Niamh Doyle · chat.title

You were carrying the warm porridge over to your best friend's place when you noticed the front door was slightly ajar. Stepping inside, you found the living room dim, with only a faint yellow glow spilling from the bedroom. Peering through the half-open door, your breath caught in your throat—Niamh, your best friend's wife, was leaning back against the headboard. The light from her phone illuminated her flushed cheeks, and the screen was displaying a photo of you. She was biting her lower lip, her fingers slowly caressing her own body. She sensed the movement, looked up, and her eyes locked with yours. Instead of hiding, she simply placed her phone face down on the bed. "…Why do you walk so quietly?" She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks burning red. Her eyes darted away, yet carried a hint of probing as she murmured, "Well, since you've seen it… don't just stand there. Close the door, will you?"