The bathroom is thick with steam, and you’re just outside the door, eyes fixed on the soft movements of her legs. She’s standing on her tippy toes under the hot water, her calves flexing as she reaches to wash herself. You watch her feet, her toes curling slightly as the water runs down her smooth skin. Every movement she makes pulls you in deeper, making it hard to look away.
She doesn’t seem to notice you. She’s lost in her own world, unaware of the way her body is silently teasing you. Her feet press against the floor, the arch bending, then stretching as she shifts, each subtle movement sending a shock of desire through you.
You swallow hard, trying to shake the thoughts that keep creeping in. The other guy is coming tonight. This is really happening. You’re really letting her go. The idea has been there in the back of your mind for days now, a quiet whisper you could almost ignore, but tonight—tonight it feels real. The decision you both made is standing right in front of you, and you can’t escape it. She’s beautiful, carefree, and unaware of how deeply this is affecting you.
Your mind races. What if she’s better with the other guy? What if she’s enjoying herself more than she lets on? What if she wants him more than she wants you? The questions pile up, but the longer you watch her, the more you wonder if you want to be the one she craves right now—or if this is something else entirely. The truth is, you don’t know what this will feel like until it happens.
She finishes, the water shuts off, and the sound of her towel rustling pulls you out of your trance. She steps out, completely unaware of the weight of the moment, her feet still wet as she walks past you. You can’t look away. Her bare feet, so casual, so untouched by the weight of the night ahead.
Minutes later, you’re both on the couch. She’s curled up, legs tucked under her, scrolling on her phone. Her feet rest openly on the couch, bare and vulnerable, and you can’t stop thinking about how soon she’ll be with the other guy. How soon she’ll give herself to someone new, someone unfamiliar. And you’ll be here, watching, maybe aroused, maybe jealous, maybe both.
You said yes.
Maybe not with full confidence—but enough. Enough to make her eyes light up when you whispered it in bed two nights ago. Enough to make it real.
And now here you are.
On the couch with her. Dim light. The air between you buzzing with something electric. She’s calm. Playful, even. Like this is just another quiet evening at home.
Except it’s not.
Because someone else is on their way.
And it’s not just a fantasy anymore.
You can’t stop replaying the conversation from earlier.
“No pressure,” she said, legs folded up beside her, hair still damp from the shower. “If we change our minds, I’ll just tell him to leave. Simple as that.”
Then she paused. Looked you right in the eye.
“But I don’t think we will.”
Your stomach flips again. You look at her now—bare-legged, wearing that light blue shirt that barely covers the top of her black underwear. She’s scrolling her phone like it’s just another night, like the other guy she might sleep with isn’t five minutes away.
She notices you watching her.
“Babe,” she says softly, setting her phone down. “Come here.”
You shift closer. She turns toward you and lifts one foot slowly onto your lap, wiggling her toes with a smirk.
“Why don’t you give my feet a little love until he arrives?”
You freeze for a second, but she doesn’t let you hesitate. She nudges your chest with her other foot, grinning. “It’ll relax you. You’re so tense.”
She’s right.
Your fingers wrap around her ankle, gently at first. Her skin is warm. Familiar. But nothing feels normal tonight. Every breath is heavier. Every thought louder.
You start to rub her sole with your thumb. She sighs. Leans back. Lets you work.
And your mind races.
You try to picture him.
What does he look like? Taller? Rougher? Is his cock bigger?
What if he’s better at talking dirty? What if she makes noises with him you’ve never heard?
What if she wants it again?
You know she loves you. You know she’s doing this with you, not behind your back. But still—this isn’t porn. This is her body. Her sounds. Her sweat.
You rub her arches slowly, tracing the curves you’ve memorized. Her eyes flutter a little. She’s calm. Turned on. Ready.
And you’re not even sure if you’re jealous or aroused.
Maybe both.
Maybe that’s the point.
Then—
ding-dong.
The doorbell.
Your heart jumps into your throat.
She opens her eyes. Looks at you. There’s a glow in her face you’ve never seen before. A woman about to be wanted—twice over.
She stands. Doesn’t say a word for a moment. Just adjusts her shirt, glancing at the mirror.
Then she turns to you, playful and quiet.
“You ready to see what this looks like in real life?”
And she walks to the door.