Chapter 4

I wait by the door for Matt to get home the next evening, smiling as I watch him shuffle from his car, one hand rubbing at his stomach.

"Matt," I say in a stern tone as soon as he opens the door, planting my hands on my hips for added censure. It has the desired effect and he gives me a frown, already defensive, despite not knowing what he's done.

"What?" he asks warily. I look him cooly up and down, eyes catching on his bloated middle. To my delight, it's ever so slightly rounded out and he looks visibly uncomfortable, hand still pressed to his side.

Apparently Lacey’s taken my suggestion to heart. She has definitely pushed him further today. A couple buttons are gaping slightly over the lower swell of his stomach, revealing pointed little ovals of skin.

I have the errant thought that I'd like to put my mouth on those little strips before pulling open his—

No. Now's not the time for that. Not quite.

I make a mental note to replace his shirts and trousers before he notices anything amiss, then look back up at meet his eyes. He's still standing half-way through the door, so I shimmy around him, ushering him into the entrance before closing the door with a pointed click of the deadbolt.

"There's something serious we need to talk about," I say, meeting his eyes with every bit of intensity that I can muster.

Matt's face pales a little and he glances over my shoulder at the door as though wondering if Lacey is about to burst through and share his dirty little secret.

It's too late for that, now, though. He's only just started looking for the trap when he's already eaten the bait.

"Sit down," I command, pointing to the wingback in the living room.

"This sounds serious," Matt hedges, taking a step back and gesturing vaguely towards the depths of the house. "I'm not sure I have time for that right now, maybe we should—"

"Sit," I repeat, tone brokering no further argument. When he makes to flee, I lock my arm around his and lead him to the living room, manhandling him into the chair with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

He lands with an "oomph," grimacing as his hand flies back to his stomach. I can't help but look him over again.

He looks absolutely debauched like this. His jacket and tie are loose, hair ruffled, and shirt straining around the middle from his sheer hedonism. He squirms under my gaze, clearly wanting to stand so that *he* can be the one towering over *me*. I simply raise an eyebrow and he sinks deeper into the chair, wincing and shifting again as the movement compresses his overburdened stomach, producing a painful-looking hiccup.

An unexpected flush of lust rushes through me, stronger than I've felt in years. He must see the heat in my gaze because his tongue darts out to lick his lips and for a moment he forgets to protest.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks, distracted.

"A while ago you said we were having... *problems*. In our marriage. I've decided that you're right," I say.

That clearly surprises him and he straightens in the chair.

"I did say that," he agrees.

"Good, then we're on the same page," I say. He frowns unsure how to take that. It is unusual for me to so easily agree with him. He's so very often *wrong*.

I bend forward bracing my hands on the arms of his chair. He leans back slightly as though worried I might bite. "It's time we do something about that."

"What do you mean?" he asks, though his eyes have moved down to watch my mouth—and then to watch my other other assets swinging freely a bit lower. This wasn't how I anticipated the conversation going, but I've always been good at improvising.

I smile, giving a low hum, and lean in to tease a whisper of a kiss against his mouth. He sucks in a breath and I begin kissing him more deeply, tongue, and teeth, but still tantalizingly slow.

Just as I can feel him tense to grab me, I pull back.

"Look," I say, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him.

He bites off a moan as I shuffle forward, so close that the hard swell of his gut presses against my lower belly. It sends a thrill through me and I lose my train of thought for a second.

Something about this feels new and exciting, unlike anything I've experienced since we first started dating. I'd almost forgotten the sexual chemistry between us. It's been so long since we've really enjoyed each other.

Matt looks up at me, clearly off balance from the turn the conversation has taken, though he doesn't seem put off by it.

"Since we both know we have relationship problems," I say, tucking a strand of loose brown hair behind his ear, feeling almost tender. I give the lock a hard tug. *Almost*. "And I've decided we're going to fix them."

"Fix—" he swallows, then his eyes move up from where they'd dipped to my breasts again, clearly wondering if he should risk a feel. He clears his throat. "Fix them?"

"Yes," I say, pitching my voice low and husky as I guide his chin up with two fingers. He practically tears his eyes from my chest, which pleases me. Our lips meet hard and I kiss him like I haven't done in years, hands pulling at his hair as I swallow his pleasured groans like I've been starving for them.

I realize, in a way, that I have been starving for this.

"So you *do* remember the fun we used to have," he says when I break away for a breath, cocky grin on his lips. I tug his ear playfully.

"I remember."

I thought this part of my plan might be hard, rekindling the intimacy and the heat, but it's not. There's a fire inside me that begs me to take him and I find myself wanting to press our bodies as close as they can get.

He tastes exactly as I remember plus something different, something *more*. It's sweet and unfamiliar and a thrill chases his hand down my spine as I realize that I'm tasting Lacey on his lips. Her lip balm, perhaps, or gum.

*Forbidden fruit*.

Inhaling fast, desperate breaths against his mouth, I think I catch a whiff of floral cologne on him, too.

Was he kissing Lacey today? Did he make love to her? Did he ***?

Far from being upset by the idea that Matt had been with her mere hours earlier, minutes, even, I am pleased. It feels only natural that Lacey and I should share this experience. That we share *Matt*.

Egged on by the thought, I bite his lip a little too hard, but he doesn't complain, hands gripping equally hard into my hips.

"More," I demand. "Feel me."

Matt complies, hands rubbing so hard up my sides that it burns, rucking up my shirt and kneading into my flesh, then moving up to fondle my breasts, pushing my bra out of the way so he can pull at my nipples. He groans as he does so before his hands move back down, pressing and rubbing every inch of me he can reach, as though he can't decide where to touch me first or most.

I grind myself down against his length inside his silk pants and too-tight belt, then undulate up until I can feel the hard swell of his stomach cupped between my thighs.

He chokes out a groan caught somewhere between discomfort and pleasure, but he doesn't stop me as I continue to hump him like we're on our honeymoon.

His hands fly back to my hips, pulling me down harder so that his cock rubs hard against my cunt through the fabric of my leggings.

Suddenly needing more contact, I pull my shirt off and toss it to the coffee table, revealing my breasts. The sight never seems to disappoint him, even as they've started to soften ever so slightly.

If I love Matt for one thing, it's that. He takes more pleasure in my body than any other man I've been with. He enjoys me, even compared to a younger woman.

I find myself wondering what Lacey's breasts look like. She's well-endowed, enough that her breasts probably rest low on her ribcage when she doesn't wear a bra. Thick and heavy. Nipples a deep shade of rose, like her lips.

I imagine her here with us, watching from the couch as she touches herself. Or maybe sitting behind him, heavy breasts pressing into his back as she rubs her palms deep into the tight flesh of his belly. My thighs tighten around Matt's girth making him groan and hiss in a breath even as he bucks up into me.

She'd touch him all over. She'd want to feel every inch of the progress we've made as I fuck him senseless. Her fingers would pinch into the layer of fat that's just starting to stick to his arms and rub over the love handles we've so skillfully cultivated.

I grind down more desperately, rhythm increasing against Matt's frantic thrusts.

She'd whisper in his ear, too—dirty things that I can't quite hear over the sound of his harsh breaths—secrets about what she's going to do to him, about what I'm going to do to him. They'd make him go wild.

I squeeze my own breasts, tweaking my nipples until they buzz with a pleasure so sharp it's almost painful, and I throw my head back, letting the fantasy play in color behind my eyelids.

Her hands would move up and down his body, then, spanning over the curve of his gut—hefting it and teasing him about how big he's gotten, and how much bigger he's going to get—before coming to settle on his chest. I can practically see her delicate fingers there, squeezing at their growing puffiness, promising that, soon, his tits will be even bigger than hers.

My hands come down to Matt's face, dropping their hold on my own breasts to pull him into another heated kiss, more teeth than tongue as I grind out my pleasure against his tight little belly.

"Ah, fuck!" Matt shouts, body going rigid beneath me as he comes in his pants a moment later.

I gasp in delight and kiss him through the aftershocks of our pleasure, partially in gratitude and partially as a preemptive reward for everything else I have in store for him tonight.

"Now that that's out of the way," I murmur when I've caught my breath, "I have some other thoughts."

"Of course you do. It's never just fun and games with you," he says, mouth quirking up to one side. He's too relaxed post orgasm and with a belly full of food to be particularly suspicious, though. Curiously warm feelings pool in my stomach as my fingers rasp over his jaw.

"What are your thoughts?" he asks when I don't speak immediately.

Giving myself a mental shake, I straighten my bra back over my breasts—which makes him pout—and say, "We're going to start eating dinner together. As a family."

Matt's grin sours into a grimace at that. "But our schedules don't match up," he protests, clearly thinking about how he eats most of his meals with Lacey these days.

I shake my head, expression hardening.

"Relationships take sacrifices. I'm willing to eat a little later and I'll cook, too. All you have to do is show up. And I expect you to show up."

Matt mulls that over for a moment, chewing on his cheek until I grind down on him again and he lets out a sharp gasp.

"Fuck, all right, fine, we'll eat together. But you have to do things with me sometimes, too."

I smile, leaning in to give him another kiss. Yes. We will *definitely* be doing *things* together.

"Good," I say, scooting off his lap and offering him a hand. "Then go shower before dinner."

I can tell he wants to protest—maybe tell me that he's already eaten—but that would be too close to the truth, and he still doesn't know that the cat's out of the bag. He licks his lips. Is he tasting me or her—both? He takes my hand and I haul him to his feet then watch as he lumbers towards our room.

The sight is enough to stoke my desire again, but I shake my head. I have plans, and I still need to do a little preparation after I've cleaned myself up a bit.

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**Author's Note**

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed the story, remember to give it a like and comment with what you want to see next.

This story will update on Mondays and I have around eight parts planned after this one, so stay tuned to watch Sarah and Lacey fulfill Matt's full potential!