My husband walked in while his best friend's dick was deep inside me

The lock clicked shut and I didn’t even let him take a breath. My hands were on Ryan’s jacket, yanking him forward, my mouth already finding his. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a fucking claim. My tongue pushed past his lips, tasting the coffee he’d had on the drive over. His own hands, big and a little rough, slid under my thin t-shirt, his palms hot against the bare skin of my back. He gripped me, pulling me so tight against him I could feel the hard buckle of his belt digging into my stomach.

Jesus, just his hands on me… It was like a jolt straight to my cunt. A deep, aching throb started right there, the kind my husband hadn’t given me in years.

I broke the kiss, panting. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” I breathed against his mouth.

“Try me,” Ryan growled, his voice rough. “I’ve been fucking dreaming about it.” His eyes were dark, hungry, and they were all over me. Not his friend’s wife. Just me.

I pushed him back, his shoulders hitting the wall next to the front door. The thrill of it shot through me. Right here. Where the neighbors could see if the blinds were open. I kissed down his stubbled jaw, to his neck, and I bit down, not hard, but enough. He groaned, a deep, strangled sound that made my knees weak.

“Fuck, Amelia,” he rasped. His hands slid down from my back, over my ass, and he squeezed. Hard. He ground his hips into mine and I gasped. I could feel him. Oh god, I could feel his cock. A thick, hard ridge straining against his jeans, pressing right against the centre of me. Even through our clothes, the pressure was incredible.

His hands found the hem of my shirt and he yanked it up and over my head in one quick motion. The cool air of the living room hit my skin, my tits tightening instantly. His eyes dropped to my lace bra, and the look on his face was pure fucking lust. “You are so goddamn beautiful,” he muttered, before his mouth was on mine again, one hand cupping my breast, his thumb rubbing slow, tight circles over my nipple through the lace.

I reached for his belt, my fingers fumbling with the clasp. I needed to feel his skin. I needed more. I got the belt open, the button of his jeans, the zipper. I shoved everything down his hips just enough. His cock sprang free, hot and heavy in my hand. It was so fucking big. Thick and hard and perfect. I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking him slowly, feeling him pulse in my grip.

Ryan’s head fell back against the wall with a thud. “Your hand feels so fucking good,” he choked out.

“You feel better,” I whispered, guiding him, rubbing the head of his cock against the damp spot already forming on my panties. The sensation was maddening. I was so wet for him, so ready. I rocked my hips, grinding against him, that exquisite pressure building and building.

He gripped my thighs and lifted me like I weighed nothing, pushing me back against the cool wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles. He held me there, suspended, the head of his cock pressing right at my entrance through my soaked panties. I could feel every inch of him, right there, promising so much.

“I want to feel you inside me, Ryan,” I moaned into his ear. “I want to feel that big cock stretching me open. I’ve been so fucking empty.”

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice a rough whisper. He was teasing me, rubbing himself against my wetness but not pushing inside.

“I want you to fuck me,” I breathed. “Right here. I want you to tear these panties off and fill my cunt up. I want to feel you fucking me against this wall until I can’t think straight.”

That was all he needed.

In one move, he hooked his fingers in the side of my panties and pulled, the flimsy lace tearing with a sharp sound. The air hit my bare skin. And then he was there. The broad head of his cock pressed against my opening. I was so ready, so slick for him. He pushed, just an inch, and my head rolled back. The fucking stretch. It was everything.

He stopped, buried just that first incredible inch inside me. “You feel that?” he grunted, his forehead against mine. “You feel how fucking tight you are?”

“More,” I begged, clutching at his shoulders. “Please, Ryan, give me all of it.”

He started to push deeper, and the world narrowed to that single, blinding point of feeling. The way my body opened for him. The way he stretched me. The way he filled a place in me that had been hollow for so long. He wasn’t just in me; he was claiming me. My breathing was gone, just ragged gasps and moans.

And then the front door swung open.

We froze. My legs were still locked around him. I could still feel every inch of him buried deep inside my cunt.

“Babe?” My husband’s voice. Cheerful. Normal.

My heart didn’t just stop; it plummeted through the floor. I stared over Ryan’s shoulder, my eyes wide, my body screaming from the sudden interruption of the most intense pleasure I’d ever felt. Ryan didn’t move, didn’t pull out. He just held me there, impaled on his cock, and turned his head slightly.

My husband stood in the doorway, a duffel bag in his hand, his eyes taking in the scene: my shirt off, my torn panties, Ryan’s jeans around his thighs, me pinned against the wall with his best friend’s cock inside me.

A slow, easy grin spread across my husband’s face. He dropped the bag.

“Sup, man?” Ryan said, his voice casual, like they’d just run into each other at a bar.

My husband’s eyes met mine, then traveled down my body to where Ryan and I were still joined. He nodded, that grin never fading. "How was her pussy?" he asked Ryan, his tone light, conversational. "It was great, right? Just like I told you."