Emily felt everything was too unfamiliar.

The small room, painted in varying shades by the lights outside, was strange.

The irregular ceiling light was strange.

The overly soft mattress lacking support was strange.

The slightly rough bed linens were strange.

The entirely different lovemaking routine was strange.

The man between her legs, bringing her pleasure, was strange.

The winding, urgent, and soft moans escaping her mouth were strange.

The strangest of all was her own physiological response.

She was exceedingly sensitive; Michael’s kisses in the living room had already aroused her, her small hole slightly open, spring tides flowing.

When her panties were pulled aside, Emily could finally breathe a sigh of relief—they were so wet, sticking to her flesh uncomfortably.

But the next second, Michael chuckled wickedly in her ear, teasing, “Wow, so much water.”

Emily didn’t know if his words had a double meaning or if everything she heard tonight sounded erotic.

In her encounters with Anderson, foreplay occupied very little time. During their courtship and early marriage, Anderson was willing to serve her, extending the foreplay a bit, but rarely like Michael, who devoted over half an hour just to foreplay.

He seemed the impatient type.

Michael lingered on her chest for a long time. The cold air blew, and without needing his touch, her nipples had already stood up on their own.

The new method of caressing was also unfamiliar.

His fingertips skimmed over the soft flesh of her waist, light and fast, like a waterbird's wings slicing through a still lake, creating ripples.

The itchiness turned into uncontrollable pleasure; Michael’s gentle touches sent waves through her, making her tremble, her hips swaying, her small hole sucking in air and expelling sticky, cool spring water.

When Michael scraped up the liquid trickling to her buttocks, asking, “Why so much water?” Emily thickened her skin and replied that she “always had this much.”

But it wasn’t true; she wasn’t easily aroused.

Especially in recent years, she felt her sexual desire plummeting to the bottom. If Anderson didn’t initiate, she could go one or two months without thinking about it.

Or rather, she didn’t enjoy Anderson’s way of lovemaking.

If foreplay wasn’t long enough, she would be somewhat dry, yet Anderson disliked lubricants. He would thrust in as long as she was slightly wet.

Without sufficient preparation, it naturally hurt, but she still had to accommodate his thrusts, whimpering along.

Anderson knew she was slow to warm up, later letting her choose small toys.

But the toys weren’t for foreplay during their lovemaking; they were for Emily to pre-wet herself before they started.

Her body now felt too unfamiliar; Emily didn’t know where all this water was coming from.

It surged continuously, wave after wave, without end.

Was this the extra pleasure from “adultery”?

No wonder so many people sought this thrill.

Once, twice, slowly becoming an addiction.

…So, was Anderson also infatuated with this unrestrained pleasure, leading him to cheat?

Suddenly, her clitoris was hit hard, causing a tingling shock up her spine, and she screamed, “Ah—!”

Stimulated, her waist arched and fell heavily. She clenched her fingers but couldn’t grasp Michael’s short hair, in her confusion, she pulled his ear, gasping, “Not like this, too hard…”

Michael propped himself up, his voice deep, “Then why are you distracted? Hmm? What are you thinking about?”

The room wasn’t completely dark, shadows flickered, but without her glasses and with tears in her eyes, Emily couldn’t see Michael’s features clearly.

In a blur, she vaguely felt there was a mating black panther between her legs.

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The panther’s eyes were sharp as knives, fiery within, hidden in the dimness yet still scorching her whole body.

Emily murmured, “Not distracted, just feels so strange…”

Michael’s fingers moved lower, his voice even lower, “I seem strange?”

“No, this feeling is strange…” Emily swayed her waist, her empty little pussy unconsciously seeking his fingers, shyly asking, “Do you like giving girls oral?”

Unless Michael had a peculiar fetish…

A finger slid into her vagina, Michael shallowly thrusting, water sounds squelching.

He thought for a moment, “No, I don’t do this often.”

Usually, only in moments of deep affection would he do this for his partner.

Earlier, he was somewhat dazed; Emily was soft everywhere, just scratching her waist and spine made her water drip onto the sheets.

But her entrance was tight; after trying twice, seeing her pained expression, Michael wanted to wet his fingers for lubrication.

Forgetting her juices were on his fingers, he tasted them, got heated, and buried his head to lick her.

“You’re so tight… haven’t done it in a long time?”

Emily gasped, “Yeah… before your ‘message,’ I don’t know how long it’s been…”

She meant the first “anonymous message” Michael sent.

Michael frowned, cursing Anderson for not appreciating his blessings.

Emily smiled bitterly.

Before the “message,” Anderson was indifferent; after the “message,” Emily felt it was dirty.

She immediately got a health check-up, afraid of contracting a disease.

The pleasure increased, Emily’s moans grew urgent.

Soon, she couldn’t form complete sentences, reaching out to the dark figure, “Michael, Michael… come closer…”

Michael lay beside her, his hands still moving, “What is it? Want a hug?”

Emily hooked her arm around his neck, lifting her head to kiss him, “I can’t see without my glasses… you need to be closer so I can see you…”

Michael paused.

He couldn't tell how sincere Emily was, but her words pleased him.

The sands in the hourglass fell ever faster.

Thrusting, scraping, pressing, each withdrawal of his fingers drew out sweet, sticky nectar.

Emily's eyes misted over, her snowy hips trembled violently, and she cried out incoherently, “I can't take it,” her voice delicate as a spring breeze.

Michael's arousal swelled.

He hadn’t brought condoms, and neither had Emily. This well-regulated guesthouse didn’t provide any, but fortunately, the convenience store was ever-reliable. Before bringing Emily to the room, he’d stopped at the nearest store to buy some.

He restrained himself, his fingers moving rapidly, kissing Emily, swallowing her fragmented murmurs.

The parched field gradually soaked, the soil becoming moist.

Sprouting, elongating, tasseling, blooming, finally ripening.

The wheat ears swayed in the wind, seeds falling with a rustling sound.

Emily lay on the bed, lightly panting, her chest rising and falling, savoring the lingering waves of climax.

What should have been a blurred world slowly enveloped her in a warm cloud.

She stretched out her arms, embracing that cloud, and saw his face clearly.

Michael kissed the corner of her mouth tenderly, suggesting, “Why don't you keep your glasses off tonight?”

Emily immediately understood his meaning, her heart softening, she murmured, “Okay…”

This way, Michael would be the only one she could see in her world tonight.

Emily felt content and wanted Michael to feel the same.

Michael had yet to take off his shorts, only his upper body was bare, his crotch bulging prominently. Emily reached over, rubbed twice, and was about to pull down his shorts when she suddenly remembered something.

Michael whispered to Emily, “Wait here.”

He retrieved a condom from his discarded pants, tearing and biting the wrapper open, wondering why he felt as clumsy as a young boy.

Walking towards the room, removing his pants, he’d half put on the condom, inexplicably excited like a child: “Chirp—”

“Shh!”

Michael was interrupted, puzzled, he looked at the bed.

Emily sat on the bed, the blanket slipping to pile around her waist and hips.

The light from her phone screen shone, casting a faint glow, exposing the confusion on her face.

Michael frowned, approached, glanced down, his temple throbbing.

It was a call from “Husband.”

An inexplicable anger surged, Michael reached for Emily’s phone, “Don’t answer it.”

Unexpectedly, Emily avoided him, shaking her head, “I have to answer.”

The raging fire within him was doused with a bucket of ice water, leaving Michael a bit deflated, but Emily's next words yanked his heart back up.

Emily pointed to the bed, her voice hoarse and low from her earlier release, “Lie down, I'll be on top…”

In an instant, Michael felt a rush of exhilaration.

Thinking about what was to come, he couldn't help but feel excited again.

He lay down, lifting his chin, smiling roguishly, “Sister, come on, tonight I'm yours.”

His hands clasped behind his head, a picture of nonchalant confidence.

Emily made a shushing gesture, straddling his abdomen where a faint line of hair grew.

It was her first time doing something so against conventional morals, her heart pounding in her throat. She steadied her breath, answered the call, “Hello… husband.”

Anderson on the other end sounded impatient, “What took you so long to answer?”

“I was showering, just turned off the water when I heard the phone…”

Emily knelt, one hand holding the phone, the other reaching down, gripping the silent, fierce beast.

Through the latex, the sensation was mediocre, with some lubricant.

She couldn’t bother with that now, quickly finding the right position.

Positioning it at her softest spot, only the tip went in and Emily already felt sore and swollen.

She looked down at Michael, his face hidden in the dim light, she could barely make out his features, only sensing his playful smile had vanished.

Even his thigh muscles were taut, rock-hard.

Emily slowly sank down, asking, “What did you do today? I called you this afternoon, were you busy?”

Her voice trembled, but Anderson couldn’t tell, he replied perfunctorily, “Yeah, busy at the office all day.”

Emily asked, “Oh, you must be tired. What did you have for dinner? Takeout at the office?”

Anderson's voice was somewhat muffled, “Yeah, takeout.”

Swallowing half of the massive length, Emily's legs turned weak, her hands braced on Michael’s firm abs.

She sighed, a faint, desolate smile tugging at her lips.

It was a smile of resignation.

The room was quiet, the phone’s volume was loud, Michael could probably hear their conversation.

That smile also fell into Michael's eyes.

He clenched his jaw, barely restraining the urge to thrust wildly into Emily, to let Anderson know she was “busy” and shouldn’t be disturbed.

Emily chatted casually with her husband, breathing deeply, inching down to take the entire length.

Once fully seated, both she and Michael sighed silently, Emily then asked Anderson, “Do you know what I did today?”

On the other end, Anderson, hearing the water stop in the bathroom, started to sound distracted, “You? Didn’t you post on your Moments? Class, then trying a new restaurant…”

Emily began to move her hips, slowly at first, not very skillful.

Just this slow grind was enough to bring her pleasure, each sore and dry patch of land being soothed.

She closed her eyes, her expression a mix of emotions, her voice betraying no hint of her true feelings, “Yeah, the food there was really good.”