Flecks of grey had turned it salt-and-pepper, but Nikki liked the look. This man only got more handsome as he got older. Her nerves were back, leaving Nikki shaking and jittery as adrenaline raced through her. She took a sharp, heady breath, as her husband did the same. She really wanted to. It riddled her with guilt and left her feeling like a terrible wife and mother, but she really wanted to.
Everything about what they were about to do came with a rush—from watching her roll her black thigh-highs up her legs, to helping her shave her pussy into a neat, cropped wedge, to making love one last time last night before she gave herself to another man—but seeing how into it Nikki was topped all of that. At some point along this improbable journey from wife to hotwife, his fantasy had become hers as well. She cast her eyes down, batting her long lashes as she bit her lip, then shyly looked back at him.
Right in that chair. Reaching into the pocket of his sports coat, he pulled out a blindfold—white and lined with frilly lace. Nikki shook her head, a shiver running through her.
She sensed her husband stand, his warmth leaving her side. She pulled her blouse around her. The room was warm, but goosebumps formed across her bare arms anyway. Her nipples pressed hard against the black lace of her bra. But this was different. This was documentation of this ultimate line being crossed. A moment later, she felt something press into her hand, cool and smooth.
She lifted it to her nose and sniffed the earthy aroma of the white wine. She sat perched on the edge of the exquisitely made bed, looking stiff and nervous and so beautiful—innocent in the sexiest way possible. That sight would greet another man in just a few minutes. No matter what happens. He nodded, looked her over one last time, and left.
Nikki heard the door click, and for a moment, panic tightened around her. With the blindfold on, she felt so defenseless—ready to be a plaything for a strange man.
She should have hated that objectification. She still felt the stirrings of indignity and shame. Until Carl had walked in on her masturbating. She lifted the glass of wine and drank quickly as her gut churned and her face burned with mortification. He knew her secret. Even now, despite being all alone, she wanted to bury her face in her hands. She fought back the wave of panic, called on all those hours of yoga, and calmed her breathing. His breath came ragged. He let himself laugh, but it came out a nervous titter.
When the elevator chimed open, he was thankful that he had it all to himself. The elevator dropped, and he fought to keep his stomach from dropping with it. He could still back out. Instead of getting out of the elevator when the doors opened, he could ride it back up to her. He could pretend that he was the stranger, use the blindfold to his advantage. Steeling himself with a deep breath, Carl stepped out and crossed over to the crowded bar. It was busy with business travellers and conventioneers unwinding after a long day, many looking for some evening entertainment.
Ridge was a good-looking guy, but very different than Carl. First of all, he was younger, and athletic in a way that Carl never had been, with the close-cropped hair of a soldier. He held his broad shoulders back, exuding confidence as he flipped through his phone. A trio of young women floated past him, giving him a long onceover. Carl dove into the bar, weaving through the sea of bodies without seeing them, barely feeling them. He closed in before he lost his nerve.
It was the only outward sign that this man was as nervous as Carl. His smile was bright and delivered without hesitation. He still felt like melting into the floor, but it was a little easier now that he was face-to-face with their fantasy maker. It burned against his throat. It was still filmy, not quite developed. He hesitated only a beat before holding it out to Ridge. When he looked at it, his eyes went wide. This was on a different plane. Ridge blinked, seemed to remember himself, and tucked the photo into his own pocket.
And this man knew the right questions to ask. Carl took another sip of his Scotch, really considering the question. The jealousy was there, tangled up in sticky insecurity, but more than that was this intense, profound arousal.
It was her reassurance that made this question an easy one to answer. His mouth went dry; his pants tightened. He lost the ability to speak as Ridge leaned closer, never releasing him from that stare.
Until she screams, Carl. Will you be okay then? Time lost its meaning as she waited, nervous and excited and vulnerable. Her mind wandered to Ridge, the stranger they were about to invite into their bed.
The real surprise was how down-to-earth he had seemed. Is it okay if my husband watches? Can we take photos?
And always, always, Send me more. The wine glass trembled in her hands. She took a sip—the tiniest sip—knowing it left the red smear of her lipstick along it. Would Ridge find that sexy? She reached down, touching the lace at the top of her stockings. I want you to wear stockings for me. She still had that text on her phone. She considered taking the blindfold off to read it. Before she could, she heard the click and felt the pressure in the room change.
Her ears opened, trying to fill the blindness. Was that stride longer, different? And then she smelled it—smelled him. Beneath it, though, she smelled the musk of another man, hungry for her.
He smelled exactly the way he imagined Ridge would smell. His hands touched her fingers, caressing the backs of her hands as he took her glass of wine. It was Carl, saying the exact thing she needed to hear. Yes, she was ready for this. They were ready for this.