Chapter 12

The scent of our shared pleasure still hangs heavy in the motel room air, a potent cocktail of my release, her arousal, and his dominance. Karen’s body is soft and pliant beneath my head, her thigh a warm pillow. Carlos’s hand is a warm, heavy weight on the small of my back, a constant, calming presence.

His question, so casual yet so loaded, hangs between us. Tell us everything you know about your husband’s Thursday racquetball game.

Karen’s chest rises and falls with a deep, shuddering breath. Her fingers, which had been tangled in my hair, slowly relax. She’s looking past me, at Carlos, her eyes glazed with the aftermath of her orgasm but sharpening with a dark, gleeful understanding.

“Edward...” she begins, her voice husky. She clears her throat. “He’s a creature of habit. It’s why he’s so ... manageable.” A slow, sly smile touches her lips. “He leaves the house at exactly 2:15 PM. His game with Martin Stein starts at three. It lasts precisely one hour. He’ll shower there, at the club, and then he’ll go straight to his office downtown. He never deviates.”

Carlos’s thumb strokes my spine. “The club. Good security?”

“For the parking lot and the main doors,” she says, her confidence growing. She’s enjoying this. Really enjoying it. “But the side entrance by the tennis courts ... the lock is old. Edward’s complained about it for months. Management keeps ‘forgetting’ to fix it.” Her eyes flick down to me, and her smile widens. “It’s how he sneaks out for a smoke sometimes. Thinks I don’t know.”

Carlos lets out a low, appreciative chuckle. The sound vibrates through me. “Perfect. That’s my good girl.” He shifts behind me, his movement causing the mattress to dip. “Now ... show your son how grateful you are for his ... attentive service.”

My heart jumps into my throat. Karen’s eyes darken with a fresh wave of desire. She looks down at me, her expression a mixture of maternal affection and raw, carnal hunger that makes my spent cock twitch with renewed interest.