Jamie Allan And Steffy

*** Jamie's Story. ***

I was in the kitchen when I heard the front door open. My husband, Allan, had come home early.

"Hey," he called out.

"Hey yourself," I replied, stepping into the living room. He was setting down his laptop bag, stretching his shoulders. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just finished up work early." He glanced toward the window.

I followed his gaze, knowing exactly what -- or who -- was about to pass by. Right on time, the jogger appeared.

She was radiant in the afternoon sun, blonde ponytail bouncing with each step. Her fitted tee clung to her big breasts, her shorts revealing toned legs.

Allan exhaled sharply through his nose.

"You've seen her before, haven't you?" I asked.

He hesitated, then chuckled. "I mean... yeah. Hard to miss."

"Would you talk to her if you had the chance?"

Allan turned to me, smirking. "Are you testing me?"

I shrugged. "Just curious."

Right then, something unexpected happened. The jogger slowed down -- just a little. She turned her head, her eyes meeting Allan's through the window. A small, knowing smile curved her lips before she jogged on.

Allan blinked. "Did she just -- "

" -- Smile at you? Yeah. Looked that way."

He let out a nervous laugh. "Okay, that was unexpected."

"What if she stopped?" I asked.

Allan tilted his head. "Stopped?"

"What if she walked right up to our door? Knocked?" I stepped closer to him. "Would you answer?"

Before he could respond, there was a sharp knock at the door.

We both froze.

Allan looked at me, then at the door. "No way."

I swallowed. "Open it."

His hand hovered over the doorknob before he turned it.

There she was, standing on our doorstep, breathing lightly from her run.

"Hi," she said, her voice smooth. "Sorry to bother you. I just... noticed you watching me."

Allan cleared his throat. "Uh -- "

"I don't mind," she continued, her lips quirking into a playful smirk. "I actually kind of like it."

Silence stretched between us. I could feel Allan's pulse from where I stood beside him.

Then she added, "Do you ever think about doing it?"

My breath caught.

Allan exhaled slowly. "Doing... what exactly?"

She laughed softly. "You know exactly what."

I should have stopped this. I should have said something, but instead, I watched.

Allan glanced at me, searching for some kind of reaction. I gave him none, just watching. Because, I wanted to know what would happen next.

She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Mind if I come in?"

Neither of us answered. Not right away. But Allan stepped aside.

And just like that, she entered our home.

I imagined her right there in the living room, smiling at him. How would she do it? Whatever way he wanted? What would he fantasize?

Her getting on her hands and knees, nude, looking coyly back at him -- him kneeling behind her.

Why was I thinking about this?

She was obviously the kind of woman that a man liked to look at, to fantasize about. And my husband was definitely a man.

She walked past me, past Allan, trailing the scent of sweat and something sweeter. Confidence. A woman who knew her effect.

She turned, meeting Allan's eyes. "So... do you always watch, or do you ever play?"

Allan let out a nervous laugh. "I -- uh -- "

I crossed my arms. "You do know I'm standing right here, right?"

She smiled at me now. Not an apology, not embarrassment. Just... curiosity.

"I know," she said simply. Then, after a pause, "But do you?"

Allan looked between us, unsure.

I should have said something. Stopped it. Instead, I let the question linger. Because deep down, I wanted to know the answer too.

The jogger's question hung in the air. But do you?

Allan shifted uncomfortably. "This is... unexpected."

She chuckled, tilting her head. "Is it? You watch me run every day." Her gaze flicked to me. "And I think she watches you watching me."

Allan swallowed. "I didn't think -- "

"You didn't think I noticed?" She took a slow step forward. "Or you didn't think your wife noticed?"

His lips parted, but no words came.

I watched them -- watched her.

She was playing with him now, the same way I had played with the idea of her. And, I was still playing.

"Do you always stop for the men who stare at you?" I asked, finally stepping in.

She turned her attention to me, smiling as if she had been waiting for me to speak.

"No," she said smoothly. "Only the ones whose wives watch them do it."

Allan exhaled, a shaky sound. I could see it -- the way his body tensed, the way he fought to stay still.

And I could see her seeing it too.

"I should go," she said suddenly, stepping back toward the door.

Allan blinked, caught off guard. "Oh -- yeah, of course."

But I wasn't fooled.

She was waiting. She had set the bait, and now she wanted to see if we would bite.

Before she reached for the door, I spoke. "Do you want to stay?"

Allan's head snapped toward me.

The jogger hesitated, watching me carefully. Then, slowly, she smiled.

"I thought you'd never ask."

I should have been prepared for this moment. I had invited it, after all. I felt a strange nervous energy settle over me.

Allan was staring at me. I could practically hear the questions in his mind. Are we really doing this?

And I wasn't sure I knew the answer.

Because I felt something I hadn't even admitted to myself.

Guilt.

Not guilt over the situation. Not guilt over my husband's wandering eyes. But guilt over me.

I had been watching her for so long, admiring her -- her strength, her confidence, the way she seemed so effortlessly desirable. And somewhere in that admiration, there was something else.

I felt guilty that I didn't exercise regularly like that woman.

That's why, one day, I put on my running shorts and headed out to jog.

I hadn't seen her. I didn't want to see her. The last thing I needed was to feel like an awkward beginner in front of her. If I was lucky, I'd be done before she came.

But luck wasn't on my side.

I hadn't run more than two hundred feet before she passed me.

I watched her zipping away -- effortless, fast, powerful. A body that had been trained to move. I felt foolish. Someone like her would want nothing to do with someone like me.

Then she turned around.

She looked at me.

And then she stopped -- jogging in place for a second -- before running back toward me.

"Hi," she said, falling into step beside me.

"Hello," I managed, trying to keep my breath steady.

"Mind if I run with you? It's so boring to run alone."

"Sure."

She could talk so easily while jogging, while I was already struggling to keep up. She chatted about the weather, the neighborhood, little things that made it feel like I belonged there beside her.

When I finally had to stop and walk, she didn't leave me behind. She just slowed down, still talking, still smiling, like I wasn't an inconvenience at all. And when I had to quit after circling the block twice, she didn't make a big deal out of it.

She ran with me all the way back to my house.

"Thanks for letting me run with you," she had said, still friendly, still warm. "Maybe we could do it again sometime? If you're running again?"

I couldn't believe it.

I had been admiring her -- this woman so effortlessly athletic, so beautiful, so perfect. And yet here she was, acting like I was the one worth spending time with.

That moment had stayed with me.

Now, standing in my own living room, my husband beside me, and this same woman watching us both with that knowing smile...

I realized this had never been about just Allan.

She had seen me, too.

She hadn't taken her eyes off me. Not Allan. Me.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Allan turned sharply toward me. His expression was unreadable, but I could feel his pulse in the silence.

The jogger smiled, just a little. "Water would be nice."

I moved to the kitchen, my hands shaking slightly as I grabbed a glass. I needed a moment to breathe, to process. I could feel her presence behind me, could hear the subtle shift of her weight as she followed.

Allan hadn't moved.

She leaned casually against the counter as I poured the water. "I never caught your name," she said.

I handed her the glass, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "Jamie."

"Jamie," she repeated, tasting it. Then she turned her gaze toward the living room, where Allan still stood, looking like he wasn't sure if he should stay or run. "And your husband?"

"Allan," I said, my throat dry.

She nodded, taking a slow sip. "You know," she said, "it's funny. I always assumed he was the one watching me."

Allan tensed.

"But now," she continued, setting the glass down with a soft clink, "I think maybe I had that backward."

My breath hitched.

Allan looked at me, then at her, realization dawning behind his eyes.

I wanted to deny it. To laugh it off, to say something normal. But I didn't. Because she wasn't wrong.

I had watched her just as much as Allan had. Maybe more.

And she knew it.

She stepped closer, her body warm, electric in the small space between us. I could feel Allan's gaze on us, sharp, searching.

The jogger -- this woman -- was giving me the same look I had imagined her giving him.

Coy. Curious. A challenge.

"Are you going to invite me to sit down," she asked softly, "or are we going to keep pretending we don't know where this is going?"

Allan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

And I didn't look away.

I didn't answer her right away. My heartbeat was a steady, deliberate drum in my ears, and I could feel the weight of Allan's stare pressing into me.

But I didn't look at him.

I looked at her.

She was waiting -- patient, confident, like she already knew what I was going to say. Maybe she did.

"Sit down," I said finally, my voice softer than I intended.

She turned and walked back to the living room with that same easy grace, settling herself onto the couch as if she belonged there. As if she had been here a hundred times before.

Allan was still standing, arms crossed, his jaw tight.

"What exactly is happening right now?" he asked.

The jogger -- Steffie, I realized distantly -- tilted her head, her gaze flicking to him with mild amusement. "You tell me," she said, stretching her arms along the back of the couch, legs casually crossed. "I didn't invite myself in."

Allan's eyes snapped to me.

I swallowed, fingers curling against my own wrists to keep them steady. "I -- "

But I didn't know how to finish the sentence.

Because this wasn't about Allan anymore. It never had been.

I had spent so long imagining him being the one tempted, him being unable to resist. But now, with her sitting there, looking at me like that...

I wasn't sure I could resist.

She exhaled slowly, watching me, waiting. "You can still back out," she said, her voice lower now, intimate. "Or..." She let the word hang between us, unfinished.

Allan's gaze flicked between us, something shifting behind his eyes. Not jealousy. Not anger.

*Curiosity.*

And then he surprised me.

"Jamie," he murmured, stepping closer. "What do you want?"

I couldn't breathe.

I had spent so much time thinking about what he would want, what she would want -- never once considering my own answer.

But now?

Now I knew.

I took a step forward.

And she smiled.

*** The Triad Begins. ***

Jamie wasn't sure why she invited Steffie inside. Maybe it was politeness. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something she wasn't ready to name yet.

Allan had just come home, loosening his tie, looking mildly surprised to see Steffie -- sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping water. She smiled at him, and it was not just a polite smile.

"This must be your husband," she said, effortlessly warm, her eyes holding just a fraction too long. "Allan, right?"

Allan glanced at Jamie, and Jamie could see the brief flicker in his expression -- he recognized her. Of course, he did. He had seen her jogging before, just as Jamie had. But now she wasn't just a passing figure outside their home. She was inside it.

"Uh, yeah," Allan said, shaking her hand. "I see you running all the time."

"Oh?" Steffie's lips quirked. "And what do you think when you see me?"

Difficult question.

Jamie held her breath, watching Allan carefully.

He hesitated. "Well... you're very athletic."

Steffie chuckled. "That's a safe answer."

Jamie let out a slow exhale. "He was probably thinking what any man would think."

Allan's head snapped toward her. She had surprised him. But more importantly, she had surprised herself.

Steffie didn't miss it either. She tilted her head slightly, studying Jamie the way a dancer might study her own reflection before a performance. Then she leaned forward.

"I like you," she said.

Jamie swallowed. "What?"

"I like how honest you are. That's rare."

Jamie wasn't sure what was happening, but she could feel it, like the slow pull of an invisible current. It wasn't just that Steffie was beautiful. It was that she had an ease -- a confidence -- that was pulling both of them in without even trying.

Allan was still watching Jamie. Not Steffie.

Jamie realized then -- this was the moment she had been circling around, ever since she first imagined Allan watching Steffie run by. But the fantasy had been incomplete. She had never expected this part.

Not just Allan. Not just Steffie.

All three of them.

And Steffie, perceptive as ever, saw it too. She didn't need to force it. She just smiled, waiting.

Waiting for Jamie to decide.

Jamie's pulse quickened, but it wasn't fear. It wasn't even hesitation. It was anticipation.

Steffie was still watching her -- waiting, patient. Not pushing, just letting it happen.

Jamie licked her lips, glancing at Allan. He was silent, watching her now, his expression unreadable. Not rejection. Not discomfort. Just... waiting too.

So she made the choice.

"You should stay for dinner," Jamie said.

Steffie smiled, slow and knowing. "I'd love to."

Allan exhaled, almost like he had been holding his breath, but he said nothing. Jamie could feel his curiosity, his uncertainty, but also something else -- something darker, more intrigued.

As they moved to the kitchen together, everything felt just slightly off -- like they were in the same house, but something fundamental had shifted beneath them, creating new rules, a new rhythm.

Jamie found herself brushing against Steffie more than necessary. Small touches. Light contact. Each one felt like dipping a toe into something she had only imagined.

Allan noticed.

Jamie could feel his attention, how his gaze lingered when Steffie reached past her to grab a plate, her fingers grazing Jamie's hip.

"So," Steffie said, as they sat down to eat. "Tell me about the two of you. How long have you been married?"

Allan answered, but Jamie barely heard him. She was too focused on Steffie -- the way she sat relaxed, open, completely at ease in their home, as if she belonged there.

As if she had always belonged there.

As the night went on, Jamie became more and more aware of everything -- the warmth of Steffie's skin when their arms brushed, the way Allan's breath hitched when Steffie laughed, the way she herself was becoming bolder, leaning in closer, tilting her head in just the right way.

It wasn't just her. It was all three of them.

And Steffie -- instinctive, perceptive Steffie -- let it unfold naturally, smiling that knowing smile.

Waiting.

Welcoming.

Dinner was long finished, but none of them had moved. The wine was half-gone, the conversation slow.

Jamie sat between Allan and Steffie on the couch, close enough that their legs almost touched. Almost.

Steffie turned slightly toward Jamie, her knee brushing hers -- not an accident. "I like this," she said softly, looking between them. "The way you two are together."

Jamie exhaled, something uncoiling inside her. "Do you?"

Steffie nodded, her gaze steady. "Yes. You see each other. Not all couples do."

Jamie felt Allan shift beside her, his silence saying more than words. She glanced at him -- his jaw was tight, his fingers drumming absently against his knee. Waiting.

Steffie reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Jamie's ear.

Jamie leaned into it.

She didn't stop to question what this meant. She just knew she wanted it.

Steffie's fingertips lingered just a second too long before she withdrew. And when she did, Jamie let out a slow breath, tilting her head slightly -- offering.

Steffie's lips parted, her pupils darkening. "You're beautiful."

Allan inhaled sharply.

Jamie turned toward him then, searching his face. He wasn't stopping this. He wasn't pulling away.

He was watching her.

And in that moment, she knew -- he wanted this too.

That was all she needed.

She reached for him, her fingers sliding over his wrist, steady, deliberate. His skin was warm, his pulse quick beneath her touch.

Steffie watched them, waiting, perfectly attuned.

Jamie turned back to her, her own pulse hammering. And this time, she was the one to close the space.

Their lips met, soft, slow -- just a taste at first, until Steffie sighed against her mouth and deepened it, fingers threading into Jamie's hair.

Allan made a low sound -- half exhale, half groan.

Jamie pulled away just enough to look at him, her breath uneven. "Come here," she whispered.

He obeyed.

And then there were no more words.

Just heat.

Just surrender.

Just the three of them, coming together.

Jamie lay between them, her skin still tingling, her breath slowing. Allan's arm rested across her hip, grounding her, while Steffie trailed her fingers absently along her arm -- light, barely-there touches that made her shiver.

She didn't move. She couldn't move.

Something had shifted inside her.

She turned her head, meeting Allan's gaze. He was looking at her -- not confused, not regretful, just different. Like he was still processing what had happened, like something fundamental between them had cracked open, revealing something deeper.

Jamie swallowed. "Are you okay?"

Allan's fingers tightened slightly against her skin. Then, after a long pause, he nodded. "Yeah." A slow exhale. "Are you?"

She thought about it. Let herself feel everything.

Yes.

Steffie, still languid beside her, let out a quiet chuckle. "I'd say you both look pretty good to me."

Jamie turned to her, studying the easy confidence in her expression, the way she fit so naturally between them.

"This... doesn't feel wrong," Jamie murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Steffie's smile was knowing. "That's because it isn't."

Allan let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "This was -- " He paused, searching for words. "This wasn't just a random thing."

Jamie understood what he meant.

It wasn't just lust. It wasn't just an impulse.

It had meant something.

And that was terrifying.

Steffie propped herself up on one elbow, watching them both. "You don't have to figure everything out tonight," she said simply. "Just let it be what it is."

Jamie turned that over in her mind. She had spent so much of her life defining things -- making them neat, contained. Controllable.

But this...

This was something else entirely.

She shifted closer to Allan, resting her hand over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. When she glanced back at Steffie, she wasn't sure what she expected -- distance? Amusement?

But Steffie only smiled, slow and warm.

Like she had always known this was where they were meant to be.

Like she had been waiting for them to step into the current.

And now that they had -- there was no turning back.

The morning after was supposed to be awkward.