“No.” I'm writhing, but he's pinned me. Despite my wishes, he won't go quicker. “Fuck me, Milo. Please.”

He whispers to me. “Seven fucking years, Grace. Seven years of vacations and him calling you in. Seven years of swimwear to untie. Seven years of you gazing at me too long while you're drunk, tempting me to haul you away and taste that pussy.” His fingers stroke my clit as he grinds into me. “ I'd be within you. Your spouse is in another room, oblivious.

His words heat up and filthily. Falsehoods don't matter. They're merely fantasies; he's holding his cock as proof.

I enjoy my fantasies twisted.

I twist...