Scarlet’s tug of war

Scarlet's POV

It was four days after I ran into Lena outside the grocery store—four days of her green eyes haunting me, her smoky voice echoing in my head. I told myself it was a fluke, that I'd shaken her off like dust from an old book. But when I saw her again, jogging down the park trail where I sometimes stretch after errands, I knew I was kidding myself. She was in a tank top and leggings, her red hair tied back, sweat glistening on her muscular arms and those big, perfect tits bouncing with each stride. Her ass—God, that ass— flexed with power, still feminine, still enough to make my breath catch. I stopped dead, my six-foot frame rooted to the spot, blonde hair sticking to my neck in the heat.

"Scarlet," she said, slowing to a walk, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. That smirk crept up again, like she knew exactly what she did to me. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah, small world," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt. My tank top hugged my own curves—full breasts, round hips—and I caught her eyes flicking over me, just like old times. We started talking, casual at first—weather, the park, bullshit excuses to linger. But then it shifted, like it always did with her.

"Been thinking about you," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. Her tone was blunt, no games. "Since the other day."

"Me too," I admitted, cursing myself for it. I should've walked away, gone home to Marcus—my sweet, hairy Marcus who'd been a virgin before me, who loved me like I hung the moon. But I didn't. I stayed, and that's how it started.

We began meeting regularly after that—coffee shops, park benches, quiet corners where no one knew us. At first, it was just catching up, but it didn't take long for the past to spill out. We'd sit close, our knees brushing, and talk about those wild six months we'd had. I'd tell her how I'd loved her body—the way her muscular thighs pinned me, how her big tits felt in my hands, soft yet firm, how her ass flexed when she fucked me with that strap-on until I couldn't think straight. She'd laugh, low and throaty, and say she'd loved my height, my curves, the way I'd moan her name like a prayer.

"You were a goddamn wildfire, Scarlet," she said one afternoon, stirring her coffee, her green eyes locked on mine. "Still are."

I blushed, my fingers tightening around my cup. "You weren't so tame yourself." I remembered her taste, her strength, the way she'd make me come so hard I'd shake for minutes after. It was different from Marcus—his rough, eager thrusts, his hairy chest scratching my skin, his thick cock filling me. I loved him to death, and he loved me back just as fierce, but Lena was a ghost I couldn't exorcise.

Then, yesterday, it got real. We were at a diner, tucked in a booth, the hum of chatter masking our words. She leaned in, her red hair brushing the table, and her voice dropped low. "I tried to forget you, Scarlet. After we split, I fucked other women—tall ones, curvy ones, anyone who'd come close. But none of them were you. I couldn't shake you."

My heart thudded, my thighs pressing together under the table. I could feel the heat of her words, the weight of them. "Lena…" I started, but she cut me off.

"I still feel it," she said, her hand sliding across the table, stopping just short of mine. "You do too, don't you? That pull?"

I couldn't lie. Not to her. "Yeah," I whispered, my pulse racing. "I do." I looked at her—those strong arms, the swell of her breasts under her shirt, the curve of her lips—and I wanted her. Badly. I wanted to grab her, kiss her, feel her muscular body press me against the wall and fuck me like she used to. My pussy ached at the thought, wet and needy, but then Marcus's face flashed in my mind—his shy grin, his hairy ass flexing as he moved inside me, his "I love you" murmured against my neck.

"I'm married, Lena," I said, my voice cracking. "I love him. He's everything to me."

"I know," she replied, her smirk fading. "I'm not asking you to leave him. I just… I needed you to know. You're still in me, Scarlet. Always will be."

I sat there, torn, my body screaming for her while my heart clung to Marcus. We'd been meeting for weeks now, these conversations peeling back layers I'd buried. The attraction was still there, electric and undeniable, and the feelings—fuck, they hadn't died either. I loved Lena once, maybe still did in some corner of me, but Marcus was my life now. My sweet, clueless husband who'd never touched a woman before me, who'd learned every inch of my body like it was sacred.

"I don't know what to do with this," I admitted, my eyes meeting hers. "With us."

She nodded, slow and resigned. "You don't have to do anything. Just… don't disappear again, okay? I can handle the rest."

We left it there, unfinished, a thread dangling between us. I went home to Marcus that night, kissed him hard, fucked him harder—his hairy frame shuddering under me as I rode him, his hands gripping my hips. I love him to death, and he loves me back. But Lena's words, her presence, they're a shadow I can't outrun. Not yet.

Marcus has always had a sixth sense about me. He's not the sharpest guy in a crowded room, but when it comes to me—six feet of blonde chaos he somehow tamed—he's got a radar that never misses. Lately, I've been off, and he's noticed. It's been weeks since Lena crashed back into my life, weeks of stolen conversations and that electric pull I can't shake. I've tried to hide it—smiling extra wide when he cooks me breakfast, fucking him harder at night to drown out the guilt—but Marcus isn't dumb. He's my hairy, sweet husband who loves me to death, and I love him just as fierce. He knows something's eating at me.

Last night, it came to a head. We were on the couch, his arm slung over my shoulders, his chest hair tickling my neck as we watched some dumb action movie. He'd been quieter than usual, his brown eyes darting to me every few minutes. Finally, he muted the TV, turned to me, and said, "Scarlet, what's going on? You've been… distant. Talk to me."

His voice was soft, pleading, and it broke something in me. I looked at him—5'10" of average, hairy goodness, the man who'd been a virgin before me, who'd learned to love me with every clumsy, earnest inch of himself—and I knew I couldn't keep lying. Not to him. I took a deep breath, my hands twisting in my lap, my big tits rising with the inhale under my tank top.

"Marcus, I've got something to tell you," I started, my throat tight. "It's big. And I'm scared you'll hate me."

He frowned, shifting closer, his hairy hand resting on my knee. "Babe, I could never hate you. You're my world. Just tell me."

So I did. Everything. "Before I met you, I wasn't just with guys. I was with women too. I'm bisexual, Marcus. Always have been." His eyes widened, but he didn't pull away, so I kept going. "There was this one woman—Lena. Tall, redheaded, built like a goddamn dream. We were together for six months, and it was intense. I loved her—her body, her strength, the way she… knew me. It ended because she only wanted women, and I couldn't give up men. Like you."

He nodded slowly, processing, his fingers tightening on my knee. I swallowed, pushing forward. "I ran into her a few weeks ago. We've been meeting up—talking, mostly. About the past. And… I still feel something for her, Marcus. Attraction. Maybe more. I've been tearing myself apart over it because I love you so much, and I don't want to lose us."

The room went quiet, just the hum of the fridge in the kitchen and my pulse hammering in my ears. Marcus stared at me, his face unreadable, and for a second, I thought I'd broken him. Then he exhaled, long and shaky, and pulled me into his arms. His hairy chest pressed against me, warm and familiar, and I clung to him, tears pricking my eyes.

"Scarlet," he said, his voice low, "thank you for telling me. I… I get it. It's a part of who you are, and I love all of you—even the parts I didn't know about. It'd be selfish of me to deny that, to try to box you in."

I pulled back, stunned, searching his face. "You're not mad?"

He chuckled, a little sad. "Not mad. Surprised, yeah. Maybe a little scared. But not mad." He rubbed his neck, that nervous habit of his, and his eyes dropped. "I've always had insecurities, you know? I'm not tall, not ripped, got hair in places most guys wax off. You're this gorgeous, six-foot goddess, and I still wake up amazed you picked me. So I get why you'd want… more. And if it's a woman—like this Lena—I can handle that. I'd allow it, between us. Because it's not about me not being enough; it's about you being you."

My heart swelled, tears spilling now. "Marcus, you are enough. I love you to death. I don't need anyone else—"

He held up a hand, cutting me off, his jaw tightening. "But there's a line, Scarlet. If it's another woman, I can work with that. I can understand it's a part of you I can't touch. But if it's ever another man? That's cheating to me. I'd be out. Done. I couldn't take it—some guy stepping in, making me feel like I'm less than I already worry I am. You get that, right?"

I nodded, fast and fierce, grabbing his hands. "I get it. No men, ever. Just you. I'd never do that to you, Marcus. You're my guy—hairy ass and all." I laughed through the tears, and he cracked a grin, pulling me closer.

"So, this Lena," he said, his tone lighter but still curious. "You wanna… see her? Like, more than talking?"

I hesitated, my mind flashing to Lena—her muscular frame, her big tits swaying, the way she'd fuck me until I screamed. Then I looked at Marcus, his earnest face, his love shining through every word. "I don't know," I admitted. "I feel something for her, yeah. But you're my home. I'd only do it if you were really okay with it. And even then, I'd never let it touch what we have."

He kissed my forehead, his beard scratching my skin. "We'll figure it out, babe. Together. Just… keep talking to me, okay? No more hiding."

"No more hiding," I promised, burying my face in his neck, his hairy warmth grounding me. I'd told him everything—my past, my secret, my pull toward Lena—and he'd taken it, held it, loved me through it. Marcus was my rock, insecurities and all, and I'd die before I broke him. But Lena… she was still out there, a flame flickering in the distance, and now, with Marcus's blessing, I had to decide what to do about it.