The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp Clara always left on when she slept alone. Clara stood behind the shower, a surge of guilt eating her mind, ' No, Fin was so good to me, I can't have these thoughts, ' she decided.
Clara had come out of the bathroom, wrapped in the towel, seen him standing there, and smiled like nothing was wrong. "You're so quiet tonight," she'd said, letting the towel drop without ceremony. Naked again, skin still flushed from her failed self-pleasure. She'd walked straight to the bed, crawled under the covers, and patted the mattress beside her.
"Come here, babe. I need you."
Fin had obeyed—because he always obeyed her. He stripped down to his boxers, slid in beside her, and let her pull him close. Her mouth found his in the dark—soft at first, familiar. But there was an edge to it tonight. Hunger, she wasn't hiding anymore.
She rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, grinding down once—slow, deliberate—feeling how hard he already was. "Mmm… you're ready," she murmured against his lips. Her hand slipped between them, tugging his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It sprang up, thick but not long, the head already slick with pre-cum.
Clara wrapped her fingers around him—firm, almost impatient—and stroked once, twice. Fin groaned low in his throat. "Clara…"
"Shh." She kissed him harder, tongue sliding in deep, claiming. Then she lifted her hips, lined him up, and sank in one smooth motion.
Pop.
The wet sound of her pussy swallowing him whole echoed in the quiet room. She was soaked—dripping from her earlier arousal—and the stretch made her hiss through her teeth. "Fuck… yes…"
Fin's hands gripped her hips automatically, trying to guide her rhythm like he always did—gentle, steady. But Clara didn't want to be steady tonight.
She started riding him fast—hard—hips snapping down with wet slap-slap-slap sounds that filled the bedroom. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples grazing his chest. She braced her hands on his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to sting.
"Ahh… ahh… ahh…" Her moans came in sharp, needy bursts—higher than usual, almost desperate. Fin thrust up to meet her, trying to match her pace, but she was controlling it completely. Her inner walls clenched around him rhythmically—squeezing, milking—like she was testing him, seeing if he could push her over.
He couldn't.
She slowed suddenly—grinding in slow, filthy circles instead of bouncing. Her clit dragged against his pubic bone with every roll. "Mmm… right there…" she breathed, eyes half-lidded, staring down at him like she was seeing through him.
Fin felt it—the subtle shift. The way her moans softened, lost their edge. She was chasing again—same frustration from the mirror creeping back in. Her hips moved faster, more erratic, but the rhythm faltered.
"Harder," she whispered. "Please… harder, Fin."
He tried. Thrust up deeper, faster—his balls slapping wetly against her ass. Thwack-thwack-thwack. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He reached up, pinched her nipples, twisted them the way she sometimes liked.
She gasped—"AHH!"—but it wasn't enough. Her face twisted—pleasure warring with irritation.
"Fuck… come on…" she muttered under her breath, almost to herself. She leaned forward, changing the angle, grinding her clit harder against him. Her pussy fluttered around his cock—close, so close—but still not there.
Fin felt her tighten—once, twice—then relax again. She let out a frustrated whimper. "Goddamn it…"
He kept going—desperate now—pounding up into her with everything he had. The wet squish-squish-squish of her arousal coated his shaft, dripped down his balls. She was drenched, but the friction wasn't hitting right. Not deep enough. Not rough enough.
Clara sat up suddenly—hands braced on his chest—riding him like she was punishing something. "Cum for me," she ordered, voice strained. "Cum inside me, Fin. Now."
He couldn't hold back anymore. The sight of her—flushed, frustrated, beautiful, using him—tipped him over. His hips jerked up one last time.
Cum… cum… cum…
Hot spurts flooded her—thick ropes painting her walls. Fin groaned long and low—"Nngh… fuck, Clara…"—his whole body tensing as he emptied inside her.
She kept moving through it—milking every drop with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. But her own orgasm never came.
When he finally softened inside her, she stilled. Breathing heavy. Silent.
Fin reached up, brushed damp hair from her face." You are very forward today, love."
"I just miss you." Clara snuggled against his arms, trying to hide her distaste.
But Clara's mind drifted.
Every time Fin's fingers traced her curves softly, she remembered Mike's palm flat against her bare back in the boutique—firm, unhesitating, no apology. When Fin kissed her neck, she pictured Mike's thumb brushing the edge of the plunging neckline, teasing without crossing. Fin moved with care, with love. Mike would have moved with hunger. Bold. Demanding. The kind of excitement that made her pulse race instead of soothing it.
Clara stared at the ceiling in the dark, his arm heavy across her waist, and felt a tear slip down her temple.
She couldn't betray him.
Not ever, maybe.
But the need was growing—sharp, insistent, terrifying.
The next morning, Fin's phone rang while he was in the home gym. Mike's name flashed on the screen.
Fin hesitated—thumb hovering—then answered on speaker so Clara could hear from the kitchen.
"Fin, my man," Mike's voice came through, warm and confident. "That little trial investment we talked about? The AI security play? It popped. Up 47% in three weeks. Your $50K is now $73,500. Clean profit. I told you it was low-risk."
Fin's eyes widened. He glanced toward the kitchen, where Clara was pretending to scroll through her phone. "That's… impressive. Really impressive."
Mike laughed—easy, disarming. "Told you I know what I'm doing. But we're just getting started. I've got something bigger lined up—private round in a defense-tech firm. Entry's $2 million minimum, but the upside is 8–10x in 18 months. Government contracts already in play. You in?"
Fin's jaw tightened. He could hear his mother's voice in his head—"Generous is easy when you have billions." Eleanor had dismissed his last portfolio review as "conservative to the point of stagnation." If he pulled this off—real, aggressive returns—she might finally look at him like he belonged in the boardroom.
"I… I'll need to review the docs," Fin said, voice cautious. "But yeah. Let's talk."
"Perfect. Meet me tonight. The Royal Lounge—private bar upstairs. 9 PM. Bring Clara if she wants. I'll have the full packet ready. And Fin?" Mike's tone dropped, almost conspiratorial. "This is the kind of move that makes legends. Don't let fear hold you back."
The call ended.
Fin stared at the phone for a long moment. Reluctance warred with something sharper—ambition, maybe, or the desperate need to prove himself.
Clara walked in, arms crossed loosely. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Fin said, forcing a smile. "Mike's got another investment. Longer this time. I think… I think I'm going to do it. For us. For the family."
She nodded slowly. "If you trust him."
Fin reached for her hand, squeezing it like a lifeline. "I do. And Mother will see I'm not just playing it safe anymore."
Clara smiled—thin, automatic.
Inside, her pulse kicked up at the mention of Mike's name.