I pulled into the driveway at 5:58 p.m., tires crunching on the gravel. The porch light was already on, spilling gold across the steps. My pulse thumped in my throat, in my c**t, in every inch of skin under the tiny sundress I’d chosen. No bra. No panties. Just thin white cotton that barely skimmed mid-thigh, the hem fluttering every time I breathed. Mrs. C had texted me at lunch: ~Door’s unlocked. Come straight in. Kid’s at Grandma’s.~
I stepped inside. The living room was dim, curtains drawn, only the fireplace flickering low. She was on the couch, legs crossed, wearing a silk robe the color of midnight. Hair loose, lips red. A single glass of wine on the coffee table. No sign of him.
“Lock the door,” she said.
I did. The click echoed.
She uncrossed her legs, let the robe fall open.
