Tempted By The Babysitter

Aaliyah Love and Silvia Saige sit in the living room, voices low as they wait for the new sitter to arrive. Aaliyah chews her lip, knuckles pale around her coffee mug, but Silvia's already counting the nights they'll finally have to themselves. The doorbell cuts the air. They open up, and there's Emma Hix—eighteen, bright smile, schoolbag slung like she owns the place. She compliments the house, their hair, the way they look together; the words land soft but loaded. They thank her, hand over Victoria's schedule, then slip out, leaving Emma staring at the closed door with a slow, knowing grin. A few nights later they come home late. Emma waves from the kitchen. Victoria's asleep, dishes done. She offers to finish straightening before she goes. They say sure, flattered by her initiative, and Aaliyah drifts down the hall to check on their daughter. Emma grips a feather duster and bends—back arched, ass pushed toward Silvia—while pretending to reach under the coffee table. Silvia's eyes fix, mouth open, pulse racing. She yanks her gaze away just as Aaliyah returns. The next evening Silvia's phone vibrates—Mom again. She steps into the study, leaving Emma alone with Aaliyah on the couch. Emma scoots closer, fingers tracing the inside of Aaliyah's forearm, voice dropping an octave. Aaliyah feels the heat ripple under her skin but flinches and bolts, mumbling something about fresh air. Silvia walks back in, spots the empty couch, and quizzes Emma. Emma purrs that Mrs. Love left something "distracting" behind. Silvia sways on the spot, cheeks flushed, then clutches Emma's shoulders and steers her straight to the door. Once the lock clicks, Silvia exhales hard, fingers shaking. Guilt eats both wives the following morning. Over breakfast they spill every glance, every stray thought, and agree: Emma has to go. They text her to come by. An hour later Emma shows, easy grin fading when she sees their tight faces. They say it straight—they're married, they won't risk it. Emma shrugs, hair tumbling. "Why not invite me in? A three-way isn't cheating." The wives freeze, blink, then meet each other's stare like the idea just detonated in their skulls. Tension melts into something hotter, electric. They check once, twice, "Are you sure?" Yes. Yes. Emma smiles slow, already peeling off her jacket. "Tempting babysitter," Silvia mutters under her breath, pulling the door closed behind them.