A Night of Tangled Hearts

After a twenty-minute drive, the Benz V260 pulled into the garage of Joe Norris's two-story villa, a sleek haven of luxury with a manicured front lawn, a pool glistening in the back garden, and a rooftop sunroom adorned with lounge chairs, dining tables, and grills. William hopped out, retrieving Samantha's suitcase from the trunk.

The driver assisted Mrs. Norris into the first-floor living room, her face etched with fatigue from the long flight and lavish banquet. Joe, his arm wrapped around Samantha's slender waist, guided her inside, their closeness a provocative tableau that set William's pulse racing. 

As the driver departed, Joe played the gracious host, fetching a tray of glass from the kitchen, and pouring whisky for everyone. William took a glass and sank into a corner sofa, the cool drink doing little to quell the heat in his veins.

Mrs. Norris, undeterred by the late hour, resumed her lecture on marriage's importance, her voice steady despite her visible exhaustion. Joe listened with a serious expression, nodding dutifully, but William, knowing his friend for years, caught the glint in his eyes. Joe was sober now, the alcohol's haze lifted, and his solemn act was a performance to placate his aunt. William smirked inwardly. Bruh, you can fool your aunt, but you can't fool me.

Mrs. Norris yawned, her tone softening. "Joe, it's getting late. Let your friend head home." She glanced at William, then at Samantha, who was slumped on the sofa, her stunning body limp with drunken fatigue. "Oh, come on, Joe! Look at Sammy! How can you be so careless? Take care of your lovely girlfriend—don't let her lie there like that."

William turned, his breath catching. Samantha was a vision, even in her inebriated state—her cheeks flushed rosy, her curves accentuated by the dress, her low alcohol tolerance evident in her faint, blissful expression. Joe glanced at William, a flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, but William seized the moment, his voice teasing. "Yeah, Joe, dude, you're slacking! Why don't you help Samantha to the bedroom to rest? Oh, by the way." He rose, grabbed the suitcase from the entrance hall, and handed it to Joe, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Here's the stuff for you."

Joe's face flushed faintly, a guilty look crossing his features, and William nodded slightly, his mind flashing to the car ride. "Fuck, dude, you had your hand under her dress during the ride—I saw it! Now you're playing dumb?"

But Joe's expression shifted to one of subtle satisfaction as he stepped toward Samantha. With a gentle motion, he slid one hand under her busty hips and another under her armpit, grazing the curve of her full breasts, and lifted her drunken body into his arms. As he passed William, Samantha's scent—a heady mix of her innocent fragrance and wine—wafted over him, her curvaceous form a tantalizing sight in Joe's embrace.

Joe carried Samantha into the first-floor main bedroom, the door closing with a soft click that sent William's heart skipping. "Damn, what's happening in there?" 

Mrs. Norris, ever the kind matriarch, turned to William, her voice warm. "William, are you married? Do you have a girlfriend?" 

His embarrassed smile prompted the middle age lady to continue, her tone gentle. "Oh, William, you're a fine young man. Don't delay on these important matters. Look at Joe—he's found his beloved girlfriend."

William smirked inwardly, biting back a laugh. "Damn it, what do you know? Your boy Joe's holding my wife right now!" He nodded respectfully, humoring her as they chatted about life and responsibility, but his mind was elsewhere, tethered to the closed bedroom door.

Mrs. Norris yawned again, her exhaustion palpable after the flight, banquet, and her impromptu lecture. "I'm truly tired," she sighed. "I envy your generation's energy. I'm off to bed." She rose from the sofa, and William followed, preparing to leave, but she stopped him. "Oh, William, stay here at Joe's place. It's too late—rest in the guest room on the second floor."

William thanked her warmly, touched by her kindness. Mrs. Norris led him upstairs, showing him to a cozy guest room before retiring to her own. 

Alone in the guest room on the second floor of Joe Norris's luxurious villa, William sat on the bed, the silence amplifying his racing thoughts. Joe still hadn't emerged from the main bedroom, where he'd carried a drunken Samantha—Sammy, William's radiant wife—her curvaceous body limp in his arms. William's mind wove a vivid fantasy: Samantha stirring in Joe's embrace, her translucent Victoria's Secret satin slip teasing through her white Chanel dress, their "role-play" as girlfriend and boyfriend igniting into something more. The jealousy was a sweet ache, fueling his arousal as he imagined the night unfolding in hentai-tinted colors.

Restless, William stepped out of the guest room, intending to use the bathroom. Passing Mrs. Norris's room, he heard the faint snoring of the kind, mid-fifties matriarch, her exhaustion from the flight and banquet evident. The villa was still, the pool's reflection shimmering through the back garden's windows, the rooftop sunroom a distant silhouette under the moonlit sky. But Joe remained absent, the main bedroom door on the first floor a silent taunt to William's curiosity.

He tiptoed downstairs, his heart pounding, drawn to the main bedroom like a moth to flame. Joe and William were longtime buddies, and overnight stays at Joe's villa were routine—William knew the layout well, from the front lawn to the lounge chairs by the pool. But as he approached the bedroom door, his breath caught. He pressed his ear against the polished wood, straining for any sound, only to notice the lock engaged, a subtle click betraying its closure.

"Oh, fuck," William cursed inwardly, his pulse spiking. The banquet's wine—three bottles of Opus One shared among them—combined with the whisky Joe had poured later, must have knocked them out. Samantha, with her low alcohol tolerance, had been a flushed, stunning vision, her body slumping on the sofa before Joe carried her away.

"Surely, they were both passed out, lost to the haze of alcohol." Yet the locked door fueled William's imagination. The thought was thrilling, terrifying, a delicious torment that set his body ablaze.

William lingered, his ear pressed to the door, but no sound emerged—no whispers, no gasps, just silence. He recalled their agreement at Starbucks: You can only adore her, Joe—no touching!

But in the car, Joe's hand had slipped under Samantha's dress, kneading her waist, resting on her plump buttocks. Had it been drunken carelessness or deliberate intent? What was Samantha doing, sleeping in the same bed as another man, her husband just upstairs? 

The whisky's warmth reeled in William's head, a potent mix that dulled his senses and amplified his fantasies. With no choice but to retreat, he trudged back to the guest room, the villa's silence a canvas for his thoughts. Collapsing onto the bed, he imagined Samantha in Joe's arms, her innocent fragrance mingling with wine, her body yielding to the playboy's charm. William's heart raced, jealousy and arousal entwining as he drifted into sleep...