Pamela Lestrade stretched languorously in her lover's bed. She licked her lips as she thought of the PE teacher's lean, firm muscles. When Greg had been young, he had been a dream come true. Too many long nights, early mornings, and take away meals had aged him, softened him.
She startled when the her phone chimed. The tone wasn't familiar...damn! She must have grabbed Greg's phone when she crept out of the house that night. Buying matching phones had been stupid, they were always getting mixed up. Better check the message; if it was important she'd have to call Greg quickly.
Myc?
Who was Myc?
Maybe the attached photo would...what the hell?
Why was this 'Myc' sending nude photos to her husband's phone?
She thumbed over to the 'saved messages' menu. Holy shit! So much for the idea that it was a wrong number. Wait, was that Greg in a photo with this 'Myc' character?
Suddenly a lot of things made sense. Greg's complete lack of interest in the bedroom, his acceptance of her overnights at a 'friend's' house, his relief whenever she made her own plans for the evening...
That bastard. She couldn't wait to tell her lover. She got up and padded out to the living room.
"Bethany!"