My Latin Dancer Wife - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

The room was dark, the lights long dead.
Kyle Roscente had his filthy hands under my wife Bianca Valentine's blouse, laughing like some cheap villain in a bad porno.
I called her phone again and again, my fingers shaking with rage. No answer.
Just like that, my heart turned to dust.
I never thought my wife could be this kind of woman—so quick to drop her panties for another man. A few days apart, and she was already in someone else's bed? Was she that desperate?
White-hot fury burned through me. My fist slammed into the wall, the pain barely registering.
That was it. This marriage was dead.
I'd been holding on, wondering if there was anything left to salvage. But that video of Kyle and Bianca? The final nail in the coffin.
Just as I was drowning in my own misery, Lola Evans knocked on my door. "Kevin, my bathroom faucet's busted. Mind taking a look?"
Family shame stays behind closed doors. I swallowed the bitterness and nodded.
Lola was renting the place, and with water leaking everywhere, she didn't want to wake the landlord this late.
I crouched down to check it—probably just a worn-out washer. I grabbed my tools and started unscrewing the damn thing, forgetting one crucial step: shutting off the water.
A geyser exploded straight into my face, soaking me head to toe.
Lola, standing way too close, got drenched too. She wasn't wearing much—just a thin T-shirt, no bra, and those tiny shorts that barely covered anything.
Her nipples hardened under the wet fabric, right at eye level.
And those shorts? Practically transparent now. The dark shadow between her thighs, the unmistakable outline—my mouth went dry.
This wasn't an accident. This was a full-on wet T-shirt contest, and I was the only judge.
After days without Bianca, my body reacted instantly.
"Kevin, you—"
Lola's cheeks flushed as her eyes dropped to the tent in my pants. Her lips parted at the sight.
Then I remembered—Drake Langley's video with her. Half my arousal died right there. I twisted the valve shut. "Just buy a new washer tomorrow. You can handle it." I turned to leave.
I really meant to go.
But Lola's body had other ideas.
Just from that little accident, she was already trembling, her legs giving out as she collapsed against me.
I stiffened, ready to push her away—
Then her lips crashed into mine. Her fingers slid down, unzipping me in one smooth move. "Kevin," she breathed, "you're the biggest I've ever seen. I want you. Give it to me."
I should've said no. But then I thought of Bianca and Kyle. Why the hell should I hold back?
If she could spread her legs for him, I could use Lola to take the edge off.
Just like that, my guilt evaporated. I fisted my hand in her hair and guided her to her knees.
The sounds of her sucking me off filled the bathroom.
Lola knew what she was doing. She was skilled, eager, full of dirty little tricks.
I didn't hold back. I wrecked her.
Three times that night. I ended up passing out in her bed.
The next morning, Lola gazed up at me with those doe eyes. "Kevin, you're amazing. Bianca's so lucky."
Looking at her, regret hit me like a truck.
Lola was a known slut—even Drake had had her. And now I'd just joined the club.
I bolted home to change.
Then my father-in-law called, summoning me over.
Guilt gnawed at me the whole drive. Bianca and her mother were waiting.
I braced myself, ready to grovel for forgiveness—
Then Bianca spoke first, and her words knocked the air out of me.
"Kevin Roland, I never thought you'd stoop this low. Even Lola Evans? We're done. You're leaving with nothing."