I Was Still on the Phone With My Husband When He Started Fucking Me

I was still on the phone with my husband when he started fucking me.

“How’s the evening going, baby?” Rohan’s voice came through the speaker, warm and ordinary.

I was bent over the kitchen counter. Reyan stood behind me, jeans open, thick cock already in his fist, rubbing the head through the wetness that had soaked my panties the moment he walked in. I had texted him the second my husband called to say his flight was delayed until morning.

“It’s… quiet,” I managed, voice almost steady.

Reyan hooked my panties to the side and pushed in with one slow, deliberate thrust. My mouth fell open. I bit down on my fist to keep the sound in.

“You okay?” Rohan asked. “You sound out of breath.”

“Just… climbed the stairs,” I lied.

Reyan started moving. Deep, controlled strokes that filled me completely. One hand stayed on my hip. The other reached around and rubbed slow circles over my clit. I had to grip the counter with both hands.

“What are you wearing?” Rohan asked, playful now. He always got like this when he was alone in a hotel.

“Your shirt,” I answered, because it was true. And nothing underneath.

Reyan fucked me harder at that, like the answer turned him on. The wet sound of him sliding in and out of me felt deafening. I was terrified Rohan would hear it.

“Miss me?” my husband asked.

“Yes,” I whispered, and it wasn’t a complete lie. I missed the version of us that used to feel this urgent.

Reyan pinched my clit and I almost moaned into the phone. I turned it into a cough. He leaned over my back, mouth against my ear, and whispered, “Come while you’re talking to him.”

I shook my head frantically. He rubbed faster, fucked deeper. The dual sensation of my husband’s voice and Reyan’s cock was filthy and overwhelming. My orgasm built fast and mean.

“I wish I was there,” Rohan said. “I’d bend you over that counter and—”

I came. Hard. My knees buckled. Reyan held me up and kept thrusting through it, hand clamped over my mouth so the broken sounds couldn’t reach the phone. I shook against the counter while my husband kept talking, completely unaware.

Reyan didn’t stop. He chased his own release with short, brutal strokes and buried himself deep when he finished, flooding me while I was still trying to breathe normally for the call.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Y-yes,” I managed. “Sorry. Dropped the phone.”

Reyan stayed inside me, still pulsing, one hand stroking my back like he was soothing a skittish animal. I could feel every thick spurt. My thighs were already sticky.

“I should let you sleep,” Rohan said. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hung up.

The second the call ended Reyan pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the counter. He was still hard. Or hard again. He shoved my legs wide, looked at the mess he had made of me, and sank back in with a single thrust.

“You’re disgusting,” I whispered, already wrapping my legs around him.

“You stayed on the phone,” he answered, and started fucking me again—deeper, hungrier. “You came while he was talking. Don’t pretend you’re not filthy.”

I came again within minutes, crying out freely now that the call was over. He followed soon after, groaning into my neck as he filled me a second time.

We didn’t make it to the bed for the third round. He took me on the living room floor, then once more against the wall near the front door. By the time we finally collapsed on the couch I was sore, marked, and so full of him it was leaking out with every shift of my legs.

Reyan kissed the corner of my mouth, voice rough.

“Next time he calls, I want you on your knees with my cock in your mouth while you talk to him.”

I should have said no. Instead I felt a fresh pulse of heat between my legs and whispered,

“Okay.”

He smiled against my skin—dark, satisfied—and pulled me closer.

My husband would be home tomorrow night.

Until then, the door stayed unlocked.