I was woken by the metallic click of the deadbolt ramming home. The sound of Zoe's high heels unsteadily clopping and scuffing across the tiles soon followed, before she stepped out of her shoes and kicked them under the side table. Dumping her purse and switching off the hall light I had left on for her, she padded straight into our bedroom. As much as I knew she wanted to, Zoe knew enough not to check on the kids when she'd been drinking.
The taxi's headlights swept across the window as it backed out of the drive, briefly illuminating the bedroom in a dull, beige glow. I lifted my head to see Zoe making her way to the ensuite, her long, chocolate hair spilling about her shoulders. Without breaking stride, she lifted her finger to her mouth and whispered, "Shhh. Go back to sleep." She slipped into the bathroom, turning on the light as she gently shut the door.
Checking the clock on the bedside, I saw that it was two-thirty. "Hmm," I smiled to myself with a raised eyebrow. Not a bad effort for a twenty-eight year old. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cracked midnight with my own mates.
I got up and shuffled into the ensuite. Zoe startled as I entered, pressing herself to the vanity. Placing my hands on her bare shoulders, I caressed the dark blue straps of her dress with my thumbs. "How was your night?" I murmured into the back of her head, planting a kiss into her soft, coconut-scented mane.
"Promise you won't be angry with me?" she softly mumbled to the sink.
My heart suddenly quickening, I searched her reflection, until eventually, her big, brown eyes met mine. I could tell her focus was blurred, but the rising blush in her cheeks told me she was lucid. Her mind was clear. She knew the gravity of what she was about to confess.
The warmth of jealous anticipation spread to my own face. This wasn't the first time Zoe had sheepishly sought such a promise. It usually followed a night out with her girlfriends. Some dancing, a cute guy, a little flirting, and then a drunken pub pash in a dark corner somewhere. It had only happened a few times in the nine years we'd been together, and all pretty harmless in the grand scheme of things.
Still, the idea of my wife kissing another man drove me absolutely wild.
Brushing her hair behind her ear and keeping eye contact, I kissed her neck. "What did you do?"
Zoe shuddered slightly, then dipped her gaze. She didn't answer.
"Mmm, sounds good," I chuckled, pressing my naked erection against her ass. "Did we find the affections of an attractive, young man?"
Zoe's breath hitched, but still no response.
"A kiss perhaps?" I teasingly nuzzled, letting my hands fall to the soft curve of her hips.
"Do you promise?" she whispered.
My eyes shot to the mirror. Zoe's brown eyes were crystal clear. Her mouth hung slightly open, smudged with dark lipstick. She was breathing heavily.
"I promise," I croaked, my heart thundering.
Zoe turned around, leaning back against the vanity. I could smell countless Bacardi Breezers on her breath, watermelon by all accounts. Staring at me seriously, she dropped her eyes between us for a moment, then looked back up expectantly. She swallowed.
I scanned down her body, past the plunging neckline of her dress and over the full breasts it struggled to conceal. I could see she'd spilled something in her lap. The shimmering, blue fabric was stained in large spots running from her navel to the hem halfway down her thighs.
I rubbed one of the marks between my fingers, feeling a crusty, almost greasy sensation. "What is that?" The realisation already striking me as the words escaped my mouth.
"There was this guy," she breathed, her trembling words barely audible above the pulse hammering in my ears. "We were sort of kissing a little bit. And, um..." she had to catch her breath. "He was touching me. He, uh, got his hand up under my dress..."
Pressing my cheek to Zoe's forehead, I lifted the hem of her dress, bunching it in my fingers. As I did, the stains came together in one, big, globular smear, like the fold-in cover of a Mad Magazine. "Like this?" I rasped, now able to see the crotch of her blue, satin panties.
"Uh-huh," she panted. "Then he kind of, um...he fingered me."
I burrowed my fingers in under her waistband and combed them through her short curls. Farther down, I found the warmth of her steamy slit. She was soaking. Zoe's delicious folds sucked at my fingers until I had two of them buried to the webbing inside her.
