My Husband Lent Me to His Student

"Mrs. Lawrence, you wouldn't want your husband to find out you almost wet yourself in my car, would you?"

The words sent a jolt through me as Ethan, my husband's student's boyfriend, buried his face beneath my summer dress, inspecting the undeniable proof of my desperation.

My cheeks burned as my gaze flickered toward the trees—where Professor Daniel Lawrence had his college girl pressed against the trunk, moving with the relentless rhythm of a jackhammer.

It all started with a highway traffic jam.

That was when I discovered my obsession—the unbearable pressure, the torturous hold, and then the overwhelming release that left me trembling. It was addictive.

Now, standing in the bathroom, scrubbing my soaked panties with trembling hands, the memory of that thrill surged through me again. Shame burned in my chest, but it was nothing compared to the heat pooling between my thighs.

I couldn't resist.

The showerhead was in my hand before I could think, turned to the strongest setting. The water pounded against my skin, soothing the restless fire inside me—just for a moment, letting me forget about Daniel's affair.

Ten years of marriage.

Ten years of stability, happiness, even passion—until it wasn't enough.

Six months ago, I found out about the girl from the nightclub. Daniel apologized. I forgave. But the distance between us grew, our touches fewer, our intimacy colder.

And the frustration? It built like a volcano, simmering beneath my skin, waiting for the slightest spark to erupt.

Ethan Roland was that spark.

Young. Handsome. Built.

The way his muscles flexed when he moved, the raw strength in his broad palms—one glance and I knew exactly how they'd feel against me.

I couldn't stop imagining it.

His touch would be scorching. His fingers—thick, rough—would fill me so completely that just two would be enough to unravel me. A few strokes, and I'd be drowning.

And the size of what was hidden beneath his jeans? Impossible to ignore.

I clenched my thighs, biting back a whimper. The familiar urge surged, impossible to resist.

Thank God for dark summer dresses.

But then, things at home started changing.

Objects moved when they shouldn't have.

And today, in the shower, I found them—a pair of men's underwear.

Ethan's.

The scent was unmistakable.

Flustered, I threw them in the trash—only to catch myself staring as the water cascaded over my skin. Heat coiled deep inside me. My breath hitched, shame and frustration tangling as warm liquid trickled down my thighs, mixing with the shower spray.

I meant to throw them away for good.

But then Daniel called.

"Working late at the university."

After a heartbeat of hesitation, I carried Ethan's underwear to my bedroom, my face on fire.

The scent alone sent hunger crashing through me. Just the fabric had me imagining what it concealed—his rough fingers, his powerful hips, the way he'd move over me, relentless—

Then, blank bliss.

I was still trembling when Ethan's message lit up my phone.

"Mrs. Lawrence, Sophia says she can't handle how rough I am. She wants to break up. We're camping this weekend—ride with me and Daniel. Help talk some sense into her."

My face burned. How could he say something like that so casually?

But then again, with his size and stamina, no young girl could last.

Hell, even I might not survive a full night of that.

The thought left me aching all over again.

Biting my lip, I typed a reply, fingers unsteady.