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Carolyn’s plane touched down at LAX just after ten on a Sunday night.
She texted David from the jet bridge the way she always did after these “girls’ weekends”:
Home in 90. Don’t wait up… unless you want the details while they’re still fresh. ?
David was waiting up. Of course he was.
He’d spent the last four days in a low-grade fever of anticipation, checking her location when it lingered too long at the Ace Hotel pool, then at a house in the Deepwell Estates, then at some rooftop bar called The Tonga Room that didn’t even exist on Google Maps. Every blurry Instagram story she posted (sun-kissed cleavage, a man’s tatted forearm handing her a drink, her lips wrapped around a cherry stem) had landed like a punch to the gut and a stroke to the cock at the same time.
The front door opened at 11:47 p.m.
Carolyn stepped inside wearing the same white sundress she’d left in on Thursday, only now it was wrinkled, the straps slipping off her sun-browned shoulders, the hem shorter somehow, like it had been rolled at the waist for easy access. Her dark hair was tousled, salt-stiff from the desert wind. She smelled like coconut oil, chlorine, and something darker, unmistakably male.
She dropped her weekender bag with a soft thud and kicked the door shut behind her.
“Hey, baby,” she said, voice husky from four days of screaming at concerts and moaning into hotel pillows. “Miss me?”
David couldn’t speak. He just nodded from the couch, already hard beneath his thin sweatpants.
Carolyn smiled that lazy, satisfied smile he’d come to both love and fear. She walked over slowly, barefoot, the dress riding higher with every step. When she reached him, she straddled his lap without asking, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The hem rode up completely; she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She was swollen, pink, glistening, and the scent hit him like a drug.
“Four nights,” she whispered, leaning in until her lips brushed his ear. “Eight different men. I lost count of how many times.”
David groaned, hands automatically going to her hips. She let him hold her, but didn’t move yet, just hovered there, letting him feel the heat radiating off her.
“Want to hear it in order?” she asked, tracing his lower lip with one finger. “Or should I just show you what’s left?”
He managed a strangled “Both.”
Carolyn laughed softly and reached for his right hand. She guided it between her legs, pressing two of his fingers inside her without resistance. She was so slick it was obscene, still open from whoever had had her last.
“Noah was first,” she said, rocking gently against his hand. “Bartender at the Ace. Twenty-nine, surfer hair, pierced tongue. Fucked me on a lounge chair at 3 a.m. while my friends watched from the hot tub.”
She pushed his fingers deeper, using his hand like a toy.
“Friday night, we rented that big house on the golf course. Five guys from a bachelor party showed up. They took turns on me in the casita until sunrise. One of them, Jake, he’s hung like it should be illegal, came inside me three separate times. I can still feel him if I clench.”
She clenched. David felt it around his fingers and nearly came, untouched.
“Saturday was the pool party at the Saguaro. I met a DJ named Mateo. He had me in the cabana bathroom, then again in the back of his Sprinter van. He filmed the second round, baby. I haven’t decided if I’ll let you watch it yet.”
Her hips started moving in slow circles now, riding his hand while she told the story like she was reading the weather.
“And tonight,” she continued, her voice dropping to a hiss in his ear, “on the way to the airport, Lauren’s friend Ryan drove me. Pulled over outside Joshua Tree, bent me over the hood of his Jeep while the stars came out. He said to make sure I came home to you dripping.”
She leaned back, planted her hands on his knees, and rolled her hips so he could see everything, his fingers buried inside her, the evidence of other men still leaking out around them.
“I did what he asked,” she said, eyes locked on him. “I’m such a good wife.”
David was shaking. She pulled his hand free and slowly guided it to his mouth. He lapped hungrily almost instinctively, licking his fingers clean of the other men while she watched, her pupils blown wide.
Carolyn slid down to the floor between his legs, tugged his sweatpants off, and took him deep in one smooth motion, no teasing tonight. She sucked him like she was starving for something only he could give her now, even after everything. When he warned her he was close, she just hummed and kept going, swallowing every drop while her fingers slipped between her own thighs to finish what the weekend had started.
Afterward, she crawled back into his lap, kissed him slowly and deeply so he tasted himself on her tongue, and curled against his chest like a cat.
“Next year,” she murmured, already half-asleep, “you’re coming with me. I want you to watch them do it next time.”
David wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of Palm Springs still clinging to her skin, and knew. Somehow, he knew she would ask for that.
He’d already booked the flights.
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