Texting an Invitation

The message came unexpectedly. Just six words: "Come now--before your fantasy ends."

No name, no context, but I knew exactly what it meant.

I was already halfway to her place, heart pounding, palms sweaty on the wheel. We'd talked about it--late at night, limbs tangled, breaths shallow--how the idea made something primal rise in both of us. But fantasies were just that. Weren't they?

The front door was ajar. That alone made something shift in my chest. I pushed it open slowly, the sound of soft moans growing louder with each step. The warm scent of sex was thick in the air, unmistakable and magnetic.

And then I saw them.

She was on her knees, naked, her skin flushed and glowing. Her lips were wrapped around him like it was instinct. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine--not in shock, not in guilt, but invitation. The man standing in front of her barely looked my way, his hands gripping her hair as his body tensed. She reached up and held his thighs steady, her face turned slightly, angling to let it happen.

And then it did.

He groaned deep, his body jerking forward as he released onto her beautiful face. It landed across her cheeks, her lips, a little on her chest. She closed her eyes and smiled faintly, like she was savoring something intimate and forbidden.

She held there a moment, frozen in the heat of the act, then reached a hand toward me. I crossed the room slowly, every step thick with disbelief and arousal. When I reached her, she looked up, glistening and gorgeous, and whispered, "This was for you."

I knelt beside her and kissed her. Deep. Hungry. Unafraid. The taste was unfamiliar--salty, human--but it didn't matter. It was ours now.

She lay back against the soft rug, legs spreading with quiet invitation. The other man, wordless and satisfied, stepped out of the room like a ghost. My eyes stayed on her. I stood slowly and peeled my clothes off one piece at a time, her gaze locked on me like it was part of the ritual. By the time I knelt between her thighs, I was shaking.

Sliding into her was like falling into something ancient and holy--she was warm, soft, soaking wet. I could feel that he'd been there before me, that she'd welcomed him completely. And yet, somehow, that only made what we were doing more powerful.

"You're still mine," I whispered, buried deep inside her.

"I've always been," she whispered back. "Even when I let him in."

We moved together slowly at first, savoring each other. Her body trembled around me, still sensitive, her lips parting with each slow stroke. I looked at her face--still streaked with his release--and something inside me clenched. It was raw. Filthy. Beautiful. And completely ours.

I kissed her cheeks, her lips, even the mess on her skin. I didn't want to erase it. I wanted to join it. I wanted to mark her with my love just as deeply.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me down, our foreheads touching as I thrust deeper into her. The sounds--her breathy gasps, the slickness between us, the rhythm of our hips--were intoxicating. Her legs tightened around my waist as she whispered my name like a chant, grounding me in the chaos of the moment.

"I love you," she said, over and over. "I love you."

"I love you," I whispered back, broken and whole at once.

The tension built slowly, then suddenly. I buried myself deep, feeling her clench around me, her body tightening as mine gave in. I groaned into her neck, pouring everything into her, grounding myself inside the warmth he'd only borrowed.

Even after, I didn't move. I stayed there, nestled against her, still inside her. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on my back as her breath began to slow.

She smiled up at me, the last streaks of him drying on her skin. "Now you've really had me."

"I always did," I said softly.

There was no jealousy. No regret. Only the beautiful weight of knowing how far we had gone--and how much deeper we could still fall.

I was secretly hoping that though we had always talked about trying it... that this would not be a one time thing. I was scared to ask, too nervous to talk.

I decided to wait it our and see if or when she might bring it up.

Or just live life satisfied I experienced something most only imagined.