Some ineffable emotions were swept away by the warm tide, surging into the corners where the lights could not reach.

Breaths were hot, mingling, a dark undercurrent swelling.

The rustling of fabric sounded like sparks on a fuse, crackling softly.

Yet, the rain clouds had begun to drizzle.

Michael straightened his back slightly and smiled helplessly, his voice tinged with an uncontrollable sorrow, “Crying again? How many times have you cried in front of me today?”

He released Emily’s chin and used his fingers to catch the tears rolling down her cheeks.

His other hand loosened its grip, moving upwards to gently stroke her trembling back.

Emily still clung to the fabric on his back, murmuring, “I don’t want to cry… Whether they do it in the living room or the bedroom, they just can’t do it in the kitchen!”

Michael joined her in cursing, “Yes, they’re awful. Doing this, they will surely face divine retribution.”

Her most cherished place had been defiled, and Emily was deeply aggrieved. The accumulated resentment finally erupted.

She broke down and cursed vehemently, “For years, I have been a dutiful wife, cooking, managing the household, earning my own money. Whenever he wanted me, I gave myself to him…”

Michael’s temple throbbed with anger, “Emily! What are you saying!”

“I’m stating the truth! He complained I was gaining weight, so I dieted and exercised! He said I wasn’t enthusiastic enough in bed, so I watched films to learn! He said I wasn’t wet enough…”

Michael abruptly covered her mouth, his voice strained, “Enough! What’s going on? The more you say, the more absurd it gets!”

All that talk about learning and wetness—those words were driving him mad with heat.

Just a few inches above his abdomen, two soft mounds pressed against him—Michael knew she was well-endowed. All day, she had sat in the passenger seat, the seatbelt pressing deeply between her breasts, creating a pair of plump, round mounds.

Sometimes, when the car hit a bump, those mounds would bounce.

Their presence was too strong; Michael had to constantly remind himself not to look.

And now, they were directly against him.

She was likely wearing a sports bra, the fabric thin without thick padding.

Yet, it was astonishingly soft.

Their lower bodies were also pressed tightly together.

In the height of summer, his pants were thin, and Emily’s loose pajama pants were not much thicker. Amidst the chaos, a certain part of him had started to awaken.

The rising impulse and desire wedged between them like a seed, ready to break through the soil.

Michael no longer restrained Emily, but she didn’t push him away; instead, her ten fingers tightened their grip on his clothes.

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Then, the hand that was loosely covering Emily’s mouth felt something lick its palm.

Wet, soft.

His lower abdomen tightened, his brow twitched, and Michael’s neck went numb.

He gritted his teeth but couldn’t bear to withdraw his hand.

Then, his palm was lightly bitten. It didn’t hurt, but it sent shivers down his spine, raising every hair on his body.

The French windows were open, and the hot wind from outside blew in, inflating the balloon of desire between their chests.

Emily’s eyes were brimming with tears, shimmering. When she blinked, tears would fall.

She had never done anything so daring, embracing a man she had only met a few times, signaling her desire so openly.

Her husband’s infidelity was like a hammer, cracking the eggshell that had enclosed her.

The cracks grew longer and more numerous; she couldn’t stop it. A belated rebellion sprouted from the fissures.

Why?

Why should she follow the rules obediently, only to be repeatedly betrayed and hurt?

The man’s palm was dry and warm, with a faint scent of tobacco. The flesh was rough, marked by years of hard work.

Her tongue darted out again, like a water snake, gliding from his palm to the base of his middle finger.

There, a simple gold ring from Cartier’s love collection.

She didn’t ask if it was a couple’s ring shared with Amanda.

She closed her eyes, licking the ring until it was wet, her saliva filling the engraved screws symbolizing sincere fidelity.

Michael exhaled heavily.

Just from a lick, his member was fully erect, pitifully wedged between them.

He curled his fingers slightly, no longer covering Emily’s mouth, narrowing his eyes, saying, “...Try licking it again?”

His voice was low and husky with warning, his lower abdomen pressed with an undeniable hardness. Emily's shoulders trembled but she ignored his feigned threat, continuing to quietly lick his fingers.

Her tongue traced upwards, leaving a trail of moisture, arriving at the fingertips, she opened her mouth and enveloped them.

She raised her eyelids, her eyelashes trembling, and looked up at Michael.

Michael's eyes darkened, his hand shifted direction, slipping under her hem, flesh against flesh, cupping her lower back.

Emily’s tongue swirled around his fingertip, and with each circle, Michael’s fingers ascended along her spine.

The faster she licked, the higher he climbed.

His fingers were soaked, and Michael simultaneously peeled back the elastic fabric of her back.

Five fingers slipped in.

The flesh under his palm was impossibly soft, but a slight press revealed the bone beneath.

Michael had known from the start, she wasn’t as pliant as her appearance suggested, easily molded by others.

Her bones were quite rigid.

He paused, refraining from touching the softer area in front.

But he was close, just a palm's distance from her peaks.

Michael looked down at her, “Emily, I’m no saint.”

He began to move the middle finger in her mouth, gently thrusting in the warm, wet cavity.

His fingernail lightly grazed her tongue.

Emily, still holding his fingers in her mouth, mumbled, “Didn’t you say you could stay with me these three days?”

“Yes, what do you want me to do?”

With that, Michael added his ring finger to her mouth.

Emily hesitated for a moment, then took it in.

She stopped licking, and instead, lightly sucked on the tips of his fingers, her voice even more muffled, “Hold me…”

Michael pressed her back firmly, pulling them closer, “Aren’t I holding you now?”

Her lower abdomen was struck by the aggressive little beast, and Emily whimpered, spitting out his fingers, frowning as she deliberately provoked him, “Don’t play dumb! Michael, are you just like Amanda said, incapable, ugh—”

Michael lifted her face and kissed her fiercely.

He gave Emily no chance to regret, his assault relentless, capturing that deft tongue and entwining with it passionately.

He then grasped her soft breast, his fingers sinking deep into the pliant flesh, feeling like he was holding sweet cream, the sensation overwhelmingly exquisite.

Momentarily losing control, Michael exerted a bit too much force, and heard Emily moan softly.

He quickly gentled his touch, his deep kiss still domineering, while his fingers tenderly caressed her delicate peaks.

Emily’s legs grew weak from the kiss, her steps unsteady, clutching Michael's clothes like holding onto a piece of driftwood in an endless sea.

Their lower bodies rubbed and pressed against each other, Emily conceding first, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, “Breath…can’t breathe…”

Michael, also breathing unevenly, reluctantly released her lips.

He reluctantly kneaded her breast twice more, then withdrew his hand, reversing his grip to clasp Emily’s wrist, guiding it down, pressing it against his throbbing erection.

Feeling it herself, she realized how hot and hard it was, her breathing quickened, but it was too late to escape now.

Michael leaned down, his hand guiding her wrist, stroking the painful hardness.

He brushed aside her dark, seaweed-like hair, kissing the pale expanse of her neck.

“Whether I’m capable or not, why don’t you find out for yourself?”