마스터

I sleep with my neighbor in my house while my husband was away. I had been married for seven years when the restlessness really started to sink in. My husband worked late most nights, and our conversations had dwindled to quick texts about dinner or bills. I spent more evenings alone. Elijah lived directly below me. He was in his mid-thirties, kept to himself, but always offered a polite nod whenever we crossed paths in the stairwell. I noticed the way his shirts stretched across his shoulders, the calm way he carried himself. I tried not to stare. One Thursday my husband left for a three-day conference. I was unpacking groceries when I heard the knock. Elijah stood in the hallway holding a bottle of red wine, saying he’d seen my husband’s suitcase by the car and figured I might want company. I hesitated, then stepped aside and let him in. We sat at the kitchen table at first, talking about building repairs and weekend plans. The wine disappeared faster than either of us expected. When the conversation turned quieter, Elijah reached across the table and brushed his thumb over the back of my hand. I didn’t pull away. He stood, came around the table, and kissed me. It wasn’t gentle. I opened my mouth for him, tasting wine on his tongue. His hands slid under my shirt, palms rough against my skin as he cupped my breasts and squeezed. I felt my nipples tighten under his thumbs. I pulled my shirt off. Elijah unhooked my bra and bent to suck one nipple, then the other, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. He pushed my jeans and panties down in one motion, lifted me onto the table,