If You Can't Beat 'Em, Join 'Em

Caroline sits there in that knockout dress, lips painted, hair just-so, ready to tear up the night. Joseph stumbles in late, smelling like grease and excuses. She steps in for the hug, and there it is—some other woman’s perfume, sharp and sweet, clinging to his collar like an accusation. Days later she’s packed, all smiles and promises about girls’ weekend. He buys it. She pulls over two blocks away, engine idling, eyes on the clock. Once enough minutes crawl by she kills the lights and doubles back on foot, heels whispering over concrete. The moans hit her halfway up the stairs. She pauses, fingers curled around the banister, breathing hot and fast. Door creaks open. Joseph’s on the bed, shirt half-open, Stella tucked in close, lips swollen, skirt riding high. They jerk apart. He starts stammering—something about taking orders at the restaurant. Caroline stares at the lipstick on his neck and knows exactly what kind of menu he’s sampling. She closes the door behind her. Silence. Stella watches with big, unsure eyes. Caroline strips off her jacket, lets it hit the floor. She meets Joseph’s stare without blinking. “If you’re going to fuck other girls,” she says, voice low and edged, “you’re going to fuck me too.” Her dress puddles at her ankles. She crosses to the bed, climbs between them, grabs a handful of Stella’s hair and drags her in for a kiss that tastes like sin and payback. Joseph watches, already hard again, hands itching. Caroline breaks the kiss just long enough to lock eyes with him. “If I’m not enough for you, you’re getting both of us. And I decide how this goes.” She drags Stella’s panties down, pushes Joseph onto his back, and straddles him while guiding the younger girl’s mouth to his cock. Three bodies, hot and tangled, Caroline’s hands everywhere—owning the scene, owning the moment, owning whatever’s left of her marriage.