Fuck, Your Wife's Soaked Under Me

Alright, so I’m just gonna lay it out raw for you, like I’m spilling this over a cheap beer at some dive bar. It’s about the time I ended up tangled with Vivica, my coworker, in a way that’d make most folks blush or punch me square in the jaw. This ain’t something I’m proud of, but hell, it happened, and I can still feel the damp cling of her shirt on my skin if I think about it too hard.

It started with the patter of rain on the window. Not some gentle drizzle, nah, it was coming down like a pissed-off god was hosing the earth. I was at home, alone, ‘cause my wife, Gretchen, was out of town for some conference or whatever. She’s always got these work things, leaving me rattling around the house with nothing but the TV and a fridge full of leftovers. That day, though, Vivica texted me. We work together at this soul-sucking office gig, pushing papers and pretending to care about spreadsheets. She’s got this sharp tongue, always cracking jokes that cut just close enough to the bone to make you laugh and squirm at the same time. Anyway, she texts me saying she’s stuck outside in the storm, her car’s dead a few blocks from my place, and could she come over ‘til it lets up. I didn’t think twice. Yeah, sure, come on by. What’s the harm, right?

So, there I am, Eli, just chilling on the couch in sweats and a ratty tee, when the doorbell goes. I open it, and Vivica’s standing there, soaked to the bone. Her dark hair’s plastered to her face, water dripping off her chin, and her blouse is damn near see-through, clinging to every curve like it’s painted on. I ain’t blind; I noticed. Tried not to stare, though. I’m married, not dead, but I got manners. Mostly. I let her in, handed her a towel, and pointed her to the bathroom to dry off. She’s laughing, shaking her head, saying something about how she’s gonna kill her piece-of-shit car if it pulls this again. I chuckled, told her to take her time, and went back to the couch, flipping through channels like I wasn’t just picturing the way her wet clothes stuck to her.

She comes back out, still damp but wrapped in one of Gretchen’s old robes I’d dug out of the closet. It’s too big on her, slipping off one shoulder, and she’s carrying her wet stuff in a bundle. Says she needs to toss ‘em in the dryer if that’s cool. I nod, point her to the laundry room, and figure that’s that. But then my phone buzzes. It’s Gretchen, FaceTiming me outta nowhere. I pick up, and there’s her face, all smiles, asking how my day’s going, if I’m eating anything besides pizza. I’m half-laughing, trying to keep the convo light, when Vivica walks back into the room. She sees I’m on the phone, freezes for a split second, then gives this sly little grin and plops down right next to me on the couch. Real close. Like, thigh-to-thigh close.

I’m trying to focus on Gretchen, telling her yeah, I’m fine, just watching some dumb show, but Vivica’s right there, and I can smell the rain on her, mixed with something like vanilla from her shampoo or whatever. She leans in a bit, pretending to look at the screen, and says, “Hey, Gretchen, didn’t know you were checking up on Eli. Should I leave you two alone?” Her voice is all innocent, but her hand’s on the couch cushion, brushing mine, and I swear I felt the heat of her skin through the damn fabric. Gretchen laughs, says nah, it’s cool, she’s glad someone’s keeping me outta trouble. I’m sweating bullets, trying to keep my face normal, ‘cause Vivica’s fingers are still there, just grazing mine, and it’s like a live wire’s running through me.

Gretchen keeps talking, some story about her conference, and I’m nodding like I’m listening, but Vivica’s not playing fair. She shifts, tucking her legs under her, and the robe slips a little more, showing the edge of her collarbone, a hint of skin that’s still damp from the rain. Her hand moves, casual as hell, to rest on my knee, like it’s nothing, just a friendly pat. But it lingers. Her fingers press just enough that I know it ain’t accidental. I glance at her, and she’s got this look, half smirk, half dare, like she’s testing how far I’ll let this go while my wife’s yapping on the other end of the call. I should’ve moved. Should’ve said something. But I didn’t. My throat was tight, and my body was already betraying every vow I ever made.

I mutter something to Gretchen about the connection being spotty, gotta go, and she says fine, talk later, love you. I hang up, and the room’s suddenly too quiet, just the rain smacking the windows and the sound of my own breathing, way too loud. Vivica doesn’t move her hand. She looks at me, head tilted, and says, “You okay, Eli? You look a little tense.” Her voice is low, teasing, and I can’t tell if she’s messing with me or if she means it. I laugh, kinda shaky, and say, “Yeah, just didn’t expect company today.” Her fingers slide up an inch, just past my knee, and she says, “Well, I’m here now. Gotta make the most of it, right?”

I don’t know how to answer that without sounding like an idiot, so I don’t. I just sit there, frozen, while her hand stays put, warm through my sweats. She shifts again, leaning closer, like she’s reaching for the remote on the coffee table, but her shoulder presses into mine, and I feel the softness of her under that robe. My heart’s hammering so hard I’m sure she can hear it. She grabs the remote, sits back, but not all the way—her side’s still against me, and she’s flipping channels like nothing’s weird, like her hand ain’t creeping up my thigh slow enough to make me lose my damn mind.

“Rain’s not letting up,” she says, casual as hell, nodding at the window. “Guess I’m stuck here a bit longer. You mind?” I shake my head, croak out a “nah,” and she smiles, this slow, knowing thing that makes my gut twist. Her fingers trace a tiny circle on my leg, and I’m done pretending I don’t notice. I look at her, and she’s staring right back, eyes dark, challenging. “Vivica,” I start, but I don’t know what I’m even gonna say. Stop? Don’t stop? She cuts me off anyway, leaning in, her breath hot on my ear as she whispers, “Relax, Eli. It’s just a little fun. No one’s gotta know.”

Her hand slides higher, brushing the edge of where I’m already hard as hell under my sweats, and I can’t hold back the grunt that slips out. She laughs, soft and low, and says, “Damn, didn’t think you’d be this easy to rile up.” I’m torn between telling her to back off and begging her to keep going, but my body’s made the choice for me. I don’t move away. Her fingers dip under the waistband, just the tips, teasing the skin there, and I’m gripping the couch cushion like it’s a lifeline. She’s watching my face, gauging every twitch, and I can see the thrill in her eyes, the rush of doing this right here, right now, with the risk of someone—anyone—finding out.

The robe’s fallen open a bit more, and I can see the swell of her chest, the way her skin’s still got a sheen from the rain. I wanna touch, wanna pull that fabric off and see everything, but I’m still holding back, barely. She notices, smirks, and says, “Go on. I ain’t stopping you.” Her hand’s fully under my sweats now, stroking slow, and I can’t think straight. I reach out, hesitant, and tug the robe down her shoulder, exposing more of her. She’s not wearing anything underneath, not a damn thing, and the sight of her bare skin hits me like a punch. I groan, low in my throat, and she chuckles, leaning in to nip at my jaw, murmuring, “See? Told ya. Just fun.”

My hand’s on her now, sliding over her shoulder, down to cup her, feeling the weight of her against my palm. She sighs, arching into it, and her grip on me tightens, moving faster. We’re still on the couch, still half-dressed, and the rain’s pounding outside like it’s cheering us on. I’m losing it, every shred of sense I had, ‘cause her touch is driving me up the wall, and the way she’s pressing against me, letting me feel her, is too much. I pull the robe open further, desperate, and she helps, shrugging it off so it pools around her waist. She’s gorgeous, all curves and damp skin, and I can’t stop staring, can’t stop touching.

She climbs into my lap, straddling me, and the robe’s just a useless scrap now, hanging off her hips. I’m still in my sweats, but she’s grinding down, the heat of her seeping through the fabric, and I’m about to snap. I grab her hips, pulling her closer, and she gasps, a real sound, not some fake moan, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. “Careful,” she teases, voice breathy, “don’t wanna make too much noise. Neighbors might wonder.” The reminder of where we are, how wrong this is, only makes it worse—or better. I don’t even know anymore.

I yank my shirt off, needing more skin, more contact, and she’s running her hands over my chest, nails scraping just enough to sting. She leans down, kissing my neck, then lower, leaving wet, open-mouthed marks that I know I’ll have to hide later. I don’t care. My hands are under the last of the robe, shoving it away, and she’s bare now, completely, rocking against me while I’m still half-clothed. The friction’s torture, and I’m muttering nonsense, stuff like “damn, Vivica, you’re gonna wreck me,” and she just laughs, says, “Good. That’s the point.”

I can’t take it anymore. I lift her just enough to shove my sweats down, freeing myself, and she’s right there, hovering, teasing, her heat so close I can feel it. She looks down, grins, and says, “Well, damn, Eli, didn’t expect that kinda surprise.” I’d laugh if I wasn’t so far gone. She lowers herself, slow, deliberate, and the first brush of her against me has my head tipping back, a curse slipping out under my breath. She’s slick, warm, gripping me as she sinks down, and I’m fighting not to lose it right then and there.

We’re moving together now, her hands on my shoulders, mine on her hips, guiding her. The couch creaks under us, and I’m paranoid for half a second that someone’s gonna hear, gonna know, but then she clenches around me, and I forget everything but the feel of her. She’s whispering filth in my ear, stuff about how she’s been thinking about this, how she loves the sneak of it, the chance we might get caught. “What if Gretchen called back right now?” she purrs, and I shudder, ‘cause the thought’s horrifying and stupidly hot all at once. I tell her to shut up, but it comes out more like a plea, and she just laughs again, rolling her hips harder.

Her pace picks up, and I’m meeting her, thrusting up, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the rain outside. She’s panting, her nails digging into me, and I can tell she’s close, the way her thighs tremble, the way her breath catches. I slide a hand between us, finding that spot that makes her jolt, and I rub, relentless, wanting to push her over. She does, hard, her whole body locking up as she bites down on my shoulder to muffle the sound. The feel of her pulsing around me, the sharp sting of her teeth, it’s too much. I follow right after, gripping her tight, emptying into her with a groan I can’t hold back.

We’re still for a minute, catching our breath, her forehead against mine, sticky with sweat and rain. I’m reeling, half in shock at what just happened, half still buzzing from it. She lifts her head, smirks, and whispers right in my ear, “Fuck, Eli, I’m still dripping with you. Don’t think I’m done yet.” Her voice is pure sin, and I know we’re nowhere near finished.