I toss restlessly in my king size bed, hiding from the street lights peeking through the windows. My wife is passed out peacefully beside me, her porcelain skin shining in the darkness. Her thin silky night gown has ridden high on her bared thighs and her generous tits are threatening to tumble free. Her dark curls are tumbled wildly across the pillow and she looks stunning. I run my hand hungrily up her thigh, relishing in the way she moans softly in her sleep. Her hands reactively grabbing the sheets as her thighs squeeze together. Her nightgown pulls higher and my breath catches as I realize she's not wearing anything underneath. The things this woman does to me, she is beyond perfect.
I feel the guilt of my earlier actions blooming in my chest. I had zero complaints in my marriage, our relationship was anything but sexless. My wife turned heads everywhere she went, I swear she only got more tempting with age. My stepdaughter, Clara, looks so much like her, maybe that's the truth behind my transgression. The memory of her lean, naked body is haunting my thoughts again. I find myself needing space to clear my head.
Pushing off from the bed, I nimbly prow through our dark bedroom and down the hall towards the kitchen. Restlessness is one problem alcohol could absolutely solve, though I had sworn to myself that I'd work on cutting back. If there were ever a time to break a resolution, it was now. I pulled a cold one out of the fridge, deftly popping the lid and downing half the bottle. I wipe my lips on the back of my band and glance down the hall towards my stepdaughter's room. I could see light filtering through her cracked door.
