On the ride back in give you a greedy blowjob

You drive back home, the sleek dress bag hanging from the hook in the back of your SUV, a silent passenger. The air inside the car is charged, different. The city skyline blurs past the windows, but you're not seeing it. You're feeling the warmth of Ava's body next to yours, the electric hum of potential. She's quiet, but it's not the tired silence of the past few months. It's a thoughtful, simmering quiet.

At a red light, in the shadow of an overpass, she turns to you. "Thank you, John."

"For what?"

"For... seeing me. Not just the tired woman in the garden."

"I've always seen you," you say, your voice low. The light turns green, and you press the accelerator, the car surging forward into the afternoon sun.

She doesn't say anything else. She just reaches over, her fingers tracing the seam of your trousers. The touch is light, exploratory. You keep your eyes on the road, your knuckles white on the steering wheel. Then her hand grows bolder, cupping you through the fabric. You feel a jolt, a current running straight up your spine. She doesn't hesitate. She deftly unbuckles your belt, the soft metallic click loud in the confined space. She unzips your jeans, her cool fingers finding you, hot and already hard.

"Ava," you breathe, a warning and an invitation.

"Shh," she murmurs, and then she leans over, her hair brushing against your thigh. The world outside the car ceases to exist.

There is only the sensation, the wet, perfect heat of her mouth, the way she takes you in with a confidence that feels both brand new and deeply familiar. This isn't the tentative blowjob of a new relationship. This is an act of ownership. She is reminding you, and herself, exactly who you belong to.

You keep the car steady, your foot pressing the gas with a focused precision, one hand on the wheel, the other tangled in her hair. Ava, your sweet wife, is showing you devotion to the highest level.

Her mouth is greedy, enthusiastic. There's a desperation in it that answers the need you didn't even know was clawing at your throat. She's not just getting you off. She's reclaiming you. Erasing the ghosts past events, of anonymous chat rooms, of every cheap fantasy that has flickered through your mind. She's replacing them with this, the reality of her. The love of your life, your wife, the mother of your children, her head bobbing in your lap as you drive home.

You come with a choked gasp, your body tensing, your hips bucking involuntarily. She swallows it all, her grip tightening on your thigh. Then she sits up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks at you, her eyes dark and glittering, a triumphant, almost predatory smirk on her lips. She leans over and kisses you, hard, and you taste yourself on her tongue.

"You're mine," she whispers against your lips.

"Always," you reply, the word slipping out weakly.

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