We couldn’t stay away from each other after that night in the garage.
It started slow—texts at first. David would send me a message during the day: “Thinking about how tight you felt.” Or “My c**k is hard at work remembering your ass.” I’d be sitting at my desk, d**k throbbing in my pants, trying not to look suspicious.
I started sneaking over whenever Sarah had a shift or was out with friends. Sometimes we only had thirty minutes. Sometimes we had hours. Every time felt better, dirtier, more desperate.
One afternoon Sarah went to the gym for two hours. I drove straight to David’s house. He met me at the door in nothing but gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. The outline of his thick c**k was already visible, half-hard and heavy.
He didn’t say a word. Just grabbed me by the shir
