It was only the second time my wife met her lover, but already the sounds of their intimacy were unmistakable from the other room. I sat quietly in the guest bedroom, the unmistakable rhythm of skin against skin and her breathy moans filling the air. She sounded exquisite as he made love to her.
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I didn’t feel conflicted—in fact, I wasn’t upset—but my own arousal was more muted. Earlier, when they first started, I’d gotten hard, but now, sitting there, a slow leak told me my excitement had softened, though the sensation was strangely satisfying. I absentmindedly touched myself, savoring the experience of hearing her pleasure.
Let me rewind. That evening, we had planned a trip to IKEA around 9:30 PM to pick up some furniture. While out, he messaged her, saying he needed a beer to unwind after sex. On our way back, we stopped and grabbed two cans for him and two for me. Once home, I assembled the new furniture in about forty minutes, anticipation bubbling as I waited for him to arrive.
When he showed up, they exchanged a few words before she accompanied him into the bedroom. Moments later, the intimate sounds began—soft moans, the wet thump of passion. Curious, I cracked open the door to the guest room and listened, my own body responding subtly. I wasn’t sure if he reached climax, but her moans told a story of blissful surrender, a melody so delicious it planted a seed of desire in me. I could definitely see myself getting used to nights like this.