Mrs. Bad Wife

1:23 AM.

“Hey, baby, I’m home.” Carmen’s soft voice drifted into the master bedroom, bright but a little husky.

A surge of pride and affection swept through me as I sat up. She must have had a hell of a night with her girlfriends. Good for her. My woman deserved to have fun.

Carmen was all the things I ever wanted. Petite and devastating, with tan skin, huge brown eyes, a tangled mane of hair, and a mouth that was made for swallowing. At thirty-seven, she looked as ripe as the day I met her, ten damn years ago.

She took good care of herself, too.

I put effort into leading a healthy lifestyle—I kept the trucker belly at bay in my late thirties with protein shakes and dumbbell routines on the road—but my ass was lucky every time I got to see Carmen naked.

She stood a shade over five feet, with a tiny waist, hips for riding, and tits that made everyone in the tri-state area weep. I’m talking C-cups with the kind of natural buoyancy that only comes from genetics and a zest for life. Thick, dark nipples that made a horny man kneel and worship. Her curvy ass was heartbreak on a stick, too. Not to mention those strong, sexy thighs.

My dick was so hard under the sheets.

Not surprising. Like a lot of sick fucks, I was never shy about professing my love for my wife’s assets to other men. I liked to see their hungry glances. It made me even more proud to show her off.

The door swung open, and hallway light spilled into the room as Carmen entered, humming something under her breath.

She came into focus as she sauntered toward the dresser. I got an eyeful of her unbuttoned turquoise top, cascading down over her shoulders in slow motion, revealing her lingerie. A red leopard print bra and a black thong that had no business covering so little material—and was so deeply buried in her ass, I had to take a hard swallow.

Oh, I loved when my wife wore her skivvies.

She had a damn lingerie collection bigger than my vintage Hot Wheels stash. Silk, lace, mesh. My woman spared no expense for undergarments that made her feel good. And me, too.

Carmen didn’t know I walked around like the King of Dick Town, holding her hand. I might have been chainsaw-sized everywhere but the crotch department, but nobody could convince me I wasn’t the luckiest man alive.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to have dinner, drinks, and dancing all night—baby.”

She flung her shirt at the basket of dirty laundry, missing it by a mile.

“Things ran over.” She unsnapped her bra, let it tumble into the hamper, and followed up by tossing her thong in after it, along with her shoes. “I’ll make it up to you by thanking you for being the sexiest man as soon as I get some of this club out of my hair in the shower.”

I smiled, propping my head on a pillow. “You have fun?”

Carmen started toward the ensuite, absentmindedly sticking her finger in her mouth. “Sure did.” Her gaze caught on my groin, and, as always, her pupils swelled with interest. “You miss me?”

She wasn’t just talking about missing her company; she was asking me if I missed her story. Her secret. Another man’s cologne lying on her skin. My ey