After that night, Stiles couldn’t get Derek out of her head.

She lay in bed next to Scott, listening to his soft snores, staring at the ceiling with her thighs pressed tightly together. She still tasted Derek’s salt on her tongue, still felt the ache in her jaw from trying to fit him down her throat. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the way he smirked at her, how big his cock looked in her hand compared to Scott’s.

Her pussy pulsed just thinking about it.

Scott would sometimes roll over, kiss her cheek, and mumble a sleepy “love you” before turning back. He had no idea that his perfect, beautiful wife was wide awake, dripping wet, and replaying every filthy second of her neighbor’s cock in her mouth.

During the day, it didn’t get better.

She’d try to go about her routine—laundry, groceries, scrolling her phone—but the smallest things set her off. The sight of a cucumber at the market. The way Derek’s car rumbled when he drove past their house. Even hearing him in his backyard chopping wood, his grunts echoing, his muscles flexing under that tight shirt. Her nipples hardened instantly, and she had to bite her lip to stop a moan from slipping out on the porch.

That evening, while Scott showered, Stiles couldn’t resist anymore. She slipped into their bedroom, closed the door, and lay back on the bed.

Her slutty little tank top was already clinging to her boobs, no bra beneath. She slid a hand down her stomach, under her shorts, and found herself drenched. Soaked through her panties just from thinking about Derek.

“Oh God,” she whispered, biting her pillow.

Her fingers slid between her folds, rubbing in circles, slick noises filling the quiet room. She imagined Derek standing over her, growling at her to spread her legs wider. She imagined that massive cock parting her, stretching her until she screamed.

“Mmm, Derek,” she moaned under her breath, shame mixing with pleasure. “So… fucking… big.”

Her hips rocked off the bed, boobs bouncing wildly under her tank top. She pinched her nipples with one hand while the other furiously fingered her clit, juices soaking her panties. The thought of Scott—her sweet, clueless husband—just a few steps away in the bathroom made it even filthier.

She remembered how Derek forced her to gag, how his cock hit the back of her throat, how rough his hands were in her hair. She came undone, body arching, a wet gush spilling into her panties as her orgasm ripped through her.

She lay there panting, sweaty, thighs trembling. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. Not anymore. Not after Derek.

Later that night, Scott climbed into bed beside her, smiling softly. He kissed her shoulder, slid a hand under the blanket, and started touching her gently. “You in the mood, baby?” he whispered.

She smiled weakly, letting him push inside her. He moved slowly, carefully, trying to please her. But his small, shallow thrusts only made her wetter for another man. She shut her eyes and imagined Derek slamming into her, stretching her walls, filling her like Scott never could.

She moaned louder than usual, and Scott beamed, thinking he was finally satisfying her. But all the while, in her mind, she was whispering Derek’s name.

And when Scott finally finished, collapsing beside her, Stiles stayed awake once again—still aching, still starving, her pussy still dripping for the neighbor with the cock of her dreams.