Mark stood under the shower longer than necessary, letting the scalding water sluice over his shoulders as if it could wash away the night. It couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lila's head thrown back, her throat arched, the way her breasts had trembled when she came. He'd jerked off in the shower just to take the edge off, hating himself the entire time.
Downstairs, the house was already alive. Sarah's voice drifted up—bright, clipped, efficient. "Mia, sweetheart, eat your eggs. Lila, coffee's fresh." Normal. Domestic. The sound of a life that hadn't cracked open and bled all over the living-room rug.
Mark tugged on jeans and a T-shirt, stalling. When he finally descended, the kitchen was sunlit and merciless. Sarah stood at the stove, hair in a messy knot, scrubs already on for her double shift. Mia sat in her booster seat, smearing jam on toast. And Lila—fuck—Lila leaned against the counter in an oversized sleep shirt that barely skimmed her thighs, nipples dark against the pale cotton. No bra. Again.
"Morning," Sarah said, not looking up. "You were sawing logs when I left for my break last night. Everything okay?"
"Fine," Mark croaked. He poured coffee with hands that still remembered the weight of Lila's ass.
Lila didn't speak. She lifted her mug to her lips, eyes flicking to him over the rim—lazy, knowing. A small smile ghosted across her mouth before she turned to help Mia with a sippy cup. The movement made the shirt ride higher; he caught a flash of inner thigh, the faint bruise his thumb had left. His cock stirred traitorously.
Sarah kissed Mia's head, then Mark's cheek—chaste, distracted. "I'll be late. Don't wait up." The front door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was deafening.
Mia looked between them, sensing the shift. "Uncle Mark, can we build a fort?"
"Later, kiddo," Lila said, scooping her up. "Mommy needs a bath first, okay?" She disappeared upstairs, Mia's giggles echoing.
Mark exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours. He was rinsing his mug when soft footsteps returned. Lila stood in the doorway, arms folded under her breasts, pushing them higher.
"Sleep well?" she asked, voice velvet.
"Don't." He set the mug down harder than intended. "Last night was—"
"Amazing," she finished. She stepped closer, bare feet silent. "Don't lie, Mark. You came so hard I felt it in my spine."
Heat flashed through him. "Sarah's my wife."
"And Tommy's still my husband on paper." She shrugged, the motion making her shirt slip off one shoulder. "Doesn't change the fact that you were inside me eight hours ago."
He backed up until the counter dug into his hips. "We stop. Now."
Lila tilted her head. "Do you really want to?" Her hand lifted, fingers brushing the front of his jeans where he was already half-hard. "Because your body's voting differently."
He caught her wrist. "Lila."
She leaned in, lips grazing his ear. "I'm not asking for forever. Just… more." Then she pulled away, casual as if she'd commented on the weather, and started unloading the dishwasher.
The day crawled. Mia napped. Lila sunbathed in the backyard in a bikini that should've been illegal, oil gleaming on her skin. Mark mowed the lawn to keep his hands busy and his eyes anywhere else. Every pass of the mower, he caught her reflection in the glass door—stretching, arching, knowing exactly what she was doing.
By evening, Sarah texted: *Running late. Code blue. Kiss Mia for me.*
Mark stared at the message, dread and hunger twisting in his gut. Mia was down by eight. The house settled into its familiar creaks. He poured a whiskey, neat, and stood at the kitchen island like a man waiting for a storm.
Lila appeared in the doorway wearing one of his old button-downs—stolen from the laundry, sleeves rolled, hem brushing mid-thigh. Nothing underneath; he could tell by the way the fabric clung to her hips.
"Borrowed this," she said, plucking at the shirt. "Hope you don't mind."
He downed the whiskey in one swallow. "Take it off."
Her smile was slow, feline. She unbuttoned it one-handed, letting it gape open. Her breasts spilled free, heavy and flushed from the day's sun. The shirt slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet.
Mark crossed the room in three strides. He didn't kiss her—he couldn't trust himself with gentleness. He spun her, bent her over the island, her cheek pressed to cool granite. She gasped, arching back against him, already wet when he shoved her thighs apart.
"Quiet," he growled, freeing himself. He sank into her in one brutal thrust, her heat swallowing him whole. Lila bit her lip to muffle a cry, nails scrabbling on the counter.
He fucked her hard, hips snapping, the slap of skin loud in the silent kitchen. One hand fisted in her hair, the other sliding under to pinch a nipple. She pushed back to meet every stroke, greedy, shameless. When he felt her start to tighten, he slowed—cruel, deliberate—until she whimpered.
"Please—"
He pulled out, turned her, lifted her onto the island. Spread her thighs wide. Her pussy was swollen, glistening, and he dropped to his knees without thinking. The first lick made her jolt; the second had her thighs clamping around his head. He devoured her—slow, filthy licks, sucking her clit until she was shaking, then plunging his tongue inside her. She came with a choked sob, flooding his mouth, her hands yanking his hair.
Mark stood, wiping his chin, and slid back into her while she was still pulsing. The angle was deeper; she wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass. He took her mouth this time, letting her taste herself on his tongue. They moved together, frantic, the island creaking beneath them.
"Inside," she whispered against his lips. "Again. I want to feel you tomorrow."
He lost it. Thrusts turned punishing, her name a mantra on his tongue. When he came, it was with a guttural groan, spilling deep, hips jerking as she milked him dry.
They stayed locked together, panting. Sweat cooled on their skin. Somewhere upstairs, Mia's nightlight glowed through the monitor on the counter—silent, mercifully.
Lila traced a lazy circle on his chest. "Tommy's been begging to see Mia this weekend," she said softly. "I told him maybe."
Mark's stomach dropped. "You're not—"
"I haven't decided." She kissed his jaw. "But if he shows up… you'll have to be creative about where you put this." Her hand slid down to cup him, still half-hard inside her.
He pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip onto the granite. "We're playing with fire."
Lila smiled, wicked and sweet. "Then let's burn, Mark. Just a little longer."
She hopped down, legs unsteady, and padded toward the stairs. At the doorway, she paused. "Shower's free. I left it running."
Mark stared at the mess on the counter, the shirt on the floor, the faint outline of her body still warm against his. He was in so far over his head he couldn't see daylight.
And God help him, he didn't want to.
Friday came in like a fever.
Tommy texted at noon: *On my way. Be there by 4. Tell Mia Daddy's coming.*
Lila read it aloud to Mark while he fixed the leaky faucet under the kitchen sink, her voice flat. She wore a sundress—yellow, thin straps, no bra again—and every time she leaned over to hand him a wrench, her breasts swayed like a dare. Mark's knuckles were white on the pipe.
"Four o'clock," he repeated. "Sarah's off at three."
"I know." Lila crouched beside him, the hem of her dress riding high. "Plenty of time."
"For what?" His voice cracked.
She didn't answer. Just smiled, slow and filthy, and left him under the sink with a hard-on and a wrench.
Sarah breezed in at 3:07, cheeks flushed from the heat, scrubs clinging. "Tommy's coming?" she asked, kissing Mia's curls. "Good. She misses him."
Mark's stomach turned. *She misses him.* As if the man hadn't skipped the last three child-support payments. As if he hadn't left Lila crying in their driveway six months ago, mascara streaking, begging him to stay.
Lila stood at the counter slicing strawberries for Mia's snack, the knife flashing. Sunlight poured through the window, turning the dress translucent; Mark could see the dark shadow between her thighs. Sarah didn't notice. She was too busy texting the hospital about tomorrow's shift.
The doorbell rang at 3:58.
Tommy filled the doorway like a bad memory—taller than Mark remembered, sunburned, wearing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. Mia squealed and launched herself at his legs. Lila's knife paused mid-slice.
"Hey, baby girl." Tommy swung Mia up, then looked past her to Lila. "Hey, Lil."
"Tommy." Her voice was ice.
Sarah hugged him—too long, Mark thought—then bustled to change out of scrubs. "You two play nice," she called over her shoulder. "I've got to shower before my nap."
The front door shut behind her. The house shrank to four people and a ticking clock.
Tommy set Mia down. "Got you a present, kiddo." He pulled a cheap plastic pony from his pocket. Mia beamed and ran to show Sarah upstairs.
Then it was just the three of them.
Tommy's gaze slid to Lila, lingering on the way the dress clung to her hips. "You look good, babe."
"Don't." Lila set the knife down carefully. "You're here for Mia. That's it."
Mark leaned against the counter, arms crossed, silent. Tommy's eyes flicked to him, measuring.
"Mark. Still playing house with my family, huh?"
"Watch it," Mark said quietly.
Tommy smirked. "Relax. I'm not here to start shit." He stepped closer to Lila, voice dropping. "Missed you, Lil. We could still—"
"No." She stepped back, bumping into Mark. His hand found the small of her back instinctively, steadying. Tommy's eyes narrowed.
Sarah's voice floated down the stairs: "Tommy, Mia wants to show you her fort in the backyard!"
Tommy lingered a beat longer, then shrugged. "Duty calls." He sauntered out, screen door banging.
Lila exhaled shakily. Mark's hand was still on her back, thumb tracing the ridge of her spine through the thin fabric.
"He's not staying the night," she whispered.
"He's not touching you," Mark said. It wasn't a question.
Upstairs, the shower shut off. Sarah's footsteps padded toward the bedroom. Mia's laughter drifted in from the yard.
Lila turned in the circle of Mark's arm, her breasts brushing his chest. "Garage," she breathed. "Now."
He should've said no. Should've locked the door and walked away. Instead, he followed her through the laundry room, past the humming dryer, into the dim, oil-scented garage. The side door clicked shut behind them.
Lila was on him before it latched—mouth hungry, hands yanking his T-shirt up. He backed her against the workbench, tools clattering. Her dress was up to her waist in seconds, panties shoved aside. She was drenched, slick coating his fingers when he plunged two inside her.
"Quiet," he growled against her throat. Tommy was thirty feet away, pushing Mia on the swing set.
Lila bit his shoulder to muffle her moan, hips rocking into his hand. He curled his fingers, thumb circling her clit, and she came fast—hard, thighs trembling, a silent scream against his skin.
Mark spun her, bent her over the hood of Sarah's SUV. The metal was warm from the day's heat. He freed himself, notched at her entrance, and sank in slow. The angle was brutal; she took every inch, back arching, hands braced on the windshield.
He fucked her in long, deep strokes, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other gripping her hip. Her pussy fluttered around him, still sensitive from her orgasm. He could feel Tommy's voice through the thin walls—*Higher, baby, Daddy'll push you to the moon!*—and it made him thrust harder, possessive, claiming.
Lila pushed back, meeting him, her breath fogging the glass. Mark reached under, rolled her nipple between oil-slick fingers. She came again, walls clamping so tight he saw stars. He followed, burying himself to the hilt, spilling with a silent groan, pulse after pulse.
They stayed locked, panting. Somewhere outside, Mia shrieked with delight.
Lila straightened slowly, dress falling back into place. Cum trickled down her thigh; she didn't bother wiping it. She kissed him once—soft, almost tender—then slipped back inside.
Mark adjusted himself, heart hammering. Through the garage window he saw Tommy lift Mia onto his shoulders, Sarah watching from the porch, smiling.
Lila reappeared in the kitchen, cheeks flushed, offering Tommy a glass of lemonade like nothing had happened. Mark followed a minute later, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
Sarah yawned. "I'm gonna lie down before dinner. You guys okay?"
"Fine," Lila said, voice steady. She met Mark's eyes over the rim of her glass. *Later,* they said.
Tommy left at six, promising Mia he'd be back Sunday. Sarah kissed him goodbye like an old friend. The second his truck pulled away, she turned to Mark.
"I'm beat. Wake me at eight for pizza?" She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
The house settled. Mia in bed by seven-thirty. Mark in the living room, pretending to watch a game. Lila appeared at nine, wearing one of Sarah's silk robes—short, belted loose. She carried two glasses of wine.
"Porch," she said. "It's hot."
They sat on the top step, backs against the railing. Crickets chirped. The neighbor's sprinkler hissed. Lila sipped her wine, then set it down.
"Tommy wants me back," she said quietly. "Says he's got a new job. Clean. Wants to try."
Mark's jaw tightened. "You believe him?"
"No." She turned to him, robe slipping open to reveal one breast, nipple tight in the night air. "But I have to think about Mia."
He stared at her, chest aching. "And us?"
Lila straddled him right there on the porch step, robe pooling around her waist. No panties. She sank down onto him slow, eyes locked on his, the wine forgotten.
"There is no *us*," she whispered, rolling her hips. "Just this. Just now."
He gripped her ass, guiding her, the wood creaking beneath them. She rode him languid, unhurried, breasts swaying inches from his mouth. He sucked one nipple, then the other, until she was trembling.
When she came, it was with his name on her lips, soft as a prayer. He followed, muffling his groan in her neck, arms locked around her like he could keep her.
After, she rested her forehead against his. "Sunday," she said. "Tommy's picking Mia up at ten. Sarah's on nights. You'll have the house to yourself."
Mark's heart stuttered. "And you?"
Lila stood, tying the robe. She didn't answer. Just walked inside, leaving him on the step with the taste of her on his tongue and the echo of her words in his head.
*Just this. Just now.*
But Sunday was two days away.
And Mark was already burning.