Beta Cuckold, Alpha Wife Pt. 06
The automatic doors of the parking garage slid open and the wall of humid city air slapped them like a wet towel. It was past eleven, the flight from Punta Cana had landed almost an hour late, and both of them looked like they’d been baked under Caribbean sun for a week: skin golden, noses peeling, hair salty and wild. Jessica stepped out first, stretching her neck with a tired groan that sounded half moan, half growl. She had on the same clothes from the plane: super tiny faded denim shorts sitting really low, so the top of her white lace thong showed a little. Her thin white crop top was a bit see-through from sweat. No bra, she had laughed at the gate: “No way I’m putting a bra back on till Monday.” The …