Cuckolded by the Contractor

The Spark of Renovation

Champ Smith slumped on the battered couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through renovation photos but really just ogling his wife. Justice was sprawled across from him, her tits nearly bursting out of a sundress that clung to every curve, the kind of dress that made it impossible not to stare. The sunlight made her look like some kind of fuckable goddess, the kind of woman who could make any man's cock twitch. Champ watched the fabric straining over her tits, his own cock giving a pathetic little jump, and he couldn't help but imagine some other guy staring at her, probably with a bigger cock, probably thinking about bending her over and fucking her right there.

Their marriage had become the kind of soul-crushing routine that made Champ's balls ache with boredom and his cock shrivel with shame. The spark was dead, replaced by the same limp, half-hearted fuck every Saturday night, the kind where he barely got hard and Justice faked her moans. Lately, all he could think about was letting another man have her, watching his wife get used and stretched out by someone else, someone with a real cock, just so he could feel something besides pathetic. The idea gnawed at him, made his cock hard and his stomach churn with humiliation, the kind of sick excitement that left him feeling like a loser.

“I think we should hire Hammett,” Champ said, keeping his voice casual as he set his phone down. “For the renovation.”

Justice looked up, her piercing blue eyes catching the light, one eyebrow arching in mild curiosity. “Our neighbor Hammett?”

“Yeah.” Champ shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes watching her reaction carefully. “He does contracting work. I’ve seen his truck. And he’s right next door, so it’d be convenient.”

“Convenient,” Justice repeated, a small smile playing at her lips. She set her coffee cup down on the side table, her fingers lingering on the ceramic rim. “I’ve noticed him, you know. Hard not to. He does those workouts in his driveway without a shirt. All those muscles.”

Champ's heart pounded, his cock stiffening pathetically in his jeans at the thought of Justice checking out their neighbor. He pictured Hammett's thick, muscular body pressed up against Justice's curves, the guy swaggering around their house like he owned the place, his shirts stretched tight over his chest, probably packing a cock twice the size of Champ's. Champ couldn't stop himself from imagining Hammett's big hands all over his wife, squeezing her tits, grabbing her ass, and his cock throbbed with a humiliating mix of jealousy and desperate excitement.

“So you think he’s attractive,” Champ said, his voice dropping lower, testing the waters.

Justice’s cheeks flushed slightly, but her eyes held his. “I mean, objectively, sure. He’s got that whole dominant, capable thing going on. Why? Does that bother you?”

“No,” Champ said quickly, then paused, choosing his words carefully. “Actually, it’s kind of… exciting. Thinking about you noticing him.”

The air between them shifted, charged with something unspoken. Justice uncrossed her legs, her thighs shifting under the sundress, and Champ caught the subtle movement, his pulse racing. They’d talked about fantasies before, danced around the edges of this particular one, but never quite brought it into the light of day.

“Exciting how?” Justice asked, her voice taking on a husky quality that made Champ’s cock throb.

“I don’t know,” Champ said, though he did know, had been fantasizing about it late at night when Justice slept beside him. “I just think… having him around, working on the house, being close to you… It could add something. An edge.”

Justice leaned forward, her sundress gaping slightly at the neckline, revealing the swell of her breasts. “You want me to flirt with him.”

It wasn't a question. Champ's face burned with humiliation, his cock rock hard and straining against his jeans, a pathetic tent that Justice could probably see. He shifted his hips, not even bothering to hide how turned on he was by the thought of his wife throwing herself at another man, maybe even letting him fuck her while Champ watched like some kind of cuck.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice rough. “If you wanted to. With my consent. Our consent. I think it could be… fuck, Justice, I think it would be hot as hell to watch.”

Justice’s breath quickened, her nipples visibly hardening beneath the thin fabric of her dress. She bit her lower lip, a gesture Champ knew meant she was aroused, conflicted, thinking.

“That’s a big step,” she said softly. “From fantasy to reality. What if it fucks things up between us?”

“It won’t,” Champ said, leaning toward her, his hand reaching out to rest on her knee. Her skin was warm under his palm, and he felt her tremble slightly. “We set boundaries. We communicate. But Justice, we’ve been together so long, and I love you so fucking much, but I want that spark back. I want to feel you burn for something again. Even if it’s—” He swallowed hard. “Even if it’s humiliating for me. Maybe especially because it is.”

Justice’s eyes searched his face, reading the vulnerability there, the desperate honesty. Her hand covered his on her knee, squeezing.

“You really want this,” she said. “You want to share me.”

“I want us to explore it,” Champ corrected, though his cock ached at the crude truth of her words. “Together. Consensually. I want to see you desired by someone else, and then reclaim you. I want to remember what it feels like to need you so badly I can’t fucking breathe.”

Justice was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand. When she spoke, her voice was thick with arousal. “I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t turn me on. But Champ, this isn’t just some porn fantasy. If I flirt with Hammett, if I let him touch me or—or more—that’s real. That’s my body with another man.”

“I know,” Champ said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s what makes it so fucking intense.”

Justice’s thighs pressed together, and Champ saw the flush spreading down her neck, across her chest. She was as aroused as he was, her body responding to the taboo nature of what they were discussing.

“What are the rules?” Justice asked. “If we do this.”

Champ’s mind raced, his arousal warring with the practical need to set boundaries. “We communicate everything. You tell me what you’re comfortable with before anything happens. And we can stop anytime. Either of us. If it gets too intense, if emotions get complicated, we pull back.”

“And you’re okay with me… enjoying it?” Justice’s eyes were bright with need now, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “With me wanting his cock? With me getting wet for him?”

Champ groaned, squeezing her knee and sliding his hand up her thigh. "Fuck, yes. That's what gets me off. The humiliation. Knowing you want him, knowing he's probably got a cock that would make me look like a little boy, that he's stronger, that he could fuck you so much better than I ever could. And you still coming back to me, even after he's stretched you out and used you up."

Justice leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. “What if his cock is bigger than yours, baby? What if I like the way he fucks me better?”

Champ’s hips jerked involuntarily, his cock leaking pre-cum into his boxers at the degrading words. “Then you tell me about it,” he rasped. “Every fucking detail.”

Justice pulled back slightly, her eyes locked on his, searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, she nodded slowly. “Okay. Let’s invite him over tonight. For a quote.”

Champ’s heart hammered in his chest, excitement and fear swirling together. He pulled out his phone with shaking hands, scrolling to Hammett’s contact information that he’d saved weeks ago when this fantasy first started taking shape in his mind.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his thumb hovering over the call button.

Justice’s hand slid up his thigh, cupping the hard bulge of his cock through his jeans, making him gasp. “I’m sure. But Champ, you need to promise me something.”

“Anything,” he breathed.

“If this gets too real, if you can’t handle it, you tell me immediately. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Champ covered her hand with his, pressing her palm harder against his aching cock. “I promise. But Justice, I need this. We need this.”

She squeezed him gently, then released him, sitting back with a decisive nod. “Then make the call.”

Champ pressed the button, his heart racing as the phone rang. When Hammett answered, his deep voice confident and warm, Champ forced himself to sound casual, mentioning the renovation, inviting him over that evening to discuss the project. Hammett agreed easily, promising to bring his portfolio, and when Champ hung up, the reality of what they’d just set in motion crashed over him.

Justice stood, moving to straddle his lap, her dress riding up her thighs as she settled against him, her pussy pressing against his erection through their clothes. She took his face in her hands, her blue eyes intense.

“I love you,” she said firmly. “This doesn’t change that. This enhances it.”

Champ wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him. “I love you too. So fucking much.”

They kissed deeply, desperately, Champ’s hands roaming her back, sliding down to cup her ass through the thin sundress. Justice ground against him, moaning into his mouth, and for a moment the outside world fell away—no Hammett, no fantasies, just the two of them reconnecting in a way they hadn’t in months.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Justice rested her forehead against his. “We should clean up the house,” she murmured. “Before he gets here.”

Champ nodded, though he didn’t want to let her go. They separated reluctantly, and as Justice moved through the living room, straightening cushions and tidying magazines, Champ watched her with a mix of possessive love and thrilling anticipation. In a few hours, Hammett would walk through that door, and their careful, comfortable life would tilt into something new and dangerous and intoxicating.

Champ’s cock remained stubbornly hard as he helped Justice prepare, his mind already racing ahead to the evening, to the moment when fantasy would begin its transformation into reality.

***

The doorbell rang at seven sharp, and Champ’s stomach clenched with a mix of anticipation and dread. Through the front door’s window, he could see Hammett’s tall, muscular frame silhouetted against the evening light, a toolbox in one hand, his broad shoulders filling the doorway before Champ even opened it. When he did, Hammett stepped inside with the easy confidence of a man who knew his worth, his fitted jeans and work shirt doing nothing to hide the powerful body underneath.

“Champ,” Hammett said, his deep voice resonating in the small entryway as he extended his free hand. His grip was firm, almost crushing, and Champ felt immediately smaller, his lean frame dwarfed by the contractor’s presence. “Good to see you. Thanks for thinking of me for this.”

“Of course,” Champ managed, stepping back to let Hammett fully inside. “We’ve been wanting to update the place for a while.”

Justice appeared from the kitchen, and Champ watched Hammett’s eyes immediately track to her. She’d changed into a different sundress, this one somehow even more revealing, the neckline lower, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that made Champ’s cock stir despite his nervousness. Her dark hair was loose now, cascading down her back, and her blue eyes sparkled as she approached.

“You must be Hammett,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Justice.”

Hammett took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he held it for a moment, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a gesture that felt intimate, possessive. Champ saw Justice’s breath hitch, saw the way her nipples hardened visibly beneath her dress, and his cock throbbed with humiliating arousal.

“Justice,” Hammett repeated, his eyes roaming openly over her body. “Beautiful name. Fits you.”

Justice’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed, a genuine sound that made Champ’s heart clench. “Flattery already? You haven’t even seen the disaster areas yet.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy the view regardless,” Hammett said, releasing her hand slowly.

They began the tour in the kitchen, and Champ trailed behind as Hammett assessed the outdated cabinets and worn countertops with a professional eye. He moved through the space with authority, pointing out structural issues and suggesting solutions in his deep, confident voice. Justice stood close to him, closer than necessary, and Champ noticed the way she leaned in when Hammett gestured to the ceiling, her breasts nearly brushing his arm.

“You’re going to want to tear out all these upper cabinets,” Hammett said, his hand sweeping through the air. “Open it up, make it feel bigger. And this countertop—” He rapped his knuckles against the laminate. “—needs to go. You want stone. Granite, maybe quartz.”

“I like quartz,” Justice said, her voice slightly breathless. “I’ve been looking at samples.”

“Good eye,” Hammett said, turning to smile at her. “Most people don’t know the difference, but you’ve got taste.”

Champ hovered by the doorway, his cock throbbing in his jeans, watching as Hammett acted like he didn't even exist. He'd set this whole thing up, but now he just felt like a ghost in his own house, invisible while his wife flirted with a real man, a man who could probably fuck her so hard she'd forget Champ even existed. The humiliation of being nothing, of watching Justice soak up Hammett's attention while Champ stood there like a loser, made his cock ache with pathetic, desperate excitement.

They moved to the basement next, descending the narrow stairs with Hammett leading the way and Justice following close behind. Champ brought up the rear, his eyes fixed on the way Justice’s dress shifted with each step, revealing the backs of her thighs. At the bottom, the space was cramped and musty, and when Hammett turned to examine the foundation, his body pressed close to Justice’s in the tight quarters.

“Sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t move away. “Tight space down here.”

“It’s okay,” Justice said softly, and Champ saw her place a hand on Hammett’s arm to steady herself, her fingers lingering on his bicep. “We don’t use the basement much because it’s so unfinished.”

“I could make this into something special,” Hammett said, his eyes locked on Justice’s. “Man cave, workshop, extra bedroom… whatever you want.”

“Whatever we want,” Justice echoed, and the way she said it, the slight emphasis on “we,” made it unclear whether she meant herself and Champ or herself and Hammett.

Back upstairs, they gathered in the kitchen again, and Hammett pulled out his phone to show them photos of past projects. He stood between Champ and Justice at the counter, but his body angled toward Justice, their shoulders touching as he swiped through images. Champ watched his wife’s face light up with genuine interest, watched her laugh at Hammett’s stories about difficult clients and unexpected challenges, and felt the sting of being left out even as his arousal built.

“This one took three months,” Hammett was saying, showing a before-and-after of a kitchen renovation. “The owner wanted everything custom, and she was… particular. But I like a challenge.”

“I bet you do,” Justice said, her voice taking on a teasing edge that made Champ’s breath catch.

Hammett grinned, a flash of white teeth that was almost predatory. “The harder the job, the more satisfying it is when it’s done right.”

The double meaning hung in the air, thick and unmistakable. Champ shifted on his feet, his cock aching, his mind flooding with images of Hammett taking Justice, making her cry out, satisfying her in ways Champ couldn’t. The jealousy was sharp, cutting, but beneath it was the thrilling pulse of submission, of knowing his place.

“So what’s your timeline?” Justice asked, leaning against the counter in a way that made her breasts press together, creating a deep line of cleavage that Hammett’s eyes immediately dropped to.

“Flexible,” Hammett said. “I’m wrapping up another job next week, so I could start here in about ten days. Might mean some late nights, working after my day job sometimes, but I’m committed once I take on a project.”

“Late nights,” Justice repeated, her fingers playing with a strand of her hair. “That means we’d be seeing a lot of you.”

“That a problem?” Hammett asked, his voice dropping lower, more intimate.

“Not at all,” Justice said, glancing at Champ with a look that was both reassuring and challenging. “We’d enjoy the company. Wouldn’t we, baby?”

Champ swallowed hard, feeling put on the spot, his role in this dynamic suddenly crystallizing. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice rougher than he intended. “It’ll be good to have someone around who knows what they’re doing.”

Hammett’s eyes flicked to Champ for the first time in several minutes, a hint of amusement in them, as if he understood exactly what was happening here, the power dynamic that was being established. “I’ll take good care of everything,” he said, and though the words were directed at Champ, his gaze returned to Justice. “You have my word on that.”

Justice reached out and touched Hammett’s arm again, this time squeezing his bicep lightly, feeling the muscle beneath her palm. “I’m sure you will,” she said. “You seem very… capable.”

Champ stared at his wife's hand gripping another man's arm, her fingers digging into Hammett's muscle like she was testing the goods. His cock drooled pre-cum into his boxers, the mix of shame and arousal almost too much to handle. He wanted to reach down and jerk himself off right there, just from watching Justice touch a man who was bigger, stronger, and probably had a cock that would make Champ look like a joke.

“Should we talk numbers?” Champ asked, his voice strained, needing to regain some semblance of control.

“Sure,” Hammett said easily, finally stepping back from Justice to pull a notebook from his toolbox. He quoted them a price that was fair, reasonable, and they discussed a payment schedule as the sexual tension in the room remained thick and charged.

When the business was settled, Justice suggested drinks to celebrate, and she poured three glasses of wine. They stood in a loose triangle in the kitchen, and the conversation turned more personal—Hammett’s background in construction, his move to the neighborhood, his views on craftsmanship and quality work. He was charming, articulate, and utterly confident, and Champ felt himself fading into the background as Justice and Hammett’s connection deepened.

“To new projects,” Justice said, raising her glass, her eyes locked on Hammett’s.

“And new friendships,” Hammett added, clinking his glass against hers, then against Champ’s almost as an afterthought.

They drank, and when Justice laughed at another of Hammett’s stories, touching his arm yet again, Champ felt the full weight of what they’d set in motion. This wasn’t just flirtation anymore. This was the beginning of something real, something that would irrevocably change the dynamic of their marriage.

Hammett finished his wine and gathered his things, promising to send over a formal contract in the next few days. At the door, he shook Champ’s hand again with that same crushing grip, then turned to Justice. This time, instead of shaking her hand, he took it and brought it briefly to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles that made her gasp softly.

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said, his eyes intense on hers.

“Me too,” Justice breathed, her cheeks flushed, her body visibly trembling.

When the door closed behind Hammett, the house fell silent except for the sound of their breathing. Champ turned to Justice, seeing his own arousal mirrored in her dilated pupils, her hardened nipples, the flush spreading across her chest.

“Fuck,” Justice whispered.

“Yeah,” Champ agreed, his cock so hard it hurt. “Fuck.”

They stood there in the aftermath, the evening’s charged interactions hanging between them, both knowing that they’d just taken the first real step into the fantasy they’d only talked about hours before. The renovation would start in ten days, but the real transformation—of their marriage, their desires, their boundaries—had already begun.

***

Later that night, the bedroom felt like a pressure cooker, the air thick with everything unspoken between them. Champ stripped down to his boxers, his lean body tense with arousal that hadn’t faded since Hammett walked out their door hours ago. Justice sat on the edge of their bed in a silk nightgown that clung to every curve, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her blue eyes watching Champ with an intensity that made his already hard cock throb painfully.

The bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room, intimate and confessional, and Champ felt the weight of what they’d started pressing down on him. He moved to sit beside Justice, close enough that their thighs touched, and the contact sent electricity through his body.

“So,” Justice said softly, her voice already husky with need. “That happened.”

“Yeah,” Champ breathed, his hand finding her knee, fingers trembling slightly as they rested on her warm skin. “How do you feel?”

Justice bit her lip, her eyes locked on the sad little bulge in his boxers, his cock already leaking like a teenager. "Turned on," she said, not even pretending to hide it. "So fucking turned on. When Hammett kissed my hand, I thought my pussy was going to soak through my dress. I wanted him to bend me over right there, pull up my dress, and fuck me while you watched, your little cock twitching while a real man took me."

Champ groaned at her explicit words, his cock jerking in his boxers. “Tell me more,” he urged, his voice rough with need and humiliation.

“His hands,” Justice continued, her own hand sliding up Champ’s thigh toward his erection. “They’re so big and rough. When he touched me, even just those casual brushes, I could feel how strong he is. And his body, fuck, the way he filled out that shirt…” She trailed off, her breathing quickening.

Champ’s mind flooded with images of those moments—Hammett’s hand holding Justice’s, his thumb caressing her knuckles, the way their bodies pressed together in the basement, Justice’s fingers on his bicep. The jealousy was there, sharp and cutting, but beneath it was the thrilling arousal that came from knowing another man desired his wife, that she desired him back.

“I was so fucking hard watching you,” Champ confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Watching you flirt with him, touch him. The way he looked at you like he wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter right there.”

Justice’s hand cupped his cock through his boxers, squeezing gently, drawing a gasp from him. “Did that humiliate you, baby? Watching me want another man?”

"Yes," Champ groaned, thrusting into her hand. "Fuck, yes. The way he acted like I wasn't even there, the way you two flirted right in front of me... it made me feel like a fucking loser. Like I was just there to watch while you got wet for a real man, while my little cock leaked in my boxers. I almost came in my pants just from that, like some pathetic cuck."

Justice leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “You looked so cute, standing there with your hard little cock, watching me get wet for a real man.”

Champ moaned at the degrading words, his body responding with shameful eagerness. “Justice…”

“Is this okay?” she asked, pulling back to search his face, her hand stilling on his cock. “This kind of talk?”

“Yes,” Champ breathed. “God, yes. It’s exactly what I need.”

Justice smiled, a wicked curve of her lips, and suddenly she was moving, straddling his lap with her thighs spread wide on either side of his hips. The silk nightgown rode up, and Champ felt the heat of her pussy against his cock, only the thin fabric of his boxers separating them. She was soaking wet, the wetness seeping through to dampen his boxers, and he gripped her hips desperately.

"You want to know what I was thinking?" Justice said, grinding her pussy against his cock, making him whimper like a little bitch. "I was thinking about how much bigger Hammett's cock is than yours. How it would feel to have him stretch my cunt open, really fill me up for once, instead of just poking at me with your little dick."

“Fuck,” Champ gasped, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips.

“About how deep he could get inside me,” Justice continued, riding him slowly, tormenting him with the friction. “How hard he could fuck me. Whether I’d be able to take all of him or if it would hurt.”

Champ’s mind reeled with the images her words conjured, his cock leaking steadily, making a wet spot on his boxers. “Are you ready for this?” he managed to ask, even as his body screamed for more. “Really ready? Because once it starts…”

Justice slowed her grinding, her expression shifting from pure lust to something more vulnerable. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “What if I like it too much? What if I develop feelings for him? This isn’t just some stranger, Champ. He’s our neighbor. We’ll see him all the time.”

Champ felt his own doubts surfacing, the ones he’d been pushing down all evening. “What if I can’t handle it?” he countered. “What if watching him fuck you breaks me instead of exciting me? What if I’m not enough for you after?”

They stared at each other in the dim light, both breathing hard, both scared and aroused in equal measure. Justice cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

“We don’t have to do this,” she said softly. “We can cancel. Tell him we changed our minds about the renovation.”

But Champ shook his head, even as fear churned in his gut. “No. I want this. I need this. I just… I need you to promise you’ll still love me. Still want me. Even if he’s better.”

“Oh, baby,” Justice murmured, kissing him deeply, her tongue sliding against his. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with emotion. “You’re the one I married. You’re the one I choose every single day. This is about enhancing what we have, not replacing it.”

Champ nodded, swallowing hard, and pulled her mouth back to his, kissing her with desperate hunger. His hands roamed her body, sliding up under the silk nightgown to cup her breasts, feeling her hard nipples against his palms. Justice moaned into his mouth, grinding harder against his cock, and the emotional intensity transformed back into pure sexual need.

“I want you,” Champ said roughly, his hands moving down to grip her ass, guiding her movements. “Right now. I need to be inside you.”

Justice reached between them, shoving his boxers down to free his cock, then positioning herself over him. She wasn’t wearing panties under the nightgown, and when she sank down onto him, taking his cock into her soaking wet pussy, they both cried out at the sensation.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Champ groaned, his hips bucking up into her. “So fucking wet thinking about him.”

“Yes,” Justice gasped, beginning to ride him with hard, fast movements that made her breasts bounce. “So wet. So fucking turned on. But it’s your cock inside me right now, baby. Your cock I’m riding.”

Champ thrust up into her, matching her rhythm, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. The pleasure was intense, sharpened by the emotional vulnerability they’d just shared, and he felt his orgasm building fast, too fast.

“Not yet,” Justice commanded, slowing her movements, torturing him. “Not until I say.”

She leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs, changing the angle so his cock hit deeper inside her. The sight of her body on display—her breasts straining against the silk, her head thrown back, her pussy stretched around his cock—was almost too much for Champ to handle.

“Touch yourself,” he begged. “Let me see you cum.”

Justice brought one hand to her clit, rubbing in tight circles as she continued to ride him slowly, deliberately. Her pussy clenched around his cock, squeezing him, and Champ felt delirious with the need to cum, his balls aching with the pressure.

"Imagine it's his cock," Justice panted, her fingers working faster on her clit. "Imagine Hammett's big cock stretching me out, fucking me so deep you couldn't even compete. Would you watch, baby? Would you sit in the corner and jerk your little cock while he used me, while I screamed for him?"

“Yes,” Champ groaned, his vision blurring with the intensity of his arousal and humiliation. “Fuck, yes, I’d watch everything.”

“Good boy,” Justice gasped, and the praise mixed with degradation pushed Champ to the edge. “Cum with me, baby. Cum inside me while I think about him.”

Her words, crude and raw and perfect, triggered them both. Justice’s body went rigid, her pussy clamping down on Champ’s cock as she came hard, her cry echoing through the bedroom. The sensation of her orgasm pushed Champ over, and he thrust up into her desperately, emptying himself inside her with shuddering pulses that seemed to go on forever.

“Fuck! Justice! Fuck!” he cried out, his body shaking with the force of his release.

Justice collapsed against him, both of them slick with sweat, hearts pounding against each other. Champ wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his cock still inside her as their bodies trembled with aftershocks.

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair, needing to say it, to affirm what they had.

“I love you too,” Justice replied, her voice soft and sated. “So much.”

They stayed like that for long moments, catching their breath, coming down from the intensity. When Justice finally lifted her head to look at him, there was a mischievous glint in her blue eyes that made Champ’s spent cock twitch weakly.

“Ten days,” she said, a teasing smile playing at her lips. “Ten days until Hammett starts the renovation. Until he’s here every day, working in our house, close to me.”

Champ’s heart stuttered, the reality of it hitting him all over again. “Yeah,” he breathed.

Justice leaned in, her lips brushing his as she whispered, “I can’t wait.”

The promise in her words, the anticipation of everything that was to come, settled over them like a tangible thing. Champ held his wife close, his mind already racing ahead to those ten days, to what would happen when fantasy finally became reality, and despite his fears, despite the vulnerability, he felt a surge of excitement that matched his earlier arousal.

They’d started something tonight that couldn’t be stopped. The renovation of their house—and their marriage—was about to begin.