Chapter 1
My fingers find the purple dress before my brain catches up. It’s shoved at the back of the rack, hiding behind silk blouses from my marketing days. I had it dry cleaned the morning after I wore it to the casino. Hung it back here like a trophy I was pretending not to want, because apparently I’m the kind of woman who keeps souvenirs of her night with two men.
I’m a hotwife. I said it out loud less than a week ago, and my body’s flutter of agreement felt like she was saying, finally, bitch, welcome to the party.
My smile dies when I glance at my phone.
Tony’s text is still in there. The security footage of James Whitmore, Robert’s colleague, caught on camera near the Goldpoint Casino bar asking questions about me. Everymorning, I pick up my phone, thumb hovering over delete, and every morning, I don’t go through with it.
I grab the phone.
Shannon, delete the fucking text. Or don’t and tell Robert. Be done with this.
I put the phone in my robe pocket and close the closet door.
I’m a coward.
Robert is at the glass kitchen table with his coffee and his laptop open. He looks up when I walk in and smiles like I’m his favorite person on the planet. God, I don’t deserve this man.
“Morning.” I cross to the coffee maker. Shannon getting coffee on a Tuesday, nothing to see here.
“I was thinking about you,” he says.
My grip tightens on the mug. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. About what we’re doing.” He closes the laptop and gives me his full attention. “About what it would look like.”
I know what he means. He’s been circling this since I got home from the casino last time and he fucked me on the living room floor. He wants to watch.
I pour my coffee, doctor it with cream, and act oblivious. “What would what look like?”
Robert pushes his chair back and pats his thigh, and my body moves before my thoughts do. I set the mug down and let him pull me onto his lap. His arm wraps around my waist. He’s half-hard against my hip, and my traitorous pussy lights up.
Do I deserve this man’s trust while Tony’s text burns a hole in my robe pocket?
“I keep thinking about what it would look like.” His mouth grazes my neck, his voice dropping into that low register that makes my thighs press together. “Watching two guys fuck you.”
My pussy clenches. Yeah, thanks for the input.
Because here’s the thing: I want that too. I want Robert in the room. I want him to see what I turn into when they put their hands on me. And the wanting is real. That’s the fucked-up part. The desire is one hundred percent genuine. It’s just sitting on top of a lie.
“I’ve been thinking about wanting more. About pushing further,” I say. That part’s true, and the truth is easier to sell.
Robert’s arm tightens around me. His fingers find the gap where my robe crosses over my thigh, and his touch on my bare skin sends a zing straight between my legs. “What’s got you so wound up, baby?” he murmurs.
“Adrian.” I press my face into his neck so he can’t read my expression. “The way he edges me. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m loading the dishwasher and my thighs are clenching. I’m sitting in traffic squeezing the steering wheel. I’ve become a sex-crazed suburban housewife.”
His hand slides higher, along the inside of my thigh, and my legs part without my permission. My greedy pussy hums with approval. Robert’s fingers brush against my folds through the thin cotton of my panties.
“You’re soaked,” he says, his breath hot against my throat. “Just from talking about it.”
“I’ve been soaked since I woke up.” I rock against his hand.
Robert groans. He pushes my panties to the side and drags through my wetness, two fingers parting my folds, and the first contact of his fingertip against my clit makes my whole body jolt on his lap. I grab the edge of the kitchen table.
“Tell me what Adrian did again.” He slowly circles my clit. “Every detail.”
I tell him. The storage room behind the casino floor, bare concrete walls, that single buzzing light that turned everythingamber. Then his hand was in my hair, his cock stretching me open, fucking me so hard my knees buckled. And then he stopped.
