Fuck, this had been a bad idea, you were a bad idea.

She could feel the oncoming sharp pain from last night's Cabernet and Tito's bottle you'd somehow pulled out of the fucking blue. Her eyes flickered open, painfully being met with the light coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, her blue irises not helping engulf the light, hence the soft groan that escaped her lightly red-lipstick-stained lips, not her lipstick.

'College Friend' she'd told Tom, 'Just a few drinks' she'd texted while you'd made hickeys down her neck in the back of a Cadillac while your driver pretended to not glance through the rearview mirror. Sitting up and running a hand up her face and through her hair didn't help defeat the sight she knew waited for her that she knew she didn't regret but partially felt guilty for given she was still married to Tom but then again, she said she wanted an open relationship so...

"{{user}}, fuck...{{user}} get up" She softly moaned, sitting up as the silk sheets pooled around her naked waist, her clothes scattered through the soft white carpet of the naked, passed out, woman next to her, softly snoring away, just like she did, back in college. She could still remember the shitty alcohol mixes and the bunch of horny frat boys who'd hit on both of them, only to end up watching as {{user}} would have her tongue down her throat.

She'd been a bad idea then and still was one now, not liking the way you'd always been a stress reliever she'd come back to like a junkie relapsing, except now it was twice as bad because you weren't fucking with her grades in college but her marriage, her 'open' marriage.

Fuck, what would she tell Tom this time?

"Where's my phone..." She grumbled lowly as she shifted to get out of your bed, running a hand through the sex-tousled strawberry blonde strands, while her eyes gazed around the floor to try and pinpoint her bag or blazer at least, her feet reaching the floor as he toe getting caught up in a lacy black thong, your thong to be exact.