Costume Party Craving: His Best Friend's Married Mother

The bass thumped through the walls of the big colonial house like a second heartbeat, rattling the framed family photos in the hallway as Reid shouldered his way past a cluster of witches and superheroes. Twenty-two, flushed from the walk up the driveway, he still couldn’t believe Emmett had talked him into this. A full Halloween costume party at the family home while Marco was stuck in Chicago on business. Half the junior class seemed to be here, solo cups already sticky in their hands, but Reid’s attention never lingered on any of them. It snagged, the way it always had, on the one person who shouldn’t have been the center of anything.

Camila.

She stood at the edge of the living room archway, backlit by the orange glow of the jack-o’-lanterns on the mantle, and the sight of her punched the air straight out of his lungs. Forty-four looked criminal on her. The vampire-queen costume was a deep blood-red velvet that clung like it had been painted on, the bodice cut so low the inner curves of her full breasts swelled over the top with every breath. A black lace choker circled her throat; long gloves climbed past her elbows. The skirt slit high on one thigh, flashing the shadowed line of stocking and garter each time she shifted her weight. Her dark hair was piled high, a few artful tendrils sticking to the damp hollow of her collarbone. When she smiled at something a guest said, the pointed plastic fangs only made the expression dirtier, more knowing.

Reid’s cock twitched hard against the zipper of his own half-assed costume—plain black jeans and an open white shirt, the “mysterious stranger” excuse Emmett had laughed at. He had been hard for Camila since he was eighteen and first noticed the way her hips rolled when she bent to pull cookies from the oven. Four years of jacking off in Emmett’s guest bathroom after sleepovers, biting his wrist so he wouldn’t groan her name. Four years of pretending the ache was just ordinary horniness. Tonight the ache felt like a live wire under his skin.

“Reid! Finally, fucker.” Emmett crashed into him from the side, plastic cup sloshing cheap beer. His best friend’s breath already smelled like jungle juice. “Mom went full sexy-undead. Told her she was going to give half the guys heart attacks. She just laughed.”

Reid forced a grin that felt cracked. “Yeah. Hard to miss.”

Emmett’s mom. Married. Off-limits in every way that mattered. The knowledge only made the throb worse.

Camila’s gaze lifted across the crowded room and found him like she’d been waiting. That slow, curved smile spread across her red mouth—the one that always looked like she could taste whatever filthy thing he was thinking. She raised her cup in a tiny salute, the motion making her breasts lift and settle heavily inside the tight velvet. Reid’s mouth went dry. He could almost feel the weight of them in his hands, the way the soft flesh would spill over his fingers if he tugged that neckline down another inch.

He muttered something to Emmett about needing a drink and escaped toward the kitchen, weaving between dancing bodies. The counter was a battlefield of bottles. He poured vodka with shaking hands, no mixer, and knocked half of it back. The burn did nothing to cool the heat crawling up his neck.

“Careful with that. You’ll be on the floor before midnight.”

Her voice. Low, warm, edged with amusement. Camila had followed him. Up close the costume was even more devastating: the velvet stretched tight across her narrow waist then flared over the generous curve of her hips. The tops of her breasts rose and fell with each breath, a faint sheen of sweat already gathering in the deep cleavage. She smelled like expensive perfume and something darker, spiced wine and skin.

Reid set the cup down before he dropped it. “Emmett said you went all out.”

“Emmett has a big mouth.” She stepped closer, close enough that the slit in her skirt brushed his thigh. One gloved hand rested lightly on the counter beside his hip. “You look good, Reid. All grown up. I keep forgetting you’re not the skinny kid who used to steal cookies off my cooling racks.”

He swallowed. “That was a long time ago.”

“Mmm. Not so long.” Her eyes dropped, just for a second, to the open collar of his shirt, then lower, openly enough that heat flooded his face and his cock. When she looked up again the smile was softer, almost conspiratorial. “You’ve been staring since you walked in. I noticed.”

The confession landed between them like a lit match. Reid’s pulse hammered in his throat, in his dick, everywhere. He could have lied. He should have laughed it off. Instead the truth slipped out, rough.

“Hard not to. You look… fuck, Camila. That dress.”

She laughed under her breath, a rich sound that vibrated straight to his balls. “Language. There are children present.” But her gaze stayed locked on his, and the tip of her tongue touched the fake fang for a heartbeat. “Or maybe not. Emmett’s upstairs changing the playlist. Marco’s gone until Tuesday. House full of noise and no one paying attention to the kitchen.”

She reached past him for the vodka bottle, the movement pressing the soft side of her breast against his arm. Velvet and warm flesh. Reid’s breath stalled. He could see the faint lace edge of a black bra cupping her, the way her nipple had tightened under the fabric from the cool air or from this. From him. When she poured, her gloved fingers brushed his knuckles and lingered.

“You’ve wanted this for years,” she said quietly, almost conversational, like she was commenting on the weather. “I see it every time you’re here. The way you look at my mouth. My legs. I’ve caught you adjusting yourself more than once, sweetheart. Don’t bother denying it.”

Reid’s face burned. His cock was a rigid line down his thigh now, impossible to hide. “I never meant—shit. You’re his mom. You’re married.”

“I know exactly what I am.” Camila set the bottle down and turned fully toward him. The kitchen doorway framed them; laughter and music spilled in from the living room but no one appeared. She lifted one hand and traced a single fingertip down the center of his chest, stopping just above his belt. “And I know what you are. Twenty-two. Hard. Thinking about how these would feel in your mouth.” She glanced down at her own cleavage, then back up through her lashes. “Aren’t you?”

He couldn’t speak. He nodded once, jerky.

Her smile turned wicked. She leaned in until her lips nearly brushed his ear, voice a velvet rasp. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about it too. About dragging you into the laundry room right now and letting you fuck me against the washing machine while my son’s friends dance twenty feet away. About how thick you’d feel stretching me open after four years of watching you grow into this body.” Her palm finally settled over the outline of his cock through the jeans, squeezing once, slow and deliberate. Reid jerked, a broken sound escaping his throat. She stroked him through the denim, base to tip, measuring. “God, you’re bigger than I pictured. So eager. Leaking already, aren’t you?”

He was. He could feel the wet spot spreading. Camila’s gloved hand worked him with filthy patience, thumb pressing under the head until his hips stuttered forward.

“Not yet,” she whispered, giving him one last firm squeeze before releasing him. The absence of her touch was agony. “Later. When the party thins. When Emmett is too drunk to notice his best friend slipping upstairs. You’ll come find me in the master bedroom. Door unlocked. I’ll still be in this dress. I want your mouth on these first.” She cupped her own breasts, lifting them so the nipples nearly spilled free, then let them drop with a soft bounce that made Reid’s mouth water. “Then I want you to bend me over Marco’s side of the bed and take what’s been yours in your head all this time. Think you can wait that long without coming in your pants?”

Reid’s voice came out wrecked. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.”

Camila’s eyes glittered. She rose on her toes and pressed a single open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his lips—quick, tasting of wine and promise, the tip of one plastic fang grazing his skin. Then she stepped back, smooth as if nothing had happened, and picked up her cup again.

“Enjoy the party, Reid,” she said at normal volume, just as two girls in cat ears stumbled into the kitchen laughing. “There’s more ice in the freezer if you need it.”

She swept past him, red velvet swaying, the high slit flashing bare thigh and the dark band of a garter. Reid gripped the counter edge hard enough to hurt, cock throbbing, balls tight, every nerve ending screaming. The taste of her lipstick lingered on his mouth. Upstairs the master bedroom waited. Emmett’s laugh floated in from the living room. Marco’s empty side of the bed. Four years of starved fantasy suddenly real and razor-close.

He poured another vodka with unsteady hands and drank it neat, eyes locked on the doorway Camila had disappeared through. The night was young. The house was loud. And the only thing louder was the hungry, forbidden drum of his own pulse counting down the minutes until he could follow her.

The vodka sat warm in Reid’s gut as he drifted back into the living room, every thump of the bass matching the throb still trapped behind his zipper. Emmett had vanished into a knot of costumed juniors near the speakers; no one else seemed to notice Reid at all. Minutes stretched. He circled once, twice, eyes skimming the crowd for red velvet, when a gloved hand closed lightly around his wrist.

Camila’s smile was easy, public. “Come help me a second? I need something from upstairs and these heels are already killing me.” Her voice carried just enough that the nearest girl in cat ears only shrugged and went back to her drink. Reid followed without a word, pulse slamming as they climbed the wide staircase. Music and laughter faded behind them into a muffled roar. The upstairs hallway was dim, lit only by a single orange bulb and the spill of moonlight through a tall window. She led him past Emmett’s closed door, past the master bedroom that had been promised earlier, and straight into the study at the end of the hall.

The door clicked shut. Soft lamplight pooled over dark wood shelves and a leather couch that smelled faintly of old books and her perfume. Camila released his wrist and crossed to a low cabinet, hips swaying under the high slit of velvet. She pulled out a thick photo album bound in cracked black leather and set it on the wide desk.

“Marco keeps these locked away,” she said, voice lower now that they were alone. “Old family pictures. Emmett as a baby. Me at thirty. I thought you might want to see how little has changed.” She flipped a few pages without really looking, then turned. The pretense hung between them for half a breath before she let it drop. “Or maybe I just needed an excuse to get you away from all that noise.”

Reid’s mouth was dry again. “You said later. Master bedroom.”

“I changed my mind.” She stepped closer. The desk lamp threw long shadows across the deep cleavage of her bodice; the black lace choker looked tighter somehow. “Downstairs you looked ready to come in your jeans the second I touched you. I decided I didn’t want to wait until Emmett was blackout drunk. I wanted you hard and desperate right now, while the house is still full and anyone could walk up those stairs.”

He could smell her—expensive perfume layered over warm skin and the faint spice of the wine she’d been drinking. She closed the last inches until the front of her thighs brushed his. Deliberately, slowly, she shifted her weight so the bare strip of thigh exposed by the slit pressed flush against the rigid line of his cock. Reid’s breath punched out of him. Velvet and heat and the firm pressure of her leg sliding once, twice, along his length.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“That’s the idea.” Camila’s gloved hand rose and rested on his chest. Her eyes stayed locked on his, dark and open. “I’ve noticed the way you stare for months, Reid. Longer than months. Every time you stayed over and thought I didn’t see you watching me bend over the stove. Every summer when I wore those little sundresses by the pool and you sat there with a towel across your lap. I’ve been wet thinking about it. About how wrong it is. About how thick you’d feel after all this time.”

His cock jerked hard against her thigh. He could feel the damp spot at the head spreading further. “Camila—Emmett. Marco—”

“I know their names.” She rolled her hips once, a slow grind that dragged the silk of her stocking right over the trapped head of his dick. Both of them were breathing harder now, the sound loud in the quiet room. “I know exactly how forbidden this is. That’s why I can’t stop. Tell me you’ve wanted it too. Tell me you’ve jerked off in my house with my name in your mouth.”

Reid’s hands finally moved, settling on the curve of her waist, fingers digging into red velvet. “Every goddamn night I stayed here. I’d wait until Emmett passed out and go into the bathroom and stroke it thinking about your mouth, your tits, the way you’d look bent over with my cum dripping out of you. I hated myself for it. I still do. But I can’t stop.”

Her smile turned feral. She reached down between them and cupped him openly through the jeans, squeezing the thick shaft while her thigh kept up that maddening brush. “Good boy. Feel how hard you are for your best friend’s married mother. Feel how soaked I already am just from having you up here.” She guided his hand under the slit of her skirt. His fingers met bare skin above the stocking, then the damp heat of lace panties. She was drenched; the fabric clung to her cunt. When he pressed two fingers against her clit through the lace she rocked into the touch with a soft, broken moan.

“Shit, you’re soaked,” he rasped.

“For you. Only for you right now.” Camila’s free hand yanked his open shirt wider and scraped nails down his chest. She leaned in until her lips brushed his ear, plastic fangs grazing the lobe. “I’ve pictured you walking in on me while I touch myself in Marco’s bed. I’ve come with three fingers buried in my pussy imagining they were yours. I’ve wanted to drop to my knees in that kitchen and suck you off while the cookies baked, knowing Emmett could walk in any second.”

Reid groaned and pushed his fingers harder against her, rubbing tight circles. Her hips stuttered. She stroked him through the denim in matching rhythm, thumb dragging over the wet spot at the tip until his knees threatened to buckle. The photo album lay forgotten on the desk. Outside the closed door the party roared on—shouts, bass, someone yelling about more beer—but up here the only sounds were their harsh breathing and the wet friction of his fingers working her through soaked lace.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, pupils blown wide. “Confess it properly. Tell me what you want to do to me right now while your best friend is downstairs getting wasted.”

“I want to rip this dress open,” Reid said, voice wrecked. “I want to get my mouth on those tits you’ve been teasing me with. I want to bend you over this desk and fuck you so deep you forget your husband’s name. I want to fill you up and then make you walk back downstairs with my cum leaking down your thighs under this skirt.”

Camila’s breath hitched. She squeezed his cock harder, almost painfully good. “Yes. God, yes. That’s exactly what I need.” She released him only long enough to fumble his belt open, yank the zipper down, and shove jeans and boxers just low enough for his cock to spring free, thick and flushed and already glistening at the tip. Her gloved hand wrapped around him skin-to-skin for the first time—hot leather and tighter grip—and stroked once from root to head, spreading the slick. Reid’s head dropped back with a hissed curse.

She kept the contact of her thigh, rolling against his now-bare shaft while she jacked him. “So big. I knew you would be. I’ve been empty for months, Reid. Marco travels too much and even when he’s home he doesn’t look at me the way you do. Like you’d burn the whole house down just to get inside me.”

He shoved two fingers under the edge of her panties and found her bare cunt, slick and swollen. She was burning hot. He pushed one finger into her and she clenched around it immediately, a broken “yes” falling from her painted mouth. He added a second, curling them while his thumb found her clit again. Camila fucked herself onto his hand, riding the fingers while she kept stroking his cock in long, filthy pulls.

“Feel how ready I am for you,” she panted. “I’ve wanted this since you turned eighteen and started looking at me like a man instead of a kid. I’ve dreamed about sneaking into the guest room and climbing on top of you while Emmett slept across the hall. About covering your mouth so you couldn’t moan too loud when I sank down on this cock.”

Reid’s free hand tangled in her hair, careful of the pins, and dragged her mouth to his. The kiss was open and desperate, plastic fangs clicking against his teeth, her tongue sliding hot against his. She tasted like wine and hunger. He fucked his fingers deeper into her, wet sounds filling the study, while she twisted her wrist on every upstroke of his dick. Precome smeared her glove. Her free hand shoved the velvet bodice down just enough that one heavy breast spilled free, nipple dark and tight. Reid broke the kiss to drop his head and suck it into his mouth, tongue lashing, teeth grazing. Camila’s moan went high and shaky.

“Harder,” she whispered. “Bite it. Mark me where no one will see under the dress.”

He did—sucked hard enough to leave a dark bruise blooming above the nipple—while his fingers kept plunging into her dripping cunt. She was getting louder, hips snapping. His cock throbbed in her fist, balls drawing up tight. The forbidden edge of it—Emmett’s laugh faintly audible through the floorboards, Marco’s framed photo smiling from the bookshelf—only made everything sharper, hotter.

Camila suddenly pulled his fingers free of her, spun them both so his ass hit the edge of the desk, and dropped to her knees between his spread thighs. The sight of Emmett’s mother in full vampire-queen costume, one breast out, red mouth hovering an inch from his cock, almost finished him. She looked up through her lashes.

“Not yet,” she said, echoing her earlier words downstairs, but her voice shook with want. “I’m going to taste you first. Then you’re going to bend me over this desk and give me what we’ve both been starving for. But if anyone knocks, you pull out and we pretend we’re just looking at baby pictures. Understand?”

Reid could only nod, chest heaving. She licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, then took the head between her lips, plastic fangs careful, and sank down. Wet heat engulfed him. He gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to creak the wood, staring down at dark hair and red velvet and the married mouth stretched around his best friend’s mother’s forbidden desire. The party thundered on below them. The night was nowhere near over.

She took him deeper without warning, red lips stretching around the thick girth of Reid’s cock until the head nudged the back of her throat. Camila’s gloved hands braced on his bare thighs, nails biting through the leather as she sucked with wet, greedy pulls that made his vision spark. Every downward glide she looked up at him, dark eyes glittering with wicked authority, the plastic fangs framing his shaft like a filthy crown. Spit slicked her chin. She hollowed her cheeks and twisted her head on the upstroke, tongue swirling under the ridge, and Reid’s fingers knotted in her pinned-up hair with a broken groan.

“Fuck—Camila—your mouth—”

She pulled off just long enough to rasp, “Quiet. Anyone could hear,” then swallowed him again, faster, hungrier, the wet sounds filthy against the muffled bass still thumping through the floorboards. Reid’s hips jerked; he forced them still, thighs trembling while she worked him with the practiced greed of a woman who knew exactly how long she could push before he ruined the moment. Precome coated her tongue. She moaned around him like the taste alone was enough to get her off, one hand sliding between her own legs under the velvet skirt to rub her soaked lace.

He couldn’t take another second of it. Reid hauled her up by the arms, spun her, and bent her hard over the antique desk. The photo album skidded. Papers fluttered. He yanked the high slit of her costume wider until the velvet tore at the seam, then shoved the soaked panties aside and notched his glistening cock against her dripping entrance. One thrust and he buried himself to the root. Camila’s cry was muffled against her own forearm; her cunt clenched around him in hot, fluttering pulses, already so close from the fingers and the sucking that she pulsed on the first stroke.

“Look at you,” he growled against her ear, snapping his hips in deep, possessive thrusts that rocked the heavy desk. “Best friend’s married mother bent over like a fucking whore for her son’s cock. Taking it so deep. So wet it’s running down your thighs.”

“Yes—God, Reid, harder—” She pushed back to meet every slam, the garters snapping against her skin, one breast still spilling free and dragging across the polished wood. The age gap, the forbidden knowledge that Emmett was downstairs laughing with their friends, that Marco’s smiling face watched from the bookshelf, only made the stretch sweeter. Reid gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and drove into her like he was trying to fuck the guilt out of both of them. The wet slap of skin filled the study. Her velvet bodice scraped the desk edge. Every thrust punched a soft, broken moan from her throat that she tried and failed to swallow.

He lasted only a handful of those brutal strokes before the need to see her face won. Reid pulled out, flipped her onto her back across the desk in one rough motion, and shoved her wrists above her head, pinning them with one hand against the cool wood. Her legs locked around his waist. He thrust back in to the hilt in missionary, grinding deep so the base of his cock rubbed her swollen clit on every stroke. Camila’s head tipped back, dark hair spilling from its pins, red mouth open.

“Reid—oh fuck, Reid, don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

He pounded her dripping pussy harder, the desk creaking under them, sweat slicking their skin. Her free breast bounced with every impact. He sucked the marked nipple back into his mouth, biting down just shy of too much, and she arched so sharply her wrists strained against his grip. The taboo burned through every frantic, sweaty movement: twenty-two and forty-four, the boy who used to steal cookies now stretching Emmett’s mother open on her husband’s antique desk while the Halloween party raged one floor below. Reid’s free hand slid between them to rub tight circles on her clit. Camila shattered first, cunt seizing around him in rhythmic pulses, a gush of slick soaking his balls as she came with his name sobbed raw and repeated.

“Reid—Reid—filling me—don’t pull out—”

The clench dragged him over. He buried himself to the root and spilled in heavy, pulsing jets deep inside her, hips stuttering, forehead pressed to hers while the aftershocks wrung him dry. For a long moment the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant thump of bass. Cum already leaked around his still-twitching cock when he finally eased back an inch. Camila’s thighs quivered. She kept her wrists lax under his pinning hand, eyes dark and unfocused, lips swollen from sucking him and from biting back her cries.

Then a burst of laughter rolled up the stairs, closer than before. Emmett’s voice, slurred and loud, calling someone’s name in the hallway. Reid froze. Camila’s eyes snapped wide. He was still inside her, cock softening but locked in the wet heat of his best friend’s mother, both of them sticky and exposed under the single lamp, the torn velvet costume rucked around her waist, one of Marco’s framed photos staring down at the mess they’d made.

She whispered, fierce and shaky, “Door. Lock it properly this time. We’re not finished.”

Reid yanked free of her heat with a wet sound that made both of them hiss, cock still half-hard and shining with their mixed slick. He crossed the study in two strides, twisted the lock until it clicked solid, then turned back. Camila stayed sprawled across the desk exactly as he’d left her—velvet rucked to her waist, one breast bare and marked with his mouth, thighs open, his cum already leaking in a thick white trickle down the inner curve of one stocking-clad thigh. The sight punched fresh blood straight into his dick.

“Not finished,” she repeated, voice raw, and crooked two fingers at him. “Come put it back in me. I can still feel you dripping out and I want more.”

He was on her again before the last word died. Reid shoved her higher on the polished wood, tore the remaining buttons of his shirt open, and sank back into that flooded cunt in one long, greedy thrust. Camila’s back arched; her gloved hands scrabbled for purchase on the edge of the desk. The photo album crashed to the floor. He fucked her deep and dirty, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin louder now that the door was locked and the only risk left was the thin wood and whoever was still wandering the hallway.

“Harder,” she demanded, wrapping her legs higher around his waist so every stroke ground against her clit. “Fill me again. Make it run down my legs when I walk back downstairs. I want to feel you leaking out of me while I pour drinks for Emmett’s friends.”

Reid growled against her throat and gave her exactly that—brutal, possessive strokes that rocked the heavy desk against the wall. Her free breast bounced with every impact; he sucked the marked nipple back into his mouth and bit down until she cried out, muffled against his shoulder. The age gap, the marriage, the son laughing somewhere below them—all of it only sharpened the edge. He could still taste her earlier orgasm on his tongue, still feel the ghost of her throat around his cock. Now he chased another one out of her with short, grinding thrusts and a thumb grinding tight circles on her swollen clit.

Camila came with a broken sob, cunt clamping down in rhythmic pulses that milked him mercilessly. Reid followed two strokes later, burying himself to the root and flooding her a second time, thick ropes pulsing deep while his forehead pressed to hers and his breath sawed in and out. They stayed locked like that, shaking, sweat cooling on their skin, the single lamp throwing long shadows across the wreckage of the study.

Footsteps thudded closer in the hallway—two sets, laughing, one of them definitely Emmett’s drunken drawl asking if anyone had seen his mom. Reid’s cock twitched inside her at the sound. Camila’s eyes went wide and wicked at the same instant.

“Up,” she whispered fiercely. “Now.”

They moved like they’d rehearsed the panic. Reid pulled out; a fresh gush of cum slid down her thigh and she caught it with two fingers, smeared it higher under the torn slit of her skirt so it wouldn’t drip onto the floor. She shoved her bare breast back into the ruined bodice, smoothed the velvet as best she could over the tear at the seam, yanked her panties into place even though they were soaked through and useless. Reid stuffed his still-slick cock back into his jeans, zipped with shaking hands, buttoned what was left of his shirt. The air smelled like sex and perfume and spilled wine. Camila snatched the fallen photo album, slammed it open on the desk to a random page of baby pictures, and they were both breathing hard, standing a careful foot apart, when the doorknob rattled.

“Mom? You in there?” Emmett’s voice, right on the other side of the lock.

Camila’s voice came out remarkably steady. “Just a second, baby. Looking for those old albums for—Reid wanted to see the one from the lake house.” She shot Reid a look that was pure filth under the public sweetness. He could still feel her walls fluttering around the ghost of his cock. His balls ached with the aftershocks.

A pause, then Emmett laughed. “Weird. Okay. We’re doing shots downstairs in five if you guys want. Don’t be boring.”

Footsteps retreated, mixed with someone else’s giggle. The second they faded, Camila spun on Reid, grabbed him by the open collar, and yanked him into a deep, possessive kiss that tasted like wine and his own cum and absolute ruin. Her tongue fucked into his mouth the way her cunt had just taken him—claiming, hungry. One gloved hand cupped the back of his neck hard enough to bruise while the other slid down and squeezed his spent cock through the jeans, making him twitch and groan into her mouth.

She broke the kiss only far enough to whisper against his lips, voice low and velvet-dark. “This is only the beginning of our dangerous little secret. You’re going to walk back into that party smelling like my pussy, tasting like me, and every time Emmett looks at you you’re going to remember how deep you just came inside his mother. Tomorrow night Marco is still gone. You’re going to text me the second Emmett passes out, and you’re going to sneak back into this house and fuck me in my marriage bed until I can’t walk straight. Understand?”

Reid’s answer was a rough nod and another desperate press of his mouth to hers. She bit his lower lip hard enough to sting, then shoved him gently toward the door.

“Go. Now. Before he comes back. And leave the cum inside me—I want to feel it all night.”

He unlocked the door with clumsy fingers, stepped into the dim hallway, and closed it behind him. Music and laughter slammed into him like a wall. His jeans were sticky, his shirt wrinkled, Camila’s perfume and the sharp scent of sex clung to his skin and his tongue. Every step downstairs was torture; his cock was already half-hard again just from the memory of her last kiss and the filthy promise still ringing in his ears. Emmett spotted him near the bottom of the stairs and raised a plastic cup in greeting, completely oblivious. Reid forced a grin, accepted the shot someone pressed into his hand, and knocked it back while the taste of Camila’s mouth lingered and the ghost of her cunt throbbed around the memory of his cock.

Across the crowded living room he caught a flash of red velvet. Camila had reappeared, costume somehow looking almost perfect again, only the high flush on her cheeks and the slight hitch in her walk giving anything away. She met his eyes over the rim of her cup, smiled that slow, dirty smile with the plastic fangs, and mouthed two silent words.

Later. More.

Reid’s pulse hammered. The party roared on around them—bass, laughter, cheap beer—but all he could feel was the wet heat still coating his dick, the bruises already forming on her hips under that dress, and the unbearable, electric knowledge that the night was far from over. Somewhere upstairs the study still smelled like them. Somewhere in her body his cum was still leaking. And tomorrow night the master bedroom would be waiting, door unlocked, Marco’s side of the bed empty, the secret between them already burning hotter than any costume-party dare.

He drifted through the crowd half-hard and starving, every accidental brush of someone else’s costume only reminding him of velvet and garters and the married mouth that had just swallowed him whole. Emmett slung an arm around his shoulders and shouted something about another round; Reid laughed at the right places and never took his eyes off the blood-red figure moving through the orange glow of the jack-o’-lanterns. The dangerous secret already owned him completely. The next stolen moment couldn’t come soon enough.

The bass had died hours ago. Emmett lay sprawled face-down on the living-room couch in a tangle of empty cups and discarded masks, snoring loud enough to rattle the windows. Reid stood in the dark kitchen with his phone glowing, thumbs hovering over the message Camila had sent at 2:17 a.m.: He’s out. Side door unlocked. Come.

He slipped inside like a thief. The house smelled of stale beer and pumpkin spice. Upstairs the master bedroom door stood half-open, a single bedside lamp painting everything gold. Camila waited on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but the black lace choker and the torn stockings from the night before. The vampire dress lay in a ruined heap on the floor. Her dark hair was down, tumbling over bare shoulders; her thighs were already parted, fingers idly tracing the faint bruises his hands had left on her hips.

“You came,” she said, voice low and rough from sleep and last night’s screaming.

Reid shut the door, locked it, and crossed the room in three strides. He dragged his shirt off, shucked jeans and boxers in one motion, cock already heavy and dark against his stomach. Camila’s eyes dropped to it and she licked her lips like she could still taste him.

“I’ve been wet since I heard the door,” she whispered. “Touch me and you’ll see.”

He did. Two fingers slid through the slick folds of her cunt and came away shining. She moaned, hips lifting. Reid pushed her back onto Marco’s side of the bed—the side with the deeper dent in the mattress—and climbed over her. The sheets still smelled faintly of her husband’s cologne. He buried his face between her thighs and licked a long, greedy stripe from ass to clit, sucking the swollen bud between his lips while she twisted the duvet in both fists.

“Fuck—Reid—your tongue—”

He fucked her with it, wet and filthy, until her thighs shook and a fresh rush of slick coated his chin. Only then did he rise, knee her legs wider, and notch the head of his cock against her entrance. One slow thrust buried him to the root. Camila’s back arched off the mattress; her nails scored red lines down his shoulders.

“All the way in,” she gasped. “I want to feel every inch while I look at his pillow.”

Reid gave it to her. Deep, rolling strokes that dragged the thick ridge of his cock along her front wall on every withdrawal. The bedframe creaked. Her tits bounced with the force; he sucked one nipple hard enough to leave another mark, then the other, while she locked her ankles at the small of his back and pulled him deeper.

“Harder,” she demanded. “Make it hurt in the morning so I remember whose cock ruined me.”

He snapped his hips, slamming into her so the wet slap of skin filled the quiet room. Sweat slicked their stomachs. Camila’s head thrashed; she bit his shoulder to muffle the broken sounds spilling out of her. Reid caught both her wrists and pinned them above her head against the headboard, fucking her with short, punishing thrusts that ground his pelvis against her clit on every stroke.

“This cunt is mine tonight,” he growled against her ear. “Married or not. Emmett’s mom or not. You’re taking every drop I give you.”

“Yes—yours—fill me—”

She came first, violently, walls clamping and fluttering around him in rhythmic pulses that milked his cock. A flood of her release soaked his balls and the sheets beneath them. Reid chased it, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as his own orgasm tore through him. Thick, hot ropes pulsed deep inside her, over and over, until he had nothing left and collapsed forward, forehead pressed to hers, both of them shaking.

They stayed locked like that for long minutes, breathing the same air, his cock twitching with aftershocks while cum already began to leak around the seal of him inside her. Camila’s free hand stroked lazy circles on his back. Outside, the first gray light of dawn crept under the curtains.

Reid finally eased out. A thick white gush followed, sliding down the crack of her ass onto Marco’s pillow. Camila scooped some onto two fingers, pushed it back inside herself, then brought the rest to her mouth and sucked it clean, eyes never leaving his.

“Stay a little longer,” she whispered. “I want to feel you drip out of me while you hold me.”

He curled around her from behind, one arm banded across her waist, palm cupping a full breast. His half-hard cock nestled against the wet seam of her cunt. She pushed back just enough to trap him there, still open and messy.

Camila’s phone buzzed once on the nightstand. She reached for it without sitting up, read the preview silently, and locked the screen again before Reid could see. Her smile against his throat was soft and secret.

Marco’s flight had landed an hour early. He was already in the Uber, twenty minutes out. She had just enough time to shower the smell of Reid off her skin, change the sheets, and pretend none of this had ever happened—except the deep, satisfied ache between her legs and the knowledge that Reid’s cum was still warm inside her, swimming toward a womb that had been deliberately unprotected for weeks.

She pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw and kept the truth locked behind her teeth.

“Tomorrow night again?” Reid murmured, already half-asleep, blissfully unaware.

“Yes,” she lied sweetly, stroking his hair. “Tomorrow.”