenching so hard around him that Jerome cursed and spilled even more, her whole body shaking in his lap, one hand still frantic on her clit, the other gripping his thigh. She came and came, milking him, sobbing yes, yes, give it to me, until he had nothing left and she collapsed back against his chest, twitching through the aftershocks, his cock plugged inside her so none of it could escape.

They stayed like that, sweat cooling, breath wrecked. Jerome's arms came around her waist, loose, spent. Corinne's head lolled on his shoulder. A dreamy, stunned smile pulled at her mouth. She slid a hand down over her lower belly and pressed, gently, as if she could feel the risk sitting warm inside her.

"Twice," she murmured, almost laughing, wonder in it. "You came in me twice. On my fertile days. I should be terrified."

"Are you?"

"No." She turned her face and kissed his jaw, lazy, satisfied, still smiling that dangerous little smile. "I'm glowing. Don't move yet. I want to keep it in."

Jerome exhaled against her hair and didn't move. Cum leaked anyway, slow, around the base of him, marking the cushion, her thighs, the place where they were still joined. Corinne watched it and only smiled wider, tracing idle circles on her stomach, floating in the afterglow, body loose and humming, in no hurry to climb off the evidence.

Outside the window, Rupert stood in the dark with his hand locked on the frame and his heart slamming, disbelieving, unable to blink. He had watched his blonde wife take another man bare, beg for his cum, confess her fertile peak, and smile like a woman who had gotten exactly what she wanted. They had not looked toward the glass once.

Weeks later, in the bright bathroom down the hall, Corinne would sit on the closed lid of the toilet with a test in her shaking hand and watch the second line come up clear and unmistakable, and she would know, with a certainty that started in her still-soft belly and spread all the way to her throat, that Jerome had gotten her pregnant that night on the sofa. But that discovery belonged to a morning that had not arrived yet. Tonight the lamp still burned, the two of them still breathed in a tangle of sweat and cum and satisfaction, and Rupert remained at the darkened window in stunned, disbelieving silence, watching, and not once did either of them notice he was there.