Slipping In - Part 2

Lewis didn't give a damn.

He crawled into her king-size bed on all fours, feeling the soft mattress dip under his new, lighter frame.

Cheating was the ultimate insult, but sneaking around behind his back with *Jim* had been an act of war. Well, she wanted to play dirty games behind his back? Now he was literally inside her life, breathing her air, and sleeping under her roof. Poetic justice at its finest.

Spotting her left-behind iPad on the nightstand, Lewis tapped the screen awake. No surprise, her passcode hadn’t changed in a decade.

He smirked, propping himself up on a stack of plush pillows, and flicked right to the messages.

It didn't take long to find Jim’s name, and within seconds, Lewis was reading through a filthy backlog of steamy texts that made his stomach churn with bitter hatred.

Jim was desperate, pathetic even, raving about her curves, the way she moved, and begging her to wear the sheer black lace chemise she had apparently left behind in the top dresser drawer. Jim had even attached a few private snaps from earlier on their vacation: his ex-wife posing poolside, blonde hair catching the sun, curves on full display.

Lewis looked down at his own chest, then back at the screen. He couldn't help a dry chuckle. It was almost laughable how thoroughly he’d pulled it off. He had the same waist, the same long legs, the exact same face Jim was slobbering over across the country.

"Go fuck yourself, Jim," he tasted her voice on his tongue.

Throwing the duvet aside, Lewis marched over to her antique dresser. He didn't hesitate. Pulling open the drawer, he fished out the sheer black lace chemise Jim had mentioned. He tossed off the long-sleeve tee and leggings, standing naked in front of the full-length mirror. With a casual shrug, he stepped into the delicate silk and lace, letting the straps settle over his smooth shoulders.

A sharp, spiteful thrill coursed through him.

Sliding a hand between his smooth thighs, Lewis gasped, catching the rhythm with surprising ease. He watched her writhing on screen while his own hips twitched in the dark, the vindictive triumph surging straight to his head. He wasn't just wearing her clothes. He had stolen her body, her pleasure, her whole goddamn reality right out from under her, and neither she nor Jim could do a single thing about it.

The climax hit him with the force of a freight train. It wasn't the quick, straightforward release of a man; it was an all-consuming, full-body shock that pulled the breath right out of his lungs, arching his back and clutching fistfuls of the designer sheets as wave after wave tore through his core.

Lewis lay panting in the dark, chest heaving under the damp lace, utterly wrecked and trembling.

After a minute, the iPad screen finally went to sleep, cutting to black. In the dark glass reflection, Lewis caught his breath, staring back at his ex-wife’s flushed face, disheveled blonde hair, and hooded eyes.

A slow, vicious smirk spread across her lips.