After Hours: Her Secret, His Visceral Desire

Chapter 3: Crossing the Line: Her Secret Confession

The man sat on the edge of the wooden deck, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands. He stared blankly out into the darkness, trying to process the words he had just heard.

His best friend, the one who had been his partner in all things for the past decade, was sitting beside him. But he wasn't looking at him. His gaze was fixed on the woman standing by the grill, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders as she tended to the coals. She was wearing a low-cut sundress that clung to her curves like a second skin.

His friend leaned over and whispered in his ear, "You know she's been doing this for years, don't you? Hiding it from you?"

He nodded, his throat feeling tight. He had suspected for a while, of course. Her late-night absences, the way she would disappear into the bedroom for hours on a weekend. But he had always chosen to look the other way. Until tonight.

His friend reached over and took his hand, squeezing it. "You have a chance to be in on her secrets tonight, man. Don't blow it." Then he leaned back and turned his attention back to the woman on the deck.

The man's eyes followed his friend's gaze, and for a moment he felt a surge of compersion watching her move with purpose. But it passed as quickly as it had come, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache between his legs. He knew what he wanted more than anything that night: to be the one standing there, running his fingers through her hair, pulling her down onto his lap.

He turned to his friend and whispered back, his voice barely above a husky murmur, "Tell me what she does when you're not looking." His friend leaned in closer, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"You know those late night texts she sends you? The ones that make you squirm?" His friend paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "She comes home from that bull feeling soaked and satisfied. Sometimes she even leaves the dress right there on the chair so you can see what he did to her." He paused again, running his thumb over his friend's palm. "And you sit there, knowing every inch of her body has been touched by another man, while she tells you the details with her fingers on your thigh." He leaned in, whispering the final words in his ear: "She moans louder for him every single time, doesn't she?"