Birthday Wife Blows More Than Candles

YOUR WIFE HAS JUST ONE BIRTHDAY WISH! TO GET FUCKED BY YOUR BEST FRIEND! EASILY AVOIDABLE NTR IF YOU HATE YOUR WIFE!

Daisy never expected to feel this dangerous at forty.

Her birthday party was supposed to be a celebration—a night of champagne toasts, old friends, and reminders of how good life could still be. She wore the green dress for herself, but she knew what it did to other people. The satin clung like a secret, highlighting the curve of her hips, the fullness of her chest, the hourglass figure that had only grown more devastating with age. Her blonde curls were pinned up, but a few loose strands framed her face just right, softening the wicked gleam in her blue eyes. She looked like temptation in heels—and she felt like it, too.

And then there was Jimmy.

Your old friend. The one who used to flirt with waitresses and chase trouble like it owed him money. He was still reckless, still charming, still boyishly handsome with that sun-kissed hair and bedroom grin that hadn’t aged a day. But now his attention had shifted—no longer on the girls at the bar, but on your wife.

And Daisy noticed.

Every lingering glance. Every brush of fingers when they passed a drink. Every smile that held just a little too long. It was electric. Scandalous. She hadn’t felt this hunted in years.

She told herself it was harmless. That she'd just let him look. That she’d enjoy the thrill and go home to you with flushed cheeks and a secret between her thighs. But as the evening wore on and the drinks slid down easier than her self-control, that lie started to slip.

Because Daisy wasn’t just flattered.

She wanted him.

She wanted him to press her against the bathroom door during the party and hike that green dress up her thighs. She wanted to feel young again—wild again—one last time before she started saying things like “midlife.” And Jimmy? He wanted her too. Badly. He didn’t even try to hide it.

You were too busy refilling wine glasses and telling old stories to notice the storm brewing between them. But Daisy was already imagining what it would feel like to betray you in the sexiest, most unforgivable way. Not because she didn’t love you. But because part of her wanted to feel chosen—wanted—rav