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I sat on the plush couch in the living room, the house quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The kids had gone to bed hours ago, little Emma and her brother Jack both tucked in tight after their bedtime stories. I was scrolling through my phone, my legs curled under me, wearing my usual babysitting outfit, a simple tank top that hugged my curves and yoga pants that felt soft against my skin. At twenty, I loved this gig, the pay was good and Mr. and Mrs. Thompson were always so nice.
But tonight, Mrs. Thompson was out with friends and Mr. Thompson had gone to the pub after work. He’d texted me earlier saying he’d be home around midnight. The clock on the wall ticked past eleven fifty. I stretched, feeling a little restless. That’s when I heard the front door unlock with a click. Mr. Thompson stepped in, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He was in his late thirties, tall and fit from his gym routine, with that rugged stubble on his jaw and eyes that always seemed to linger a second too long on me.
Tonight, he smelled like beer and cologne, his shirt slightly untucked, his tie loosened. He closed the door quietly, not wanting to wake the kids, and gave me that warm, slightly tipsy smile. “Hey, Sarah,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Kids okay?”
“Yeah, they were angels,” I replied, standing up and smoothing my top. My heart skipped a beat. He looked so handsome, a bit flushed from the drinks. I’d always had a little crush on him, the way he carried himself with that quiet confidence. He nodded, kicking off his shoes. “Good, wife’s still out. Texted me, she’ll be late.”
He walked closer, his eyes dropping to my body for a moment before meeting mine. “You don’t have to rush off. Want a drink? Just one?” I hesitated, but something in his gaze made my stomach flutter. “Sure, why not,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. He poured us both a whiskey from the cabinet, handing me a glass.
We sat on the couch, close enough that I could feel the heat from his thigh against mine. We chatted about nothing—work, the pub, my college classes—but the air felt thick, charged. His hand brushed my knee accidentally, or maybe not, and he didn’t pull away. I felt a warmth building between my legs, my nipples hardening under my thin top.
“You know, Sarah,” he murmured, setting his glass down. “You’re really something. So young, so vibrant.” His fingers traced a light circle on my thigh, sending shivers up my spine. I bit my lip, my breath quickening.
“Mr. Thompson, call me David,” he said, leaning in. His lips met mine, soft at first, then hungry. I kissed him back, my hands finding his chest, feeling the hard muscles under his shirt. Oh God, this was wrong, but it felt so right. His wife could come home any minute, but that only made it hotter.
He pulled me onto his lap, my legs straddling him. I could feel his growing desire pressing against me. I ground against it instinctively, a soft moan escaping my lips. “David,” I whispered, “we shouldn’t.”
“But we are,” he growled, his hands sliding under my top, cupping my breasts. His thumbs flicked my nipples, making them ache with need. I arched my back, pressing into his touch. He lifted my shirt over my head, exposing my bare skin. I hadn’t worn a bra tonight, and his eyes darkened with lust.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, leaning down to suck one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. My desire was soaking now, throbbing. I reached down, fumbling with his belt, unzipping his pants. His desire sprang free, thick, veined, and rock hard. I wrapped my hand around it, stroking slowly, feeling it twitch in my grip.
“Oh, David, it’s so big,” I breathed, my voice husky. He groaned, his hands yanking my yoga pants down, along with my panties. I lifted my hips to help, and soon I was naked from the waist down, my smooth, shaved skin exposed to him. He ran a finger along me, dipping into my wetness.
“You’re dripping for me, aren’t you,” he said, his voice rough.
“Yes,” I moaned, rocking against his hand, as he slid two fingers inside me, curling them to hit that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. His thumb circled my clit, slow and firm, building the pressure. I rode his fingers, my juices coating them, the wet sounds filling the room.
“Turn around,” he commanded, pulling his fingers out. I did, bending over the arm of the couch, my body presented to him. He stood behind me, his desire nudging my entrance.
“You want this, Sarah? My married desire inside your tight little place?”
“God, yes,” I begged, pushing back. He entered me in one deep stroke. I cried out, the stretch burning so good. He was huge, stretching my walls, bottoming out against my cervix. He grabbed my hips, moving inside me, his touch relentless. I could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, my body clenching around him.
One hand reached around to rub me, the other spanking my ass lightly, the sting mixing with the pleasure. I moaned louder, my face buried in the cushions to muffle it.
“Harder, David, fuck me harder.”
He obliged, moving deeper, hitting spots I’d never felt before. Sweat dripped down my back, my chest bouncing with each impact. He pulled out suddenly, flipping me onto my back.
“I want to see your face when you come,” he said, spreading my legs wide. He plunged back in, missionary style, his weight pressing me down. Our bodies slapped together, wet and urgent. He kissed me deeply, his tongue mimicking his rhythm.
My orgasm built fast, a coil tightening in my core. “I’m gonna come,” I whimpered, my nails digging into his back.
“Come for me, baby,” he urged, moving faster. It hit me like a wave, my body spasming around him, juices squirting out as I screamed his name. He kept moving through it, prolonging the bliss.
Then he tensed, pulling out at the last second. “Where do you want it?” he asked, stroking himself furiously.
“On my chest,” I panted. He straddled my chest, ropes of hot release shooting across my skin, painting me white. I rubbed it in, tasting a drop on my finger, salty, forbidden.
We lay there panting, his warmth cooling on my skin. He kissed my forehead. “That was incredible,” he whispered. I smiled, still buzzing.
“Yeah, but we can’t tell anyone.”
He nodded, helping me clean up. As I dressed and slipped out the door, paid with a wink, I knew I’d be back next week. The risk made it all the sweeter in this steamy romance and adult story of forbidden desire and passionate encounters. 
