He smiled. “I fucking love you, my wife.”
* * *
We were all together again that night, things feeling a little lighter than before. The forecast said it would clear by morning. Our little bubble was almost up.
We agreed to do something fun, something light.
Jack and Elliott poured whiskey in the kitchen, clinking glasses with a little too much camaraderie, like the air hadn’t been tense between them just hours earlier. Maybe that was their version of clearing the air—let the tension dissolve in a drink.
Jackie sat beside me on the couch, her knees up to her chest but her body pointed toward me.
“Can’t believe we’re gonna leave tomorrow,” I said lightly.
She nodded. “Feels weird. It feels like we’re in our own little world out here.”
Across the room, Jack laughed at something Elliott said. The sound was warm and casual, like nothing had ever been weird between them. I guess that’s what alcohol could do to you.
But I’d seen the way Jack looked at Elliott. I’d seen Elliott look back.
“Truth or dare,” Jack called, like he couldn’t stand the quiet. “Just some simple fun.”
Jackie snorted. “Nothing about you is simple.”
“Oh, you should know, sweetheart,” Jack replied with a wink.
We played, laughed, the energy picking up again, slowly but steadily, like we were testing the water again before diving back in.
Jack dared Elliott to mimic an orgasm. Elliott passed.
Jackie dared me to describe my dirtiest fantasy. I didn’t.
No one pushed.
And maybe that’s what made the tension build—the restraint, the looks, thealmosts.
And then it was inevitable: Jackie rose from beside me with a low laugh, then walked over to Jack and eased into his lap after he dared her to.
And the moment she did, the air shifted again.
Elliott and I both stared at them. My heart beat a little faster. This was happening again, and we all knew it.
Jackie ended up straddling Jack while Elliott bent me over the edge of the couch. His touch was firm and dominant, one he had shown me briefly before.
I liked the way Jack watched from across the room, clearly turned on by it.
Or so I thought.
When Elliott started fucking me, it felt so fucking good. Familiar, even. He was vocal—filthy words in my ear, his hands strong around my hips. But something changed in the way he moved. His grip grew harder. His thrusts got rougher. Not playful rough, not dominant rough—competitiverough.
It didn’t register at first. Not until he yanked my hips back again, his voice a low growl. “You like that, huh? Gonna come for me while he watches?”
Jack couldn’t tear his eyes from us, and Jackie, lost in the rhythm, had no idea how tense the air had become.
I tried to lose myself too—to forget the weight of his gaze—but then the air changed. They were beside us. He’d drawn her closer, the distance between us dissolving.
Jackie was now on her knees, blowing Jack as he placed his hands on each side of her head, guiding her up and down his length.
Elliott grunted again, slapping my ass harder this time, and I gasped—from pleasure, from surprise. From the sudden realization that this wasn’t about me.
