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You want to know more. You knew on Monday morning you'll make sure to keep her off limits to other men. Telling her if she wants to keep her job, she can only fuck you. But now, you continue texting with the little slut. "Keep going," you type, shifting carefully to avoid waking Ava. The darkness feels charged, electric. Emily’s words paint vivid pictures, the city lights, the cold glass against skin, the stranger’s hands. It’s a fantasy, reckless and raw, and it makes your pulse race. You imagine Emily pressed against that window, her breath fogging the glass, and a sharp ache of jealousy mixes with the heat in your gut.

"Are you jerking off to my story boss? I bet you want the videos." Her text was followed by a GIF of a woman biting her lip suggestively. You could almost hear her husky laugh. "He was rough. Pulled my hair, left marks on my hips... called me names that would make your wife faint." The words blurred as you stared at the screen, knuckles white around the phone. Jealousy twisted hot and sharp in your chest.

"Send the video you dumb little whore." You order wanting to see what this young slut did with her weekend. The words feel like gravel in your throat, harsh and unfamiliar. Ava’s steady breathing beside you suddenly sounds deafening. You watch the typing bubbles appear, disappear, then reappear. Your knuckles ache from gripping the phone. You need to see her tits again.

Emily tease. "Okay boss. But I need a video pf you jerking off next to your sleeping wife." The demand lands like a punch, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, the phone’s glow a guilty spotlight in the dark. Ava’s soft snores fill the silence, her back turned, oblivious. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, the thrill warring with a cold prickle of dread. Could you really do it? Risk everything for this digital high? The image flashes in your mind, Ava’s peaceful face inches from your betrayal.

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