"With other women?"
"No," he said firmly. "Never. I told you, I always come alone."
I believed him, which was ridiculous considering our entire relationship was built on blackmail and manipulation. But standing there, watching him struggle to share this part of himself with me, I couldn't help but feel we'd crossed some invisible line. This wasn't the Rafe who moved through business meetings like a shark through water. This was a man showing me his most private self, vulnerable in a way I hadn't thought possible.
"Let's go in," I said.
Relief softened his features for a brief moment before he composed himself again. He opened the door, ushering me into a small, dimly lit room. The space was simple but luxurious—a plush sofa upholstered in deep red leather, positioned to face a large mirror that took up most of the opposite wall. Through the glass, I could see an elegantly appointed bedroom where a couple was already engaged.
The woman was on her back on a massive bed, her wrists bound to the headboard with what looked like silk scarves. She wore nothing but a thin gold chain around her waist, the metal catching the light as she writhed beneath her partner's touch. The man straddled her thighs, fully naked, his hands exploring her body with deliberate slowness that had her arching up.
I couldn't look away. The woman was beautiful—all soft curves and smooth skin that gleamed with a light sheen of sweat. The man worshipped her body with his hands and mouth, tracing patterns down her stomach, across her breasts, between her thighs. Though she was restrained, there was nothing degrading about it; this was clearly about prolonging pleasure, not control.
"Is this your thing?" I asked, turning to face Rafe. "Watching?"
He stood with hands in his pockets, body tense as if bracing for judgment. "Yes," he admitted, meeting my gaze steadily despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "I like to observe. To see pleasure without—"
"Without being vulnerable yourself," I finished for him.
Surprise crossed his face, followed by a rueful smile. "I was going to say without complication, but you might be right."
I turned back to the mirror, watching as the man lowered his head between the woman’s legs, drawing a desperate cry from her lips. "How does it work?" I asked, my voice huskier than I'd liked. "Do they know exactly who's watching?"
"No," Rafe moved to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "They know the room is being used, but not by whom. It's part of the thrill for them—being seen but not seeing. For me..." He hesitated. "Forme, it's about witnessing intimacy without the expectation of participation."
I nodded, absorbing this new facet of the man I'd married. It made a strange kind of sense—Rafe, who kept everyone at arm's length, who controlled every interaction with meticulous precision, finding release in watching others surrender to pleasure while maintaining his own distance.
"Does it bother you?" he asked, a rare uncertainty in his voice.
"No," I said honestly. "It's actually kind of hot."
His breath caught, and though I couldn’t see it, I felt his intense stare on my face. On the other side of the glass, the man had moved up to kiss the woman deeply while his hand worked between her legs in rhythmic strokes that had her straining against her bonds.
I couldn't help it; my breathing became shallow and quick. Heat pooled between my legs, made worse by the knowledge that nothing but the thin silk of my dress stood between me and complete exposure. I shifted from one foot to the other, pressing my thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the building pressure.
Rafe noticed immediately. Of course he did. "How do you feel?" he asked, his voice a low grumble next to my ear.
I struggled to articulate my response. How did I feel? Like my skin was too tight for my body. Like every nerve ending had been exposed to air. Like I might die if I didn't get some relief soon.
"I'm turned on," I finally admitted, the words feeling both inadequate and terrifyingly honest.
Rafe stepped closer and the air between us crackled with electricity. "Take care of it," he commanded. "Right here. While I watch."
My eyes widened. "You want me to...?"
"Touch yourself," he clarified, the words sending a fresh wave of heat through me. "Let me see you pleasure yourself while wewatch them." His gaze flicked to the couple behind the glass, then back to me. "Unless you'd rather go home?"
The thought of leaving now, with desire thrumming through my veins, was unbearable. I shook my head.
"Say it," he insisted.
"I don't want to go home," I confessed barely above a whisper.
Something primal flashed in his eyes. "Take it off," he said in a rough voice. "All of it."
With trembling fingers, I reached behind me to unzip the emerald silk dress. The fabric whispered down my body, pooling at my feet in a puddle of expensive material that I'd be worried about wrinkling if I could focus on anything but the hunger in Rafe's eyes.
I stood before him in nothing but my bra and heels, acutely aware of how exposed I was. My nipples hardened against the lace, partly from the cool air, mostly from the way Rafe looked like he wanted to devour me whole.
