Check Your Phone

Kenna steps outside the marriage looking for the heat her man forgot how to give. Logan feels it slipping, yet he can't name it. Over dinner the air crackles, and a single buzz from her phone snaps the silence. "Check your phone," he says, low and hard. When he scrolls through the pictures—the blonde on her knees, lips stretched around another cock, eyes glassy with spit and hunger—everything they've both been missing rises to the surface. Logan grips the back of her head the way the messages promised he would. Kenna opens wide and takes him deep, throat working, spit trailing down her chin. He bends her over the table, pushes inside, drives hard until the table rocks and her moans turn raw. She pushes back, taking every inch, blonde hair swinging, until he pulls out and paints her ass with thick ropes. They find the edge they lost—hard, fast, and filthy—right there in the wreckage of one evening.