Evelyn's Deception
Copyright© 2025 by Wtriplet
Chapter 4
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 4 - Evelyn's Deception is a twisty erotic thriller that draws inspiration from the classic 90s genre as well as more contemporary films like Unfaithful and 365 Days. Daniel is a young successful lawyer, Evelyn a femme fatale playing the role of his trophy wife. A home invasion throws their picture perfect life into chaos. As loyalties shift, and the tension builds, old secrets are exposed.
Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Mystery Cheating Masturbation Oral Sex Violence
Present: Morning, Spring 2025
Evelyn stirred awake, her muscles tight from hours of being tied up. Her hand reached instinctively for the cuffs, but all she felt was the cool slip of sheets against her skin, no bite of metal. She bolted upright, the blanket pooling around her waist, leaving her in just the thin white tank top that clung to her.
She froze there on the bed, her thoughts spinning wild—did Marcus cut and run in the dark? Or had Daniel pulled off some miracle escape? She edged her legs off the side, toes curling against the cold floorboards.
She rose, her white panties only partially covering her ass, and moved toward the bathroom, drawn by the rhythmic patter of water. The door stood ajar, steam visible from the bedroom, the air growing warmer, thicker, as she approached, her pulse quickening with each step.
She pushed the door open all the way, but stopped as the sight made her breath catch in her throat.
With his back to her, Marcus stood beneath the shower, letting the water run down his toned body. The spray traced the elaborate tattoos that slithered across his back, glistening on his broad shoulders. Evelyn traced his flawless figure, her thoughts straying to the forbidden attraction of his presence. And that butt—it had been too long since she’d seen one like that.
But reality crashed down—the gun sitting on the shelf to his right, everything coming back into focus as she prepared to speak.
He turned, the water slicing over his chest, and she caught an involuntary glimpse of his size and length, her eyes widening as the sheer physicality of him registered—his cock, long and thick, the head resting low against the inside of his thigh.
Marcus noticed, his intense hazel-brown eyes locking onto hers with a predatory glint, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. He allowed her a full look, his body perfected by years in a gym, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made Evelyn feel like the naked one.
Her face flushed, her hands clenching the edge of the doorframe. “Why did you take the handcuffs off?” she demanded, her tone cutting through the steam, her eyes drifting from him to the gun, her mind racing with the implications—was it trust, a test, or a trap?
Marcus turned off the shower, the water ceasing with a final, echoing drip, and stepped out, his body glistening like polished stone.
“You’ve been behaving well so far,” he said, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather over coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. “Figured you earned a little trust. Don’t make me regret it—I can put them back on if you like.” He reached for a towel on the sink, the fabric brushing his skin as he began to dry off, his nudity a bold assertion of dominance.
She crossed her arms, her singlet shifting slightly, the fabric pulling tight across her chest, her eyes narrowing as she pressed further, her voice firm. “What are your plans? How long do you intend to keep us hostage?”
He chuckled, the sound low and mocking, as he dried his cock, the water droplets clinging to his tattoos, his movements unhurried. “Haven’t decided yet,” he said, his tone evasive, his confidence growing as he sensed her lingering gaze.
“Depends on how things play out with Danny boy—pass me that,” he added, nodding toward a second towel hanging on a hook near the door.
Evelyn hesitated, the fabric warm on her skin, her fingers quivering a little as she passed it to him. Their hands briefly touched as she took a step back, observing his movements as he finished towelling off, neither of them acting uncomfortable in spite of the tense situation.
His nudity served as a backdrop as they carried on the discourse. “You’re handling this better than I would have expected,” he remarked, wrapping the towel around his waist, the fabric low enough to reveal the V of his hips, the muscles flexing as he moved.
She straightened, her voice rising with a mix of anger and resolve, her hands unclenching to gesture emphatically. “You need to do whatever it is you came here to do. Talk to him. Steal whatever you want—and then fuck off,” her words were a challenge, her body tense, her mind a battlefield of fear and defiance.
Marcus took a step closer, the towel tight around his waist, his presence towering, the steam still lingering like a veil between them. “What if I found something I like better?” he murmured, his voice a threat as he looked her up and down.
Evelyn didn’t flinch, her eyes meeting his, a steely resolve hardening her features, her jaw set with determination. “I am not going to let you touch me!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the steam-filled air, her defiance a line drawn in the sand, her hands balling into fists at her sides.
“You’re going to talk to my husband about whatever you came here to talk about. Steal whatever it is you came here to steal. And then you’re going to fucking leave,” her words were a declaration, their cat-and-mouse game ending for now, the tension snapping like a taut wire.
She turned, the tight white fabric of her panties riding up into the crack of her ass, as she strode out of the bathroom, her heart pounding, her steps firm as she moved to tend to Daniel. The encounter had left her breathless, a mix of fear and an unsettling pull warring within her, her mind replaying his smirk, his size, the way he’d turned her anger into a game. She pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task ahead.
Present: Afternoon, Spring 2025
Evelyn stood at the sink, her hands submerged in the warm, sudsy water, scrubbing a saucepan with a methodical rhythm that masked the storm raging within her. Her t-shirt—soft cotton clinging tightly to her frame—revealed no bra underneath, her hard nipples visible. Her jeans hugged her thighs and butt snugly, accentuating her figure before flaring slightly at the bottom.
The steam-filled room, Marcus naked under the shower, his taunting grin, the way he had lingered on her body—it replayed in her mind like a relentless loop, a mix of revulsion and an unwanted curiosity she fought to suppress.
She was perplexed by the shackles being taken off; was it an attempt to test her acquiescence, or perhaps a rare moment of trust? She wondered whether her defiance in the bathroom had changed his opinion and earned crucial respect.
The saucepan slipped slightly in her grasp, the water splashing onto her wrists as she tightened her hold, her thoughts drifting to Daniel—handcuffed, battered, his perceived ignorance of Marcus, a mystery that annoyed her.
The house felt less oppressive than it had just a couple of days ago, a fragile truce forming with Marcus, who had retreated to the living room after their bathroom standoff—treating it as his own as he lay back on the sofa, flicking TV channels.
The clink of the pan against the sink was a distraction, a thin shield against the tension that simmered beneath her skin. She replayed Daniel’s weak assurances, his plea to be careful, her resolve hardening with each scrub of the sponge.
Yet, the undercurrent of attraction lingered, his physicality, the way he’d turned her anger into a game. She shook her head, trying to dispel the image, focusing on the task.
Marcus moved to the kitchen table, his leather jacket thrown over a chair. His muscular frame evident under a tight black t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft splash of water, until he spoke, his voice casual but laced with an authority that sought no argument.
“I want to go out to a bar tonight,” he said, leaning back, the chair creaking under his weight, his tone firm. “You’re coming with me—we both could use some fresh air. We’ll make it look like we’re just a couple out for a normal night.”
Evelyn didn’t look up, her hands still submerged in the soapy water, her fingers tightening around the sponge, the texture rough against her skin, her voice light but edged with defiance. “No fucking way,” she replied, her confidence a quiet rebellion, her mind flashing to the danger of leaving the house—with him, on his terms. The thought of a public setting—of potential escape or exposure. Being his captive was one thing; going out and acting complicit was another.
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