Mistress Material

Mistress Material – Chapter 1

Claire Linley kicked off her heels, peeled off the tight dress that hugged every curve of her body, and finally—finally—let herself breathe. She ran a hot bath, let the warmth soak into her skin, and when she stepped out, her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten all day.

Instant noodles and a bottle of sweet plum wine—low alcohol, just enough to take the edge off. She curled up on her couch, half-watching a drama, half-lost in the comfort of doing nothing. Tomorrow was her day off, and life felt oddly perfect in that quiet, messy little moment.

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe the soft drizzle outside whispering through her windows, or maybe she was just truly exhausted—but she dozed off right there on the couch, half-empty bowl still on the coffee table.

In the middle of the night, she felt a warm hand stroking her back. She jolted awake—only to see him. She smiled without thinking and reached for him instantly.

Andrew Hanley had missed her too much. A month away on business, and every night he tossed and turned thinking of her.

They kissed like people who had forgotten how to stop, tangled in each other until she didn’t even remember how she ended up in bed.

Morning came. Andrew was still asleep beside her, snoring softly. Claire watched him, amused by how oddly sweet it felt to wake up next to a man for once. She reached out and gently touched the bridge of his nose.

The ticklish sensation woke him. Without opening his eyes, he pulled her into his arms like he couldn’t get her close enough. She was breathless but blissful in the cocoon of his affection.

After another round of passion, Claire lay lazily in his arms and asked, “You’ve been back from your trip—haven’t gone home yet? Does Susan know?”

Andrew frowned. “Whether I go home or not, she probably doesn’t care. We barely talk anymore. We’re just two people sharing a house.”

“But still... she’s your wife. Your first love, even.”

“That was a lifetime ago. We’ve both changed. Even our occasional sex is just... mechanical now. It’s all obligation, no connection.”

Claire sighed. “Alright, then. Go home. Let your wife take care of you. I need to get some real sleep.”

Susan was his wife—reportedly a university professor. They’d been married nearly twenty years. Work stress, in-law tension, parenting disagreements, domestic routine... a thousand little things had slowly drained the spark from their marriage.

Claire was 31. Andrew was 48. She’d been his mistress for three years.

Back in her twenties, the age gap used to bother Andrew more than her. But the moment she turned thirty, he started saying it felt like they were finally in the same world—even if the numbers told a different story.

Claire often joked, “Women over thirty are like out-of-season fruit—still here, just not in demand.”

Andrew always shut her down. “Stop that. Thirty-something women? They know what they want. They understand men. Perfectly ripe.”

Claire liked Andrew—his commanding presence at work, his unexpected tenderness with her, and the way he always respected her boundaries. Being with him felt... easy.

From day one, Claire had drawn her lines clearly. She never pried into his family life. Never demanded more. She didn’t even care that he might have other women on the side.

She didn’t want her emotions chained to a man. That kind of back-and-forth anxiety just wasn’t worth it. If they could laugh together, enjoy each other in the moment—that was enough.

That’s what Andrew liked most about her: she was independent, emotionally aware, and, best of all—she didn’t make his life complicated.

Eventually, aside from Susan, Claire became the only woman consistently in his life.

After college, Claire had worked a few years in international trade, earned her first good chunk of money, and—with some help from her dad—bought a modest two-bedroom condo in a quieter part of Portland. It wasn’t big, but it was stylish and comfortable. Very... her.

Every time Andrew visited, he said the same thing—her place had a kind of energy that instantly made him relax. Just like her.

She credited that ability to keep their relationship so balanced to what she’d learned growing up.

Her father had always been a businessman, and her mother, a traditional stay-at-home wife. But not a happy one. Her father cheated constantly, came home every night, yes—but brought with him only silence or scorn. Her mother acted like she didn’t mind, doting on him like a servant from another era—massaging his shoulders, washing his hair, drawing his foot baths.

Claire had found it repulsive.

She learned young: a woman needs to make her own money, have her own space, and build her own identity. Because without independence, even love can’t survive—not truly.

She and Andrew met once a week, usually at her place. He rarely stayed overnight—not because he didn’t want to, but because she wouldn’t let him.

Even in her thirties, Claire was stunning—slim, elegant, always put-together. Suitors were never in short supply, including several promising young professionals.

But compared to Andrew, they all felt like overexcited puppies—cute, but lacking depth.

Julian Shaw was the only exception.

He’d liked her for years, but never pushed. Just like his appearance—gentle, refined, quietly confident. Claire admired that. She also liked being admired by someone like him. It scratched a part of her ego she didn't often admit existed.

Sometimes she thought: if Andrew weren’t in the picture, maybe... just maybe...

But Claire wasn’t the type to juggle lovers. She made that clear. Julian didn’t mind. He stuck around like a good friend anyway.

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