Chapter 10: Arrival and Deception

The city lights blurred past the car windows like streaks of molten gold as Marco drove them toward the suburbs, one hand resting possessively on Elena’s thigh. The red silk dress clung to her like a second skin, the plunging neckline cradling her heavy breasts so tightly that every breath made her dark nipples strain visibly against the thin fabric. The hem rode high on her thick thighs, and when she shifted in the leather seat, the material whispered upward, teasing the lower curve of her fat ass. Beneath it all, the tiny red thong disappeared completely between her plush cheeks, and the delicate silver ankle bracelet caught the passing streetlights with every subtle movement of her foot. A faint trace of the jasmine oil she’d massaged into her skin earlier still lingered, mixing with the warm musk rising between her legs. The plug she had slipped back inside her ass before leaving hummed on its lowest setting, a secret fullness that made her pussy clench with every bump in the road.

“You look dangerous tonight, amore,” Marco murmured, squeezing her thigh. His fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of the dress. “I’m already jealous of every man who’s going to stare at you.” Elena smiled, leaning over to kiss his jaw, but her mind was a whirlwind of heat and nerves. The whiskey she had sipped at home to calm her racing heart was already making her limbs feel loose and warm.

By the time they pulled up to the sprawling mansion, her head was pleasantly fuzzy and her panties were already damp. The house glowed like a palace—stone columns, wide marble steps, music thumping from inside. Marco parked and helped her out, his palm settling on the small of her back as they climbed the stairs. The night air kissed the exposed skin of her cleavage and the lower curve of her ass where the dress refused to stay put.

The moment the heavy oak door swung open, Elena froze, the whiskey making her sway slightly on her heels. The grand living room was packed wall-to-wall with men—twenty of them, Marco’s bosses and coworkers, all in crisp shirts and rolled sleeves, drinks in hand. No wives. Not a single woman in sight. She was the only one.

“What is this?” Elena whispered, turning to Marco, her slim face tightening with confusion and a tipsy giggle she couldn’t quite suppress. “Where are all the wives? You said this was a couples thing.”

Marco blinked, looking just as surprised. “I ... I don’t know, amore. The email said wives invited. Maybe they’re running late?”

Victor, the silver-haired head boss with the thick chest, stepped forward immediately, a warm, practiced smile spreading across his face. “Marco! Elena! Glad you made it. Come in, come in.” He clapped Marco on the shoulder, but his eyes lingered openly on the deep plunge of Elena’s neckline and the way the red silk hugged her wide hips. “Ah, about the ladies—don’t worry. They actually all arrived early, just like you two. We opened a couple bottles of that fancy wine from the cellar, and ... well, half an hour before you got here, every single one of them started feeling sick. Must have been a bad batch. They were turning green, rushing to the bathrooms, calling for rides home. Poor things. We sent them all back with drivers so they could rest. Such rotten luck.”