That Friday

Friday arrives faster than expected. The anticipation builds throughout the day, a low thrum beneath my skin that makes focusing on work nearly impossible. When I get home, Sarah is waiting for me, already naked except for the diamond ring glittering on her finger.

"How do I look?" she asks, turning slowly to give me a full view of her body.

"Perfect," I breathe, my mouth suddenly dry. "Absolutely perfect."

She walks toward me, hips swaying hypnotically. "Just think... in a few hours, Wiley will be touching me, tasting me..." She leans in close, her lips brushing my ear. "But he'll never truly have me. Not like you do."

I pull her against me, claiming her mouth in a possessive kiss. When we break apart, I press my forehead to hers. "Remember the plan?"

She nods, her eyes bright with excitement. "I wear nothing but the ring and bring my purse with the phone inside. You'll see and hear everything."

An hour later, I watch from our apartment window as Sarah walks naked to her car, the engagement ring catching the last rays of sunset. The sight of her—my fiancée—about to give herself to another man sends a complicated surge of emotions through me: jealousy, arousal, possessiveness, and something darker I can't quite name.

Four hours later My phone buzzes with an incoming video call. I answer immediately, the screen showing the interior of her purse, occasionally catching glimpses of the steering wheel and dashboard as she drives.

"Can you hear me?" Sarah's voice comes through clearly.

"Perfectly," I reply, settling onto our couch.

"Good," she purrs. "Because I want you to hear every sound I make when he fucks me, just like last time."

The Final part of the drive to Wiley's place takes five minutes. I listen to Sarah humming to herself, occasionally making comments about how excited she is, how wet she's getting just thinking about what's to come. By the time she arrives, I'm painfully hard, my hand hovering over my pants but not touching. I want to save myself for when she returns.

The camera shifts as Sarah picks up her purse, angling it so I can see her walking up to Wiley's front door. She knocks three times, then waits, one hip cocked to the side.

The door opens, and Wiley's startled gasp is audible even through the purse. "Sarah! You're... Fuck, you're naked again."

"Disappointed?" she asks, her voice a teasing lilt.

"No! no. Just... surprised. Come in, quick, before the neighbors see."

The camera swings as Sarah enters his house. I catch glimpses of his living room, the same one I watched them in last weekend. The purse settles on what must be a table, positioned perfectly to capture the scene: Sarah standing naked in the center of the room, Wiley circling her like a man in a trance.

"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," he murmurs, reaching out to touch her shoulder, then trailing his fingers down her arm.

Sarah arches into his touch. "I couldn't stop thinking about you all week," she lies smoothly. "About your hands on me, your mouth..."

Wiley steps closer, his breathing audible. "I've thought of nothing else." His hands find her waist, then slide lower. "I've dreamed about this moment every night."

Sarah moans as his fingers find her center. "Then what are you waiting for? Take me."

What follows is a frenzied rush of clothing being discarded—Wiley stripping with **** speed while Sarah watches, a small smile playing on her lips. When he's naked, she pushes him onto the couch and straddles him in one fluid motion.

"Oh fuck," Wiley groans as she sinks down on him. "You feel even better than last time."

Sarah begins to ride him, her back to the camera, giving me a perfect view of where their bodies join. Her left hand rests on his chest for balance, the diamond ring flashing with each movement.

Wiley's hands grip her hips, guiding her motions. His eyes are fixed on her face, seemingly oblivious to the ring sparkling just inches from his gaze. Or perhaps he's deliberately avoiding acknowledging it.

"You like that?" Sarah gasps, increasing her pace. "You like feeling me wrapped around you?"

“Fuck, yes!” Wiley moans, his head falling back against the couch cushions. "You're perfect, Sara-bear. So fucking perfect."

Sarah laughs, the sound breathy and sensual. "And you're exactly what I needed tonight."

They move together with increasing urgency, their bodies finding a rhythm that's both familiar and new. I watch, mesmerized, as my fiancée gives herself to another man, knowing she's performing as much for me as she is for him.

When they both climax—Sarah's back arching dramatically, Wiley's hands clutching at her like a drowning man—I feel a strange sense of triumph rather than jealousy. This is our game, our rules. Wiley is just a pawn, unaware he's being played.

Afterward, Sarah collapses against his chest, their breathing gradually slowing. Wiley's arms come around her, holding her close, his expression visible over her shoulder—tender, hopeful, so painfully earnest it would be pathetic if it weren't so useful to us.

"I've missed you," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple. "These past few days without you have been ****."

Sarah hums noncommittally, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "Well, I'm here now."

"And how long can you stay this time?" His voice is carefully casual, but I can hear the desperation beneath it.

"All night," Sarah replies, shifting to look at him. "If you want me."

"If I want you?" Wiley laughs, the sound slightly hysterical. "Sarah, I've wanted you since we were fourteen. Nothing's changed."

Sarah sits up, straddling him again, her back straight. "Everything's changed, Wiley. I'm not the same girl you grew up with."

His hands move to her waist, steadying her. "I know that. And I love who you've become."

Sarah leans down, kissing him deeply, her hair falling around them like a curtain. When she pulls back, she says, "I need to use your bathroom. I'll be right back."

She climbs off him gracefully, stretching as she stands. The camera catches Wiley's gaze following her body hungrily as she walks away. She doesn't take her purse with her—whether deliberately or accidentally, I can't tell.

The bathroom door closes with a soft click, and for a moment there's silence in the living room. Wiley remains on the couch, staring at the ceiling with a dazed expression. Then, slowly, he sits up, his eyes falling on Sarah's purse.

A flicker of something—curiosity? suspicion?—crosses his face. He glances toward the bathroom door, then back at the purse. Making a decision, he stands and approaches the table where Sarah left her bag.

My heart rate spikes as I watch him through the camera, his fingers hovering over the purse before gently opening it. He seems completely unaware that I'm watching his every move, that the phone inside is recording his actions.

"If I knock her up," he mutters, his voice low and determined, "then she has to stay with me, and I can turn her back to her old self."

My blood freezes in my veins as Wiley reaches deeper into the purse, pulling out Sarah's birth control pill pack. He examines it briefly, turning it over in his hands.

"All I have to do is replace these with fakes," he continues, slipping the pack into his pocket.

He rummages through the purse a moment longer, completely missing the phone that's capturing his every word, his every expression. His face is a mask of desperation and calculation—a side of Wiley that I’ve always knew he was hiding.

The bathroom door opens, and Wiley jumps back from the purse as if burned. He quickly returns to the couch, arranging himself in a casual pose that betrays none of his scheming.