Ava slammed the front door behind her and leaned against it, chest heaving. Her knees felt weak. The taste of Marcus was still on her tongue — salty, thick, wrong. She pressed a hand to her mouth as if she could wipe it away.
What the hell did I just do?
The garage scene replayed in her head like a nightmare she couldn't pause: on her knees, his cock stretching her lips, the way she'd swallowed every drop like the greedy slut she used to be. She'd promised Ryan forever. She'd promised herself she was done with that life.
Tears burned her eyes. She ran to the bathroom, turned the shower on scalding hot, and stepped in fully clothed. She scrubbed her tongue with toothpaste until it hurt. She soaped her breasts, her thighs, between her legs — over and over — as if hot water and soap could wash away the guilt. But every time she closed her eyes she saw Marcus's smirk, felt his hand in her hair, heard herself moaning don't stop.
"I'm not that girl anymore," she whispered to the steam. "I'm Ryan's wife. I love him. I love him."
By the time Ryan's car pulled into the driveway at 7:15, Ava had changed into a soft blue sundress, reapplied light makeup, and lit a candle in the kitchen. The house smelled like garlic and rosemary — his favorite roasted chicken. She met him at the door with a smile that felt too wide, too desperate.
"Hey, baby," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. Not the usual peck. A real kiss — tongue, hands in his hair, body pressed close. "I missed you so much today."
Ryan blinked, surprised but happy. "Wow. Rough day at work?"
"No," she lied, nuzzling his chest. "Just… realized how lucky I am to have you." Guilt twisted in her stomach like a knife. She couldn't tell him. She would never tell him. Instead she clung tighter, breathing in his clean cologne, the safe, familiar scent that reminded her why she'd changed.
Dinner was perfect. She served him extra portions, laughed at every story about his boss's terrible jokes, rested her hand on his thigh under the table. After they ate she pulled him to the couch, curled into his lap, and whispered, "Make love to me tonight? I need you."
Ryan smiled that sweet, boyish smile. "You're being extra affectionate tonight."
"Because I love you," she said, voice cracking just a little. She meant it. The guilt made the love burn hotter.
In their bedroom the lights stayed soft. Ryan was gentle, the way he always was — slow kisses down her neck, hands cupping her breasts like they were fragile. When he entered her she moaned his name, wrapped her legs around him, rocked her hips to meet every thrust. She came — a small, quiet orgasm — but it felt hollow. Her body kept remembering thicker, rougher hands. Marcus's voice in her ear.
Afterward Ryan fell asleep quickly, one arm draped over her waist. Ava lay awake staring at the ceiling, tears slipping silently down her temples.
I almost ruined everything today. I can't let it happen again.
The next morning, after Ryan left for work, she sat at the kitchen table with her laptop. Her hands shook as she typed "realistic dildo" into the search bar. She told herself it was harmless. A toy. Something to take the edge off so she wouldn't need real men.
She scrolled for almost an hour, cheeks burning. She chose one that made her stomach flip — eight inches, thick, veined, skin-tone realistic, with a strong suction base. "Lifelike feel," the description promised. "For the woman who wants it all." She added lube and a discreet black box to the cart. Paid extra for next-day delivery.
This will help, she told herself, closing the laptop. I'll use it tonight. I'll stay home. I'll be good.
The next two days she threw herself into being the perfect wife. She cleaned, cooked, sent Ryan flirty texts during the day. At night she kissed him longer, rode him slowly, whispered how much she needed him. Every time guilt rose she pushed it down with more affection. Ryan glowed. "You've been so passionate lately," he said one night, stroking her hair. "I love this side of you."
Ava smiled and kissed his chest so he wouldn't see her eyes.
The package arrived on Friday afternoon.
The doorbell rang at 2:17 p.m. Ava's heart jumped. She'd been waiting in a thin white tank top and short cotton shorts — nothing special, but the tank was tight and her nipples were already half-hard from nervous anticipation. She opened the door.
The delivery guy was young — maybe twenty-two — tall and lean with messy brown hair and a tight black uniform polo that showed toned arms. His name tag read Tyler. His eyes widened slightly when he saw her.
"Package for Ava Bennett?" He held out the small black box.
"That's me," she said, voice a little breathy. She took the box but didn't step back. Instead she leaned against the doorframe, letting the tank top stretch across her chest. "Thanks for bringing it so fast."
Tyler's gaze flicked down for half a second — long enough to notice her hard nipples pressing against the thin fabric and the way her shorts rode high on her thighs. He cleared his throat. "No problem. Long day of deliveries. You're… the nicest stop so far."
Ava felt that familiar heat bloom low in her belly. She knew she should thank him and close the door. Instead she smiled, tilting her head. "You look like you could use a cold drink. It's hot out there."
Tyler hesitated, then grinned. "I really shouldn't…"
"Just water," she said, stepping aside. "Won't take a minute."
He followed her inside. The living room felt smaller with him in it. She bent over to get a bottle from the fridge, knowing exactly how the shorts rode up and showed the bottom curve of her ass. When she turned back he was staring.
"Here," she said, handing him the bottle. Their fingers brushed. She didn't pull away.
Tyler took a long drink, eyes never leaving her. "You know… most people just sign and slam the door. You're different."
Ava's pulse raced. "Different how?"
He stepped closer. "Beautiful. And… friendly." His free hand brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder — light, testing. "Real friendly."
The touch sent sparks straight to her clit. She could feel herself getting wet. The black box sat on the counter behind her, unopened. Inside it was the toy she'd bought to stop exactly this kind of moment.
"I should go," Tyler said, but he didn't move. His eyes dropped to her breasts again. "Unless you need help… opening that package?"
Ava's breath caught. For one dangerous second she imagined dropping to her knees right here in the kitchen, just like she had with Marcus. Her hand twitched at her side.
Then she thought of Ryan's smile that morning when he kissed her goodbye. The way he'd said "I love you" before leaving.
She stepped back, forcing a shaky laugh. "I think I can handle it. Thanks again, Tyler."
He looked disappointed but nodded. "Anytime, Ava. I'm around the neighborhood a lot." He handed her his card — Tyler, Premium Delivery — with his number scribbled on the back. "If you ever need anything delivered… or just want company."
She took the card. Her fingers trembled.
When the door closed behind him she slid down to the floor, thighs pressed together, breathing hard. The black box stared at her from the counter.
She carried it to the bedroom, locked the door, and tore it open. The dildo was even bigger in person — heavy, realistic, slightly curved. She washed it quickly, stuck the suction base to the shower wall, and stripped.
Twenty minutes later she was on all fours in the shower, water cascading over her back, the thick toy stretching her as she rocked back onto it. She came hard — twice — moaning into her arm so the neighbors wouldn't hear.
But even as the pleasure faded, the guilt returned sharper than before.
And deep down she knew the toy wasn't enough.
Not when Tyler's card was still in her pocket.
Not when Marcus lived right next door.
Not when her body was already whispering for more.
To be continued…