Naughty Irene
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 13
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 13 - In a quaint Barcelona neighborhood, Irene Gallegos enjoys a normal life. With one exception, her husband, Oscar, annoys the middle-aged mother of two angels with his twisted fantasy. But never would she stray. Never. Until Conor, an Englishman haunted by his past and shrouded in mystery, saves her life. Half her age, gorgeous, and determined, he leads her into a life far beyond both her imagination and Oscar’s kinkiest desires.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Fiction Sharing Wife Watching Oral Sex
By the fifth day after “Le Aurielle” had set sail, Irene was chewing on nails of the darkest, chilliest iron. The same weather that sent sheets of gray rain slashing across the dark sky to deepen puddles on the Barcelona streets was keeping Conor at sea.
Behind her desk, staring through the insurance office’s massive pane at the ceaseless deluge, she was shivering. Teeth continued to clench, making her jaw pulse. No, the room wasn’t that cold, and heat flashes were giving her skin a rosy sheen.
The shakes had another cause. An addict. She’d become an addict. How? When? Why?
Simple enough to answer, given her texting with him like an enamored teenager. However, a certain truth intruded: he was no regular boyfriend, considering she was older—far older—and married.
Thus, those questions continued to circle as she tried once more to concentrate on a claim. The damn computer screen refused to stay in focus. The world flickered, but that time due to a flash of lightning across the leaden sky.
Her body was nothing but aches ... for all the wrong reasons. Well, alright, they were good ones; she’d been using the gym again, adding to her at-home routine. But these aches were in no way comparable to those left by the endless, soul-crushing hours since leaving her far-too-young, far-too-handsome, far-too-energetic boyfriend on that goddamn yacht.
A distant rumble shook the building, and another heavy breath escaped her. When Francesca looked up from a desk, Irene narrowed her brows.
That wispy redhead, stylish, always dressed just so. She probably had a herd of men within a half-dozen blocks. One or more of them would be holding the drop-dead gorgeous girl by nightfall.
Irene’s jaw pulsed even harder. “What?” she snapped.
“Um, what’s eating you, Ire?”
The question flung two responses into her mind. The first was not work-appropriate. Her tiger wasn’t eating her. God, his tongue ... magical. The second: as the girl slid her chair backward and started to rise, Irene held up a hand.
“Nothing.”
The lie fell on dead air, but the redhead sank back into place. As before, no further questions arrived, and the winsome beauty hid behind her computer monitor. Nope, hadn’t been the first challenge for her snippiness.
Not just at work either. While Elena still brightened her day, Marita’s curious glances were beginning to get under her skin.
A brief visit with her mother had been ... horrible. No sharpness in the woman’s eyes, but Irene had confessed everything. The silent, empty stare received in return was infuriating. Frustration driven to another level, she’d made no effort to dodge puddles on the walk home.
And Oscar, poor Oscar. Well aware of what was keeping her on edge, he suffered the brunt.
If it’d only been sex, that would’ve been one thing, but that smile, the deep laughter, Conor’s voice, calm yet direct, and smooth yet rough. Plus, the way his arms could hold her safe against anything. The thumping of that massive heart. Oh, and the kisses. Dios, could he ever kiss. Just the memory made her tingle from the ends of her hair to toenails scratching in a pair of well-worn pumps.
With the young man even busier while at sea, their texting and calls had become more cutesy than steamy. Then nothing but silence. Call fails. That damn “beep-beep-beep” from her phone.
Making everything so much worse: her husband was just as expectant. Like a dog with a bone, gripping that fantasy of his with shaking teeth. Then again, he’d only experienced the single event via the video call and overheard a few of their hushed conversations. Naughty Irene had not been circumspect; the glow in his expression said that was the right decision.
Yet, the constant shadowing and ceaseless, hushed questions combined to make him truly annoying.
Although she’d not mentioned the sudden ache in her chest, Oscar’s eyes had proclaimed...
Things had come to a head the previous night.
In bed, she’d been about to drift off when a quiet cough made her eyelashes flutter open. Beside her, his glittering eyes were waiting in the shadows.
“Have you heard from him?” he’d asked for the millionth time.
“No.”
“Do you think he’s alright?”
“He said they’d avoid the worst of it.”
The silence stretched, but Oscar’s gaze didn’t shift. When he sighed, her chest clamped.
“Hmm, don’t think he’ll change his mind, do you?” he mumbled.
“Dios! Get some sleep already.”
“But corazón—”
His voice had morphed into the whiny yelp of a puppy. Her hand had driven into his shorts to grab ... stiffness. As her grip tightened, his eyes grew white circles.
“Go. To. Sleep,” had hissed from her.
“Si, mi amor.”
He’d given her a quick nod, and her fingers had left him. A slow drag of her fingernails over his belly had made him tremble.
While naughtiness could excuse the latter, she’d inspected her hand once the poor man rolled to his back. A strange swirl of both fear at what it’d just done and curiosity at his reaction had kept her awake long after his snoring began its rhythmic serenading.
After leaving work, more annoyance arrived at the worst possible moment. With her school friends, she sat in a local tavern as they told the same stories, sharing the usual lies. Consuela, she of the impossibly pale, perfect skin, lit into her with those bright green eyes.
“Something is off, Ire.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sofia, I can understand, but you?”
“Me, what?”
“The way you’ve been scoping out every male in this place. It’s weird ... for you.”
The other woman shot a quick glance across the cramped table at a slender brunette. With shiny red nails playing in her hair, their friend was indeed scanning a troop of guys huddled at the bar. One of them was returning the smile she wore.
“I’m not looking,” Irene countered, returning to the glowing emeralds.
“You are.”