🔥STEAMY ALERT—Be ready for some seriously STEAMY ACTION YO🔥

♫ Said, if you're thinking about holding back
Don't worry, girl
'Cause I'm gonna make it so easy
So slide a little bit closer to me, little girl ♪
(Justin Timberlake—FutureSex/LoveSound)

Coralie texted Michael to tell him she had to work overtime.

Coralie Amber Watson: It's a twenty-four hour bar, and my colleague has to leave early... I'm sorry.

To her shock, he responded quickly.

Michael: That's okay, babe. Wake me when you get here?

She didn't reply and stuffed her phone into her back pocket as she resumed her work, under the watchful—and lustful—eyes of Chester.

But by midnight, she couldn't hold still any longer, nor could she pretend that Chester ogling her wasn't tempting her to leave . The memory of their make-out session in the alley, and of his fingers breaching into her private areas, and of her fingers wrapping around his penis were killing her. She battled her trembling limbs and drank copious cups of water to quench her thirst, but it was never enough.

When the dazed co-worker told her to leave—she was supposed to be scheduled until one—Coralie didn't refuse.

It took all her might to not run to Chester's apartment, which was, as it happened, a few blocks down. It was located inside a semi-luxurious high-rise, overlooking a park, and with sights on the bar and its surroundings.

They'd locked their hands the instant they'd escaped and struggled to keep their urges inside until they arrived at his flat. As she silenced her phone in the elevator, ignoring his languorous looks, she noticed that it was twelve-thirty... meaning they had much time to spare.

As she passed the threshold of his oversized studio, she regretted not having had a few drinks. He'd been able to guzzle down a shot of whiskey and a beer, but she'd had nothing to ease her nerves, to calm her excitement. She was excited... but scared of underperforming and remembering it. Or fearing she'd be discovered, exposed, and revealed as a fraudulent piece of shit girlfriend to Michael, and a crappy lover to Ryan.

Reading her mind, Chester flipped the light-switch to present his stylish, red-tinted kitchen. "Want a drink? A quick pick-me-up?" He opened the fridge and extracted a water bottle for himself but moved aside to show her the various beers and wine-coolers within. "I know I said I wanted you sober, but I'd understand if you needed something to soothe you. You're... nervous."

She waved at him to close the fridge as she leaned against the front door. "Is it that obvious?"

He approached her while unbuttoning his shirt. "Yeah." He offered her a weak but adorable smile. "But I get it. You're feeling guilty about Ryan, yeah?" She nodded. "And worse about Michael, who's in town for you, dammit." He tsked, and she started to swipe at him, but he dodged her. "And of course, you're not sure how this is going to go. You and me, without drugs or alcohol? Both of us are conscious and able to recall all that'll happen? Oh, boy."

The closer he got, the more she clenched her muscles in her lower half and braced for the wave of poisonous cologne that would drift into her nostrils. He was deadly, like a delicious toxin that she couldn't quit ingesting, well aware it would be the death of her. But she couldn't stop, she wouldn't stop, until she got her answer.

Is Chester a sex-God, or are we completely incompatible?

"It's wrong," she said, pressing against the door, wishing to fall through it. Chester was still approaching, still unfastening his shirt. Now, his upper chest was visible, and the dip between his pectoral muscles was more pronounced than she remembered it. "It's so wrong, but this... this pull..."

"It's intense." He reached the bottom of his shirt, and after releasing the last button, he removed the fabric slowly, sensually, dragging both sleeves down his arms as he maintained steady eye-contact with her. "It's deadly, huh? But if we don't cave, if we let the desire bubble up... we'll end up worse, wanting each other more, and we'll make stupid mistakes. We'll get caught. And I don't want that, Cora." He kicked off his shoes and padded over until his toes met the tips of her sneakers. "I'd hate to terminate your relationships because you were thirsty for a bit of adventure."

"But that is wrong," she said, wincing at the sound of her squeaky voice. "To yearn for adventure? Both my relationships are super thrilling, so what does this say about them?"

"It says..." He skimmed his fingertips along her jawline. "That you're in the market for some spice, and my stall happens to have what you're looking for."

Oh, his way with words would end her. The metaphors, the alliterations alone would push her faster into his arms, regardless of her affections for Michael and her love for Ryan. She cared about them both, but neither spoke to her how Chester did. He was an itch she had to scratch, because if she didn't, if she let the pain worsen, she'd be screaming his name during sex with Michael or Ryan. And that would be horrific.

As he glided his finger-pads along her lips, gently prying them apart, chills traversed her core and glued her to the door. He probed his tongue over her lips next, tickling, teasing, before he slipped it into her mouth and circled her tongue. He took his time, weaving his fingers through her hair and tugging it just enough to make her cry out in yearning.

When she started to trail her fingers down his bare chest, he didn't permit her to go any lower than his navel. "Nope," he susurrated in her ear, "that's for later. Let me take care of you, first."

He lifted her shirt up, and the hem's softness titillated her as it brushed against her skin. After throwing the material aside, he undid her bra clasps and watched in awe as the bra fell to her feet. Her breasts were loose, her nipples begging for him to touch them, lick them; and after moaning an "oh, those are perfect," he obliged. His tongue was warm, firm as he rotated around her areolas, then focused on each nipple with precision.

At one point he nibbled a little too hard, causing her to gasp and grab his head to stop him.

"It's okay," he said, his voice a tiny sound amidst their heavy breaths. "Trust me."

So she did, grounding her teeth as he continued to nibble on the tender bit. Eventually the pain transformed to a numbness that she enjoyed and that made her tremble. He then trailed kisses down to the border of her pants. Keeping his lips pressed to her belly button, he unfastened her trousers and let them slide to the ground as he kneeled before her.

"Lift your leg over my shoulder," he said, not once removing his gaze from her lavender satin underwear. How had she been so prepared for him without knowing he'd show up? She'd thrown on matching undergarments after her shower—probably thinking she'd get lucky with one of her three contenders—and she remembered Chester loved attention to detail.

She obeyed his command, letting her heel rest against his upper back. Once balanced enough, she relaxed against the door and fixated the top of his messy mop of hair.

As he slid aside her panty line, she sensed his breath on her increasingly wetter inner lips. She dug her nails into his scalp as he touched her once, twice, three times with his finger. "Fuck, I hope you're ready for this," he whispered, before swiping his tongue up and down, immobilizing her.

"Oh my God," she said as he picked up the pace, his hardened tongue exploring her dampness, flickering her clitoris, drinking her up. Her legs—first the one up on his shoulder, then the other—shook with every lick, and her vision blurred as she became limp in ecstasy.

She had no notion of how much time passed before he heaved her up by squeezing her ass and shoving his entire face into her slit. He licked at a speed that incensed and immersed her all at once. He carried her that way—multitasking was a huge turn-on for her—and deposited her on the bed on the opposite side of the room.

While she hoisted herself up to the other edge of the bed, he removed his jeans and boxers, divulging the massive member he'd been hiding. Though he'd allowed her to pat it earlier, its appearance still stunned her. She ogled it, swallowing up her drool as she envisioned how it would feel inside her. It took her breath away; long as Ryan's, but not as thick as Michael's, it was a splendor she'd definitely not remembered until now.

He stared at her while biting his lip. "Look, I'm sure you want to play with it," he took hold of his penis and began to stroke it, tempting her, "but... I'm ready for you." He crawled onto the bed and wedged between her thighs, rubbing his hardness against her underwear, in the spot he'd left throbbing with pleasure after what he did to her with his tongue.

She could barely breathe but glimpsed left and right. "Protection?"

He acquiesced and reached into a drawer to the left. He extracted a condom, and fumbled with the wrapper, which took more time than she'd expected. That prompted her to remember he'd always had issues with rubbers, and in the past they'd never used them. She'd trusted him to pull out, and he'd never deceived her.

But this was different. She was seeing two other guys, and Chester wasn't a faithful or monogamous person. She had to keep her boyfriend and lover safe, despite breaking their hearts.

By the time he rolled the thing on, he'd lost a bit of his erection, which ended up being to Coralie's advantage, as she'd been craving to touch his cock again before he slid it into her. She grasped it, stroked it, accelerating to the point of him pulling backwards and letting out a whimper of satisfaction.

"Oh yeah, now I'm really ready," he said, gripping the edges of her panties and yanking them down.

When he plunged into her, she could have sworn she lost consciousness; had she jammed her head on the head-board? Or had his shaft been that large that it hit spots within her that knocked her out? She wasn't certain, but every thrust propelled her into another dimension, had her swimming in pleasure, drowning in a drug-like state. Each shove into her was world-bending, mind-blowing, and the more he gave her, the more she wanted. Like a narcotic with hallucinogenic effects, his dick was a magic wand that sent her flying, soaring, too high for her to come down.

And yet she smiled once he was spent, ignoring the agony in her legs and the discomfort in her vagina. Because Chester Chase was one hell of a wild ride, and she was pretty damn happy she'd gotten on it.

***

She wasn't so happy when she crept out, a few hours later. They'd had one more round—that one even more violent, leaving scars that she'd have difficulty explaining to Michael and Ryan—before she told Chester she had to go. He'd done his damnedest to get her to spend the night, but she couldn't—Michael was waiting at her place, sound asleep, alone in her bed.

"Text me whenever he's in San Fran, and Ryan can be avoided," he'd said, accompanying her to the door in the nude, uncaring of any neighbors seeing him. "Because I've got naughty plans for us."

She rehashed those words in her Lyft ride home, and as she snuck into her apartment. It was three am—much later than she'd planned—but she didn't make a sound as she changed into her pajamas and slithered under the covers, into Michael's arms. He'd asked her to wake him... but she didn't have the heart to. No amount of make-up removal or quick deodorant sprays or down-there wipes would fix the errors she'd made that night. Errors she didn't regret but wasn't ready to explain.

Her dreams punctuated with shadowy figures telling her she was stupid, selfish, getting herself into trouble. The voices morphed between Chester's, raunchy and evil-sounding, to Ryan's, filled with hatred, and Michael's, sorrowful and dejected. She woke with tears in her eyes and a severe soreness in her lower parts, and worried she'd mumbled in her slumber and woke everyone up.

But to her surprise, Michael wasn't next to her when she felt around for him. She opened her eyes and twisted to her right, but he wasn't there. Only the crease in the pillow he'd used, and his backpack crumbled in the corner showed that he had been beside her at some point and was still in her apartment.

Grabbing her phone—that she'd plugged in but turned off, just in case—she saw that it was seven-thirty. It was a Saturday, so no office work for her; but she preferred to get an early start most days, to rise and shine and be productive.

As she sat up, her head pounded, signifying she wouldn't get much done that day. Not when the vivid memories of her mistakes were catching up to her, and she had no idea how to face Michael. How to lie to him, to pretend like she hadn't had sex with someone else before snuggling in his arms?

"Ugh." She rubbed her forehead and massaged her temples. "I'm an asshole."

"Oh, yeah?" Someone loomed in her doorway, and she jolted to her right to see Delilah, holding a mug—Coralie's mug. "Because you came home so late?"

Coralie tugged the blankets up over her chest, though she was wearing a strappy pajama top and had nothing to hide. Nothing aside from her disgusting tendency to cheat on those she cared about. "Uh... yeah, sure, we'll go with that."

Delilah sauntered in and dropped onto the mattress, right where Michael had been sleeping earlier. "So, Michael's still here. Woke up before me and made coffee. Offered to pour me some when I wandered out and found him in his boxers on my couch, typing away on his laptop. Care to explain?"

"Explain what?" Coralie peered around Delilah, towards the kitchen. She lowered her voice. "Is he still here?"

"Shower." Delilah motioned at the bathroom door, and seconds later, a faucet squeaked, and the shower turned on. "Said he was leaving today and wanted to see you first, maybe take you to breakfast? He'll be expecting an answer when he gets out, I bet. And I'm expecting one now."

She'd braided her hair and pulled it over her shoulder, fiddling with it as she glared at Coralie. In her bubblegum pink shorts and tank-top, she seemed so sweet, so calm; but Coralie knew a storm was brewing inside her with one glance.

Coralie grabbed a pillow and hugged it. "An answer for what?"

Delilah's eyes narrowed. "For him. Michael. When I said do the thing, I meant break up with him." She whispered, though with the water running, it was doubtful Michael would hear them. "Not have sex with him, then invite him to spend the night, then invite him again the following evening and not even be there when he arrives. You're playing with fire, Cora."

She handed Coralie the mug, but Coralie hesitated to take it, wary it was laced with a poison that would force her to cough up the truth.

"I know." She finally accepted the cup and sniffed at its wonderful contents. Michael was always a whizz at making coffee taste like heaven. "I... couldn't do it. He's so innocent and adorable and cute and... I care about him. He cares about me. It... was too much."

"And where were you last night?" Delilah arched an eyebrow. "And don't give me the working overtime shit, because I know that look. You're glowing, you keep cringing when you move your legs, and—" she eyed the scrapes near Coralie's neck, "—those were not made by Michael. I didn't hear you two get it on, but I did hear you come in at three. Explain."

"Delilah—"

Delilah smacked the blankets. "Who were you with? Ryan?" Coralie shook her head. "No... Chester?" Coralie's cheeks heated and Delilah rose to her feet so fast, a gust of wind whipped through Coralie's tangled hair. "Dammit, girl. You're insane. You're already risking something good by sleeping with Ryan, but now you add Chester to the mix? I get the temptation, he's hot, he's forbidden... but this is borderline psychotic. And needs to stop." She stormed to the doorway, then flipped around, fire flickering in her usually tame brown eyes. "Make up your damn mind. Michael said he wants to talk about something serious, so you'd better be prepared to justify your actions to him. I covered for you this morning, but I won't do it again."

She stomped out, and Coralie clapped a cushion over her face and groaned.

What the fuck am I doing?

♥♥♥