A Helping Hand
A Freaky Friday Feature
Chapter 1
The Harrington house was expensive, but cold. White light streaked in through the tall windows across the refrigerated air and fell on pale marble floors that never quite warmed under bare feet. Surfaces were rigid, cold to the touch, just like the Harrington marriage.
They had built this house together, back when Claire still touched him without checking her calendar first. Now the house felt like a monument to everything their marriage had frozen over: the untouched bar cart gathering dust, the California king with decadent linens, the walk-in shower big enough for two that hadn’t seen two bodies in years. Claire slept on her side, earplugs in, silk mask on, a fortress of routine and resentment. Roman slept on his side of the bed, cock half-hard most nights from dreams he refused to name, staring at the ceiling fan until dawn.
Everly arrived in March with one suitcase and a smile that looked brave only because it had to be. Claire had called her a “live-in personal assistant.”
She was twenty-four, dark-haired, green-eyed, and entirely too alive for a house that had forgotten how to breathe. Claire hired her to “help with the schedule, you know, just a helping hand,” which translated to Claire doing even less to give to the marriage, instead, going out to play pickleball or go shopping on his dime, pretending the marriage wasn’t already embalmed. Everly moved into the guest suite down the hall from the master, close enough that Roman could hear her shower if he stood in the hallway pretending to check the thermostat.
He started doing that a lot.
The marriage bed had become a mausoleum for their intimacy; Roman’s needs were buried alive, clawing at him in solitary moments. Everly had brought life with her, heat. Three months in, something inside Roman was starting to thaw in all the wrong places. He quietly watched her as she prepared meals, washed dishes, picked up around the house. He loved her domesticity, drinking in her movements like an expensive scotch.
He didn’t want to make it weird, so he spoke with her often, teasing her, making little jokes. The teasing and jokes often became innuendo, causing her to give him the side-eye with a little grin. Claire was oblivious, spending more and more time away from the home now that Everly was doing the cooking and cleaning.
With time, Roman’s needs were growing to a point that they had become unbearable. He had to have release. He lay in bed with Claire, breathing evenly beside him, her back a wall of indifference. He lay there, the sheets tangled around his hips, his cock stirring at the memory of Everly bending to pick up a discarded towel, the curve of her ass in those yoga pants that hugged like a second skin. The house was silent except for the low hum of the AC, but in his mind, it was filled with her imagined gasps.
He reached down slowly, his hand closing around the thickening length of his shaft. It pulsed in his grip, hot and insistent, veins ridging under his palm as he began to stroke. Long, deliberate pulls from base to tip, thumb circling the slick head where pre-cum had already beaded, screaming for release. Claire’s soft snores were the only soundtrack, a metronome to his guilt. This is wrong, he thought, even as his hips twitched upward, fucking into his fist with restrained urgency. She’s under my roof. Claire’s right here. But the thoughts only sharpened the edge, made the pleasure darker, more illicit. A devilish grin fell on his lips. She’s under my roof. Claire’s right here…
Everly’s face filled his vision: her green eyes half-lidded in imagined surrender, lips parted as she whispered his name. He stroked faster, the wet sound muffled under the sheet, thankful for his expensive mattress that didn’t shift the other side with movement. His free hand fisted the pillow to keep from reaching for Claire, who wouldn’t wake anyway, wouldn’t take his cock like a good wife.
Tension coiled low in his belly, balls drawing tight. He pictured Everly on her knees, taking him deep, her throat working around him. The orgasm hit like a ton of bricks. He snatched the sheets back just before ropes spilled over his fist, painting his chest in hot, sticky arcs. He came silently, jaw clenched, breath hissing through his teeth, body arching off the mattress in rigid waves. The release left him hollow as the cum cooled on his skin, a mark of his solitude. His chest heaved, though he breathed as quietly as possible.
Claire didn’t stir.
Roman’s heart finally began to slow. He stayed rigid a moment longer, his hand still holding his spent cock. This is what you’ve become. A man who jerks off beside his sleeping wife.
He slipped from the bed like a ghost. The bathroom tile was ice under his feet as he cleaned himself with a washcloth. He stared at the stranger in the mirror. His pupils were blown, lips swollen from biting back sound, the faint smear of his own cum still glistening across his chest. He had cum so hard.
He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind, the faint throb of unsatisfied hunger already rebuilding.
He returned to bed quietly, sliding under the covers without touching Claire. Sleep came eventually, laced with dreams of green eyes and the forbidden.
Chapter 2
The kitchen smelled of espresso and citrus. Claire was upstairs, the high-pitched, discordant whine of her hairdryer drifting down throughout the house. Everly stood at the island in a threadbare white tank and soft cotton sleep shorts, slicing strawberries for a smoothie. A pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice sat on the counter.
Roman walked in wearing nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants, the carved V of muscle disappearing beneath the waistband like an arrow pointing straight to hell. Everly’s eyes followed it helplessly.
He didn’t speak. He simply let his gaze crawl over her, lingering on the dark shadow of her nipples pressing against the thin white tank. The air between them crackled.
He stepped in close, close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off his bare chest. He reached up and gently tweaked her nipple through her shirt, causing it to tighten instantly. He rolled his thumb over the hard little point that was begging for more.
The knife slipped. A bright bead of blood welled on her thumb.
“Careful, baby,” he murmured, voice gravel and smoke. He caught her wrist before she could pull away, bringing the wounded thumb to his mouth. His tongue swept over the cut, warm, wet, deliberate, sucking gently, tasting copper on her soft thumb. He groaned low in his throat, eyes locked on hers the whole time, like he was starving, and she was the first meal he’d had in years.
Everly’s belly dropped. She tugged her hand back, fumbling for a paper towel with trembling fingers, pressing it to the tiny wound.
Roman didn’t let go of her other hand.
“I just need a hand here,” he said as he guided it down slowly, until her palm pressed against the thick ridge straining the front of his sweatpants. The heat of him seared through the fabric. He was rock-hard, long and heavy, pulsing under her touch.
“Feel that?” he rasped, wrapping her fingers around the outline of his cock and dragging her hand up and down in a lazy stroke. “That’s what you do to me. Every fucking morning. Hell, every time you’re around. Walking around in these little shirts with your nipples hard, bending over like you don’t know I’m watching.”
“Mr. Harrington, we shouldn’t be doing this,” Everly whimpered, but she didn’t pull away. Her fingers curled instinctively, squeezing him through the cotton.
“That’s it,” he praised, voice dropping even lower. “Stroke Daddy’s cock like a good girl. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help yourself, can you?”
He pushed her hand inside the waistband, skin on skin now, hot, velvet steel throbbing against her palm. Pre-cum slicked her fingers as he forced her to grip him tighter, guiding her in a slow, filthy rhythm.
“Mr. Harrington, I—” she started, but he cut her off.
“Look at you,” he growled against her ear, hips rolling into her touch. “Hand in my pants before breakfast, getting me leaking like a teenager. You’re going to make me come all over this pretty little hand, aren’t you?”
Her thumb brushed the slick head. Roman hissed, thrusting harder into her tiny fist.
“That’s it, baby. Milk it. Show me how bad you want this cock inside you,” as he pulled his pants down just enough to free his stiff erection.
He sucked her bleeding thumb back into his mouth one last time, hard, as she tugged on his dick, working him over. He needed her. Now.
He pulled her thumb out of his mouth only to spin her around quickly. He bent her forward over the island and snatched down her panties.
“You want this cock, don’t you, baby?” he growled against her ear before thrusting his bare cock between her thighs from behind. Everly gasped, her own needs blooming, desperately wanting him inside her.
Roman pressed further, his full length now snugly between her thighs, wanting her slick pussy to surround him. The head of his dick poked through the front of her thighs. She reached down and gently pushed his cock against her wetness, his stiffness running over her swollen, ready clit. She wanted this older man to take her, make her do naughty things. She worked on the head of his cock as he continued to slide across her pussy.
Just as she was about to guide him inside her, the hairdryer stopped upstairs. Everly gasped, afraid they were about to get caught. Roman slowly pressed his cock between her thighs one last time, sliding against her wetness and savoring her delicious flesh before finally pulling away. His cock was pounding, needing that sweet release. Nevertheless, he tucked it back into his pants and walked over to the cabinet for a mug.
“I—I already made your coffee, Mr. Harrington,” panted Everly, quickly pulling up her shorts. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving.
He glanced at the full mug waiting under the machine, lips curving darkly. He took the filled mug and took a sip, staring at her over the rim. “That’s some fucking good coffee,” he praised, raising one eyebrow and adjusting himself before walking away.
Everly stood frozen long after his footsteps faded, pulse hammering. She could feel it pounding in both her bleeding thumb and between her thighs, the strawberries forgotten on the cutting board.
That night, Roman lay awake again, Claire’s breathing steady beside him, the house a vault of unspoken wants. Everly’s gasp from the kitchen replayed in his mind, a soft sound that had nearly undone him. His hand drifted down once more, taking his throbbing cock in his hand. He pictured her tiny hand surrounding his needy length, tugging at him slowly. He replayed the whole scene in his head as he stroked. This was becoming a nightly ritual, a secret liturgy performed in the dark.
