Mark lathered soap in his hands and rubbed it gently across my shoulders, my breasts, my back, my stomach. He massaged my breasts slowly and I felt a tingle in between my legs again. His touch was tender now, caring for me the way he always did.
Maybe he wouldn’t bring it up again. Maybe the open marriage thing had just been a weird moment of panic about the move, and now that we’d reconnected like this, he’d realize how crazy the idea was.
Yes. That had to be it.
I leaned back against his chest, feeling his arms wrap around me, holding me close under the spray of water.
We were so in love. Anyone could see that. What we’d just shared—that kind of passion didn’t come from a relationship that needed “fixing” with other people.
Mark kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering there.
Everything was going to be okay.
It had to be.
CHAPTER 4
Mark
The steering wheel was warm under my hands as I drove through midday traffic, a smile playing at my lips.
I had already made reservations for lunch at The Farmer’s Fork—Amelia’s favorite restaurant. She’d be so surprised when I showed up at home to whisk her away. We hadn’t done something spontaneous like this in the past few months when I got too busy chasing after my promotion.
Last night was incredible. The way she’d responded to me, covered in dirt and clay and desire, completely uninhibited—God, sex with Amelia was amazing. Always had been. She knew exactly what I liked, and I knew exactly what she wanted, and we fit together like two halves of an english muffin.
Fifteen years and she could still make me lose my mind.
I merged into the left lane, my thoughts drifting as the radio played softly.
But even as I thought about last night, about how perfect we were together, that familiar restlessness crept in. That wondering. That curiosity about what else was out there.
It wasn’t that Amelia wasn’t enough. She was. She absolutely was.
But I’d never been with anyone else. Not once. My entire adult life, my entire sexual experience—all of it was with one woman.
One wonderful, beautiful, perfect woman.
But still. Just one.
I thought about the guys at work. Oliver, who’d slept with dozens of women before settling down. Jeff in accounting, who’d had a wild twenties full of hookups and adventures. Even my college roommate had racked up double-digit partners before graduation.
And me? Just Amelia.
Some men would cheat. I knew plenty who did—sneaking around, lying to their wives, living double lives. That was disgusting. Dishonorable. I would never do that to Amelia. Never.
But what if there was another way? A way where we could both explore, both experience variety, both rediscover ourselves—together, with full honesty and transparency?
That’s what this Paris arrangement would be. Equal opportunity for both of us. Amelia could date, could experience other men, could see what else was out there.
We’d come back stronger. More appreciative of each other. More in love, even.
That’s how it worked, right? People who opened their marriages, they did it because they were so secure, so confident in their love, that they knew nothing could threaten it. A little variety, a little spice, it wasn’t a threat. It was an enhancement.
If only Amelia would agree.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
What if she didn’t? What if last night was her way of trying to change my mind, of showing me what I’d be missing if I pushed this?
