The Noose - a Dave Williams Story 6

**THIS STORY HAS THE BEGINNING OF A HOTWIFE/CUCKOLD THEME - IF IT"S NOT YOUR THING THEN PASS ON BY**

David hadn't seen Samantha Ruiz since Emily's funeral when he walked into the cafeteria at the hospital. Blue scrubs that didn't hide her sultry curves and a smile that would melt steel. She was glowing, the kind of glow a bride-to-be wears effortlessly.

She stood when she looked up and saw him walking towards her with purpose. She hugged him - a hug he tolerated but felt uncomfortable. "What brings you to my neck of the words on a Tuesday afternoon?

David offered a small smile and sat across from her. "Sam, I need a favor," he said simply.

Sam looked puzzled but quietly said, "Not sure what I can do but I'll try."

"I need you to sit Dr. Hart and his wife with Mandy and Tasha."

She looked up sharply. "With Mandy and Tasha?"

"Yes."

Sam hesitated. "David... they're not exactly discreet. And Claire..." She trailed off, her brows knitting. "Is that really a good idea?"

He met her gaze, unflinching. "They'll be fine. Besides, you wanted Emily there in spirit? This'll do."

Her frown deepened. "I don't understand."

He took a slow sip of his coffee, letting the silence thicken before he spoke. "Jonathan and Emily were fucking."

The words hit her like a slap. She blinked, once, then again--processing, rejecting.

"No," she said quietly. "That can't be true. Emily adored you. I saw the way she looked at you."

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "She also looked up at Jonathan. On her knees. On her back. Bent over the passenger seat while he was still wearing his wedding ring."

Sam paled. "David..."

"I saw the autopsy report. Seminal fluid in the vagina, rectum, and oropharynx." He didn't flinch as he said it, didn't soften the blow. "She died with pieces of him still inside her."

She stared at him, stunned. "Jesus Christ. Jonathan? Coming home from the conference."

He leaned forward then, lowering his voice until it coiled like smoke around them. "I want Mandy and Tasha at that table because I'm going to fuck one of them before your wedding. And we both know those two can't keep a secret if their lives depended on it."

"Why?" Sam whispered. "What do you want from this?"

His gaze was steady, calm. Too calm.

"I want Jonathan to know what it feels like. To wonder. To hurt. To unravel. I want Claire to hear whispers she can't unhear. I want them to rot in the same silence I've been living in for the last year. Because, as I've already told Dr. Hart - I am going to fuck his wife like he fucked mine."

Sam sat back slowly, her fingers trembling against the edge of the seating chart. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"You told Jonathan? You actually told him you were going to fuck his wife?"

David's jaw flexed, his lips twitching with something close to satisfaction. His eyes--the same soft green that once made Emily melt--flashed with something far darker now.

"I told him exactly that."

"You..." she shook her head, breath catching. "You looked him in the eye and--"

"He knows," David said, his voice a low rumble. "He looked like he'd swallowed a live wire when I said it. Didn't even try to deny what he did. Just stood there in that smug little suit, that surgeon's arrogance, and confessed."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to something almost seductive.

"He told me Emily loved him. That he never meant for it to happen. That she couldn't stop coming back for more. That he was going to leave Claire."

Sam blinked, stunned. "Oh my God."

David's mouth twisted. "She died before he had the balls to do it. And now? He gets to go on with his life like nothing happened. Smiling at galas. Fucking his wife. Playing the good husband, while I'm left with a bed that still smells like her shampoo."

Her breath hitched.

"That's why I want Mandy and Tasha at that table. I don't need to whisper a word. Once they've had me, the rumors will do the rest. You know how they are--loud moans, louder mouths. And Claire will start wondering. What did I do? When did I do it? How did I do it."

Sam's cheeks flushed, her thighs shifting in her chair as something wicked moved through her, uninvited.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," she murmured. "But I think I get it."

David studied her. "Do you?"

Her eyes lifted to meet his. She swallowed, heart hammering.

"You're not doing this out of lust."

"Nope," he said simply. "I'm doing it because justice doesn't always wear a robe. Sometimes it wears lipstick and heels. Sometimes it moans my name loud enough to haunt him."

Sam sat there for a long moment, biting her lip. Then she reached for her pen and drew two tight circles around the names Mandy Croft and Tasha Bell on the seating chart.

"Table Eight," she said quietly. "Game on."

Two Saturdays later, the string quartet played something light and forgettable as champagne flutes clinked and laughter fluttered through the hall like perfume. Table Eight was tucked near the dance floor, close enough to be seen, far enough to be forgotten.

Jonathan Hart adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, visibly annoyed as he looked around at the sea of teal dresses and hospital-issued inside jokes. He leaned toward Claire, his voice low.

"Nurses? Really?"

Claire didn't look at him. She took a sip of her champagne, red lips kissing the rim of the glass.

"Jonathan, shut up. Do not ruin this evening," she said smoothly.

He stiffened, face pale.

She smiled sweetly at Mandy Croft across the table. "Tell me, have the ER nights been busy lately?"

But before Mandy could answer, Tasha Bell leaned in, eyes already dancing with mischief and barely contained lust. The table's idle chatter quieted as she rested her elbow against her champagne glass and said, "Busy doesn't even begin to cover it."

Mandy grinned. "You look like you're glowing. What happened to you?"

Tasha bit her bottom lip and let out a breathy laugh. "Let's just say I met a man. A real man. Older. Bigger. Confident as sin. He didn't just make me cum--he wrecked me."

The other nurses laughed, as Jonathan and Claire turned red. Mandy though was intrigued by her best friend and Mandy leaned in..

"Come on," she whispered, eyes sparkling. "You always say that. What made this one different?"

Tasha's eyes flicked around the table, knowing exactly what she was doing--and who was listening. Her voice dropped just enough to pull everyone in, a siren's murmur meant to snare.

All eyes turned to the voluptuous ER nurse with the dark curly hair, large tits, and mocha skin. "Honey, I've been with brothers who have been hung like mules - and they didn't do to me what this man did. I've been with women who thought they could eat pussy - and they didn't do to me what this man did. I've been with men and women who thought their fingers played you like a violin - they didn't do to me what this man did. Men who thought they were in control. But this man? He didn't ask what I wanted. He knew. He read my body like he'd written the damn manual."

She paused, savoring the attention, and let her tongue trace the rim of her glass before continuing. "He didn't fumble. He didn't hesitate. He just took what he wanted, how he wanted, and when he wanted. I've never cum so hard that I saw stars, this man damn near fucked me until I was passed out.

Mandy and the other nurses were well invested by this time as Tasha continued, "Dude made me tap out... TWICE."

Mandy shook her head, "No chance in hell someone made the mighty cock queen Tasha Bell, slut extraordinaire tap out."

Tasha laughed, "Girl, I know - and not once but twice. I swear I saw angels - white flashes - and more. He ruined me on his fingers, on his tongue, on his cock. He made me beg and I didn't even recognize the sound of my own voice."

Claire's hand paused halfway to her mouth. Jonathan had gone rigid, pretending to focus on his wine glass, but the tick in his jaw betrayed him.

Mandy let out a low whistle. "Jesus. I need more detail."

Tasha smirked. "He's thick, Mandy. Not just long--thick. You feel him for days. And the way he talked to me while he was fucking me. It's not just dirty talk - he commands. He says things you didn't know that you wanted to hear until they're echoing through your body like thunder."

The nurse beside them--Sherry, maybe--shifted in her seat, crossing her legs tightly.

Tasha kept going.

"He didn't just give me orgasms. He took them. Ripped them from me like he owned them. Like he owned me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just screamed and clung and let him do whatever he wanted. And the worst part?"

Mandy raised her brows, hanging on the words.

"I'd let him do it again in a heartbeat."

There was a brief, heady silence. The kind that descends when people realize they've crossed from conversation into confession.

Claire finally looked at Jonathan, her voice dry and low.

"Maybe you should be taking notes."

He didn't answer. But the flicker of panic in his eyes was unmistakable.

Mandy couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay," she said, eyes wide, voice hushed like they were sharing some sacred, wicked gossip, "you cannot talk like that and not tell me who he is. Come on, Tash. I need a name."

Tasha didn't answer right away. She just smiled--slow, decadent, and full of secrets. She swirled the champagne in her flute, not even pretending to be coy. She was relishing this, and everyone at the table knew it.

Then she bit her lip, glanced toward the entry doors, and gave the subtlest, most deliberate nod.

Every head turned.

Walking through the doors was none other than David Williams. He stepped in like something from another world. Imposing. Unbothered. Commanding in a dark charcoal suit that clung to his powerful frame like it was sewn straight onto him. A dark stubble lined his jaw, his green eyes calm and unreadable, but with a quiet confidence that dared the room to look away.

Claire Hart's breath caught--but not enough to show. Not to someone untrained. Her spine straightened, her shoulders pulled tight, but her face remained composed. Still, inside her, everything tensed. It wasn't just surprise. It was heat. Confusion. A low, simmering awareness she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Beside her, Jonathan froze. Not the kind of freeze that could be written off as mere surprise.

No, his knuckles turned white around the stem of his wine glass. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle twitched near his temple. His eyes locked on David like prey spotting a predator that had already licked its lips.

Claire turned toward him, just slightly, catching the way his body had gone stiff, the pulse ticking fast in his neck. Interesting.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice smooth and low, just for him.

Jonathan blinked, pulled from wherever his mind had just gone. "Nothing," he said too quickly. "Just... didn't expect to see him here."

Claire raised an elegant brow. "I'm sure that Dr. Williams and David would have been invited.

Jonathan stared, "Didn't think he'd show up alone." He couldn't look away from the man who knew everything. At the man he couldn't stop. At the man who had already told him--calmly, clearly--that he was going to fuck Claire. And Jonathan hadn't told her. He couldn't - because that would be an admission of his own guilt.

He didn't know what terrified him more: that she might find out... or that she might not stop it.

Tasha, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smile, enjoying the way everyone at the table was suddenly a little breathless, a little flushed.

Mandy reached across and grabbed her arm. "Tasha. No way. That's him?"

Tasha grinned, all wicked amusement. "Mm-hmm."

Mandy glanced back at David, her eyes dragging down the line of his chest, the strength of his thighs, the sheer presence of the man. "Oh my god. Isn't that Dr. William's widow?

Claire felt the need to correct her grammar, but she didn't know why. "Widower my dear, David is a widower - a man who had their spouse taken away from them cruelly and too soon."

Mandy didn't hesitate. She was done listening--done imagining. She was hungry for the truth behind the smirk on Tasha's lips and the flushed heat in her voice.

With one last sip of wine and a little lick of her bottom lip, she stood and smoothed the curve of her tight burgundy dress. It hugged her body like a second skin, showing off the hours she spent on her feet in the ER--and in the gym, deadlifting more than half the men she worked with.

The room seemed to part for her as she moved. Each step deliberate. Her hips swayed with a little extra heat, a little extra purpose. Her eyes were locked on one man only.

David Williams.

He stood near the far wall, speaking with the father of the bride, drink in hand, posture relaxed, but eyes always sharp. He saw her coming. And he didn't look away.

When she reached him, she didn't waste time. She rose onto her tiptoes, her breasts grazing his chest, just enough for him to feel the press of warm flesh and firm curves. Her lips brushed his ear, her voice a husky purr only he could hear.

"I want what she had," she whispered.

David's deep chuckle rolled through his chest like thunder on the horizon. His green eyes flicked to the table behind her--straight to Tasha, who was watching with smug satisfaction. She lifted her glass in a silent toast.

Mandy turned just enough to let her fingers find the inside of David's elbow and loop through. He didn't resist. He never would.

Without another word, they turned and walked out together.

Claire's wine glass clinked against her teeth before she caught herself. Her lips were slightly parted. Her face flushed--not with embarrassment, but something far darker. Something hotter. Something hungry.

Tasha, still reclining in her seat like a queen watching her plan unfold, raised her glass high. "Guess our room upstairs is gonna smell like animal sex tonight."

One of the other nurses choked on her champagne. Jasmine giggled.

"To Mandy," Tasha continued, voice rich and wicked. "To David. To amazing, mind-blowing, scream-til-your-throat-is-raw sex."

She drank.

Claire crossed her legs tightly under the table, pressing her thighs together against the slow pulse blooming between them. She hated that she was affected. Hated that the idea of David with another woman, especially one so eager and willing, made her skin burn.

And beside her, Jonathan sat frozen. Paler than before. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. His stomach churned like acid. Because he knew what David was doing.

And worse-- He knew he deserved it.

About 90 minutes had passed. The wedding reception had mellowed, dinner had been served, first dances had, and some of the more rousing music had started to wind down. It was late, some guests had drifted away while couples danced slower, the buzz of alcohol mingling with candlelight and soft music. But at that table--that table--the air was anything but calm.

Laughter rose from one corner. Silverware clinked. But the sharpest sound was the echo of stilettos on polished floors. Mandy was back.

Hair tousled. Cheeks flushed. Her dress slightly wrinkled like it had been hastily slipped back on. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, glowing with satisfaction and exhaustion in equal measure. She eased back into her seat like her legs barely worked, letting out a slow, dreamy exhale as she picked up her glass.

Every eye turned to her.

Jasmine, who had been steadily sipping vodka and cranberry all night looked on with growing interest in everything. She leaned in, voice husky with anticipation and liquor. "Well?"

Mandy paused, closed her eyes, and actually shivered. Then, she laughed--soft, low, disbelieving. "You know that feeling when you think you've had good sex? Like, you think you know what your body's capable of? And then someone just... blows that whole belief system to hell?"

Tasha smirked knowingly and topped off her wine. Jasmine leaned in further.

Mandy didn't stop.

"I don't even have words for most of what happened. At one point, I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing. I know I stopped thinking. There were moments where I didn't even remember where I was--just what he was doing. What I was begging for."

She looked around the table, flushed but unashamed. "I've had men. I've had women. I've had toys, pairs, trios, a Vegas weekend I thought was wild... but this? This was next level. He doesn't just fuck you--he breaks you open and makes you like it. Makes you thank him for it."

Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "I came so hard the second time I cried. I don't even cry."

Tasha chuckled knowingly, "How many?"

Mandy sighed, "I stopped counting at 7. Hell, I squirted three times - I may have to sleep with you tonight - my bed is a fucking swamp."

Tasha lifted her glass to her lips, "You made it to 7? I lost count at 6 but know there were too many more to count."

Mandy lifted her glass and the two women clinked them together in a knowing toast.

There was a collective exhale around the table--everyone stunned into silence, arousal, or sheer disbelief.

Twice during her vivid retelling, Jonathan made a move to rise. His hands trembled slightly, and his complexion had gone an ashen gray. But each time he shifted-- Claire's hand landed on his thigh. Light. Controlling. Possessive.

Her nails grazed him once, softly, reminding him not to move. Her expression stayed icy calm, her gaze never leaving Mandy, but her message was clear. You will sit. You will listen. You will stew in it.

Jonathan's jaw twitched, rage and humiliation and guilt swirling in his gut like poison. But he didn't dare stand. Not with Claire's fingers digging in slightly tighter every time he tried.

Mandy leaned back, sighing contentedly. "God help the poor soul I ever try to date again. Man, woman, alien, I don't care. It won't be the same. He... ruined me."

Tasha grinned like a cat who'd just licked cream from the bowl. Jasmine fanned herself.

And Claire? She took a slow sip of her wine, eyes never leaving Mandy. Then, with a tone too smooth, too deliberate, she murmured, "Sounds unforgettable."

Jonathan nearly choked. And that was just the beginning.

The ride home was quiet at first--too quiet.

Jonathan's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his molars might crack. The darkness outside the car felt suffocating, but it was nothing compared to the silence between them.

Claire sat poised in the passenger seat. Immaculate. Still. The Ice Queen, even now. Her legs crossed, her hands resting on her lap, not a strand of hair out of place--though her calm was a mask Jonathan couldn't begin to understand.

Trying to break the silence, and desperate to reassert any kind of control, he scoffed and muttered, "Those two little sluts--just throwing themselves at him like heat-starved animals. No shame."

Claire didn't answer. He kept going, voice tinged with resentment and fear, hoping that maybe she'd join him in his bitterness.

"God, Mandy could barely stand when she walked back in. Bragging like she'd won a damn prize. I mean, how pathetic can you be? Screaming it to the table like some badge of honor--"

"Jonathan."

Her voice was soft, cold. Icy steel cutting through his tirade. He faltered. Claire turned her head slowly toward him, her eyes sharp, expression unreadable--but dangerous. Her voice didn't rise, but the words landed like frostbite.

"If someone ever did to me what David did to them..." she said calmly, "I would want the world to know too."

Jonathan blinked, confused, but she didn't give him time to recover.

"Men like that--men who look like that, who move the way he does, with that voice, that smile... that kind of power?" She leaned in slightly, her voice still too calm. "If a man like David Williams decided to fuck me like that? Make me lose control like that?" She paused for just a beat--just enough to make sure her words struck bone. "I would want everyone to know I was his."