Adrian had just finished inside me.
His body was still pressed against mine, I was sore, he was very thick, hard, powerful, his breath ragged in my ear. My thighs were shaking, slick and parted. His hand rested on my hip, steadying me as I clung to the hotel sheets, my fingers knotted in the fabric like I might float away if I let go.
I was floating, actually. Lost somewhere between used and wanted, between filled and full.
I felt ruined. In the best possible way.
He pulled his thickness out slowly, dragging every last drop of sensation from my body, and I whimpered. A little involuntary sound I didn’t recognize. Not pain. Not pleasure either. As he pulled out that feeling of fullness left but it wasn’t replaced with emptiness. Something deeper. Needier.
I turned my head to the side and locked eyes with Ethan. I knew immediately what was needed to replace the physical emptiness with emotional fullness.
My husband was sitting in the armchair across the room, shirtless, pants tented obscenely. He hadn’t touched himself once while Adrian had been inside me. He just watched. We locked eyes intensely multiple times while Adrian made love to me. I had mouthed “I Love You” while Adrian emptied himself inside me. We had a deep moment of connection. But now he was quiet. Present. Still.
The way he looked at me now—like I was art, something holy and wild and beautiful—I felt a pulse of arousal between my legs again. My body had already been pushed past its limits, yet there it was: hunger, re-igniting.
Adrian stepped back, sweat shining on his chest. He looked over at Ethan, then back at me, grinning.
“Fuck. You were made for this,” he said. His voice was deep and velvety. Confident without arrogance. “You should see yourself, Claire. You look like a goddess. Wrecked. Worshipped.”
I couldn’t speak. My lips were parted, breath shallow, heart pounding. I motioned to Ethan with a single finger in a come here gesture. A coy smile on my face.
Ethan stood.
He moved slowly toward the bed like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to approach. It made me ache for him. “Clean me.” I gently commanded.
He knelt at the edge of the bed and brushed my hair back from my cheek, then ran his hand down my side, stopping just above the curve of my thigh.
“You are so beautiful” he said softly, looking into my eyes.
Adrian smirked and stepped aside, letting Ethan take his place at the foot of the bed. “She’s all yours, man.”
But I wasn’t. Not really. Not anymore.
I was ours now.
Ethan leaned in. I could feel his breath on my inner thighs, warm and sweet. He kissed just above my knee, then slowly parted my legs wider. I was still slick, flushed, and dripping. Adrian’s cum was already seeping out of me in slow, sticky rivulets.
I bit my lip, watching Ethan’s face. His pupils were wide. His hands were trembling ever so slightly as he pushed my thighs open and took in the sight of my soaked, stretched cunt—glistening, raw, and unmistakably bred.
Then he did it.
He lowered his mouth and tasted me.
The moment his tongue touched me, I gasped. It wasn’t just the physical sensation—it was the emotional weight. He was kissing where another man had just finished. He was licking Adrian’s cum from his wife with complete devotion. No hesitation.
His tongue lapped gently at first. Slow strokes. Careful, tender. His nose pressed to my mound, inhaling everything. I shivered.
“How does it feel to taste another man in your wife?” I asked.
“You taste… incredible,” he murmured against me. “I can taste him. And you. Together. It’s so right.”
I moaned—louder than I meant to. That response hit me just right. It was what I needed to hear and what I wanted to feel.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Adrian sit back in the chair Ethan had just left, arms crossed over his chest, watching with a satisfied smirk. “Damn,” he said under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “That’s fucking love right there.”
Ethan licked me deeper.
He wasn’t doing this because he had to. He wanted to. It was an act of worship, of reclamation, of acceptance. His tongue curled inside me, slow and thorough, drinking me in like he was starving.
And maybe he was. Maybe this was how he fed the parts of himself that wanted to know—to feel—that this experience hadn’t pulled us apart, but bound us even closer.
My hips bucked involuntarily. I was so sensitive. So open. Every flick of his tongue sent aftershocks through my belly and chest.
“You’re amazing,” I whispered. My fingers found his hair, tugging gently. “Ethan, I—”
He looked up at me, mouth glistening. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me love you.”
I sobbed.
Not loud. Not sad. Just… overwhelmed. Loved in a way I didn’t know existed.
Adrian shifted in the chair, unbothered and clearly aroused all over again. He watched the whole thing, stroking himself lazily. “Never seen a man do that before,” he said with a slow grin. “This is love, you two are real.”
Ethan sucked my clit gently, then kissed all the way up my belly to my breasts. I felt his tongue draw little circles on my skin, his mouth hot and open.
I realized something in that moment.
He wasn’t licking me clean because he was weak.
He was licking me because he was strong.
Strong enough to love me fully. Strong enough to taste my joy. Strong enough to accept that sharing me wasn’t losing me—it was finding a new way to love me. To honor me. To be part of every part of me, even the ones that had just been stretched and filled by another man.
When he finally crawled up beside me, pulling me into his arms, I melted into his chest. I could feel his erection, hard and eager, pressing against my hip.
I whispered, “I’ve never felt more loved.”
He kissed the top of my head. “And I’ve never felt more proud of you. Of us.”
Adrian walked over to the bed, still naked and gorgeous and smug. “You want me to leave you two alone?” he asked with a chuckle.
Ethan looked at me. “Do you?”
I blinked up at them both, lips parted, still catching my breath.
“No,” I said, smiling. “I want both of you. But I want you first, Ethan. I want you inside me now.”
He looked stunned. “After…?”
“Especially after.”
I was still stretched. Still full. Still soaking wet. But I wanted his cock. Not because I needed to be cleaned or claimed or fixed.
But because I wanted to make love to my husband—with Adrian’s cum still inside me. He entered me and I felt that familiar feeling. I didn’t feel anywhere close to the the fullness and masculinity that I felt with Adrian but it was there, it was comfortable. I felt comfortable, I felt loved and that was our truth now.
