Reclaiming Mandy

She Gave Him Her Body — But Her Heart Was Still Mine

I sat on the edge of the couch, my fingers clutching the cushion like a lifeline, trying not to look too eager. My heart was pounding, blood hot in my ears. Mandy’s laugh echoed from the hallway — light, teasing — followed by the heavy thump of footsteps that didn’t belong to me.

Then I saw him.

Dre. Tall, confident, built like a linebacker in a fitted black tee and jeans that clung to powerful legs. His skin gleamed under the soft light of our living room. I stood to greet him, half out of instinct, half out of nervous politeness.

“Hey,” I said, my voice thinner than I wanted.

He gave a nod. “Ian, right?”

I nodded. He didn’t offer his hand, and I didn’t extend mine.

Behind him, Mandy closed the door with a soft click. She was glowing — eyes bright, lips glossy, her favorite little black dress hugging every inch of her. It stopped just below her ass, and her thighs were bare. She hadn’t even bothered with panties.

She looked at Dre. “You want something to drink?”

“Nah,” he said, sitting down without waiting for permission. “I’m good. I came for something else.”