I mean, could we stay married if Tucker hooked up with a dude? And what if he liked it? Doesn’t that make him gay or bi or whatever? That’s cool with me. I’m just not so sure it should be cool for my marriage.
“Relax, baby. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Ok? Here, try this.” He flags down a server holding a tray of miniature glasses, all smelling of strong liquor.
“What the hell is that?” I cringe, accepting the shot glass. It’s a shimmery, iridescent liquid, unlike any alcohol I’ve ever seen. It smells sweet, but is still potent enough for me to know that it packs a punch.
“Easy. It’s just a little something to help you loosen up. I figured you might need something a bit stronger than champagne. Go ahead—drink up. I promise, you’ll be one hundred percent fine. I am a doctor after all.”
I look down at the mystery pearlescent elixir in my glass then up at his charming smile, and shrug. It’s one shot. What’s the worst it could do? And like he said, he is a doctor. He’d never give me something that would potentially harm me.
I put the glass to my lips and tip it back, letting the cool tang of the liquor slide down my tongue and ease down my throat. It feels warm in my tummy, yet icy on my tongue. And I instantly know that it was a tad bit more than just alcohol I consumed.
Tucker leans in to kiss my temple and whispers, “That’s my girl.”
The more we talk and smile and laugh, the more I drink and the less apprehensive I feel. I’m so relaxed that I’ve almost forgotten that Ransom is here. Well. Almost.
“Tucker. Heidi. Good to see you tonight.” He grins when he approaches, totally catching me off guard.
He shakes Tuck’s hand then turns to me, mischief gleaming in those dark eyes. Then, in slow motion, he leans in and kisses my cheek. But his lips land closer to my ear, giving him the perfect opportunity to rattle me with his words.
“You look fucking delectable tonight. Good enough to eat,” he half groans for only me to hear. Then as he pulls away, his lips run over my cheek, leaving behind a trail of flames that seem to flare and scatter throughout the rest of my body. I think I thank him. I can’t be sure though.
After that, something in the evening air shifts. Not just for us, but for everyone. Voices dip into hushed whispers. Eyelids lower into sultry, hooded gazes. Wine and spirits are still present, but it seems as if the servers and their silver trays have been dismissed. Which is smart; Justice is a stickler when it comes to overindulgence and consensual sex. Oh so easily are those lines blurred, opening the gates for speculation and damaging claims, not to mention valid accusations. It’s just not good for business.
I watch as couples pair up with other couples or singles. They huddle together as if they share some salacious secret that just begs to be told. This is what they came for—to meet others like them. Not only to share their varied interests, but also to explore them . . . enjoy them.
I feel eyes on me . . . hear whispers inquiring whether or not we’re available for play. When the crowd begins to thin out as people make their way downstairs, I cling to Tucker like my life depends on it. Oddly enough, he seems oblivious to the obvious interest we’re garnering.
“Hey,” he coos softly, kissing the crown of my head. “How about we just go down and watch? No pressure. We don’t even have to take our clothes off. We don’t have to do anything at all.”
I look around the room and instantly lock eyes with Ransom, who is surrounded by two couples and even a few singles, all vying for his affections. With his statuesque frame, he easily peers over the horde, gazing at me with perplexity. Maybe he feels it too—this uneasiness. This doubt. Maybe we’re not cut out for kink. Or maybe we’re just not cut out for it with anyone else.
That can’t be true. It won’t be. Not anymore.
I look up at my husband and give him a slight smile, stowing my apprehension for the sake of this beautiful, loving man. I don’t get to worry about Ransom’s feelings. I don’t have the right.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-five
There’s a sort of out of body sensation that one experiences when they step out of their comfort zone and do the unthinkable. It’s as if you take on another life, switching from existing as the executor to the bystander, watching, anticipating, but not really feeling. Your body feels pleasure, but mentally, you check out. If you don’t, reality will creep in, shattering the illusion and allowing insecurity to slither its way into you like a black oil serpent. And once it settles inside you, purging its disease, you realize that you weren’t just witnessing this depravity. You were living it.
At least that’s how it is for me.
We do as Tucker suggests. We watch, we talk; we bite our lips in fascination and desire. And when our own feelings of arousal become too intense to put off any longer, we touch. In front of a room full of people, all of whom are too caught up in their own sexual exploits to give a damn, I let my husband touch me.
It’s almost chaste at first—a brush of my hair off my shoulders, a soft kiss on my neck, a gentle caress across my collarbone. And while I am somewhat tentative of each touch, my body betrays just how much this experience has truly affected me. Watching people kiss, fondle, lick, suck, and, oh yeah, fuck, is hot as hell. And the carnal, ruthless part of me craves that too. To be kissed, fondled, licked, sucked, and fucked. Desperately. In any and every way I can get it.
We settle on one of the unoccupied odd-shaped lounge chairs, which is barely wide enough for the both of us. It’s a good central location, giving us a view of the entire room. At every angle we hear people moan and gasp in pleasure. We see them testing the limits of their sexual restraint before thrusting into it headfirst. We even smell the arousal in the air, mixed with the scents of strategically placed jasmine and lavender candles.
All of it creates a heady cocktail of seduction that tempts my senses yet soothes my trepidation. So when Tucker leans over to kiss my lips, I don’t hesitate. I open for him, allowing his tongue to sweep into my mouth to taste the remnants of champagne and strawberries. I let his body settle over mine, even open my legs as far as they will go in my skintight dress. And I’m not even going through the motions now. I’m enjoying it. I’m present for it. That is, until something nudges me in the back of my head. Call it a hunch or intuition. Maybe it’s my body’s animal instinct. But I know Ransom is here. And I know he’s close, yet not close enough.
I open my eyes, but I can’t see much more than Tucker’s face. His legs are on either side of the chair, the part of it that’s enhanced with a smaller wave than the one my head rests on, and my ankles are hooked around his ass. He gives me his sexy smile—the one that means he wants me. The one he once used only on designated sex nights. But here we are, deviating from the routine. Doing something so out of the box for us that I can’t understand how it ever existed. How were we ever placated with mediocrity? When both of us are so extraordinary in our professional lives? Shouldn’t we be mad, ravenous beasts in every sense of the word?
His lips fall to my throat, and he kisses and sucks a path down to my chest. I don’t object when he tongues the tops of my breasts so he takes that as an invitation to slide the straps of my dress down. When I arch into the movement, he goes a step further, sealing our fate and completely taking us from playground spectators to contributors. He pulls my dress down until it gathers around my ribcage, exposing the hardened peaks of my breasts.
His gaze flickers up to mine as he slowly lowers his face to a pebbled nipple, taking it into his mouth, stroking the stiff bud with the flat of his tongue. I squirm under him, part of me self-conscious of prying eyes and part of me turned on beyond belief. This is different from our time with Ransom. Having Tucker watch me with another man was off-the-charts amazing. But now there are potentially more than two-dozen people watching us, watching the man I love suck and lick my nipples the way he knows I like it, and that . . . that’s beyond incredible.