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It means more than a hand job, if I’m honest.
By the time dinner is over, people are starting to appear and behave a little tipsy. Which is a sight for such a middle-aged, affluent crowd.
“Let’s go dance,” Briar says, bumping me with her elbow and tossing her napkin down on the table.
“Dance?” I stammer, staring at her as if she’s grown a third eye.
“Relax. It’s not the waltz.” She laughs as she drags me out of my seat and onto the dance floor.
Immediately, I feel like it’s middle school again, and I’m expected to shuffle around the middle of the room with my hands on her hips.
Needless to say, I let her lead.
She presses my left hand to her hip and takes my right as she pulls our bodies close together. Then she moves us with the music in a slow motion around the floor.
“This isn’t inappropriate?” I ask in a low mumble.
She shrugs. “Not really. I dance with Luke and Adam sometimes. It’s just a dance.”
I nod, loving the way her short satin dress feels under my fingers. It reminds me how soft her hips are and how good they feel in my hands. My cock twitches in my pants at the memory of her laid out naked in my bed, her legs wrapped around me, ready to give herself to me.
Not to be dramatic, but that was the best sex of my life. And I’ve had a lot.
The way she stared into my eyes as if I was more than a hot guy with a big dick. I was special to her. Sheneededme.
Deep down, I want her to always need me.
“Besides,” she adds with a shrug. “Why not give them something to talk about? Who really cares what they think anyway? So we are all sleeping together. Who cares?”
I can’t help but chuckle as I lean in and breathe in the soft, flowery scent of her hair. “Doesn’t your religion have something to say about that?”
She scoffs. Then, after a moment of contemplation, she says, “I don’t think I really care what my religion has to say anymore.”
“What would make you happy?” I whisper, not daring to look into her eyes.
She lets out a soft breath. “I think you know what would make me happy.”
Her body is pressed against mine as we spin around the room, and I can barely breathe with how much I want her. I know what would make her happy. It’s the same thing that would make me happy.
Feeling free to do what we want. All three of us. Together. No restraints. No judgment. No expectations or labels.
“I wish I could kiss you right now,” I mumble into her hair.
“Me too,” she replies.
Then my eyes lift and I see Caleb watching us from across the room. He’s standing by the bar with his brothers, but instead of talking, he’s busy staring at us.
And the look on his face is anything but angry. In fact, he’s wearing a proud smirk that lets me know he feels the same way we do.
Thirty-Four
Caleb
There’s absolutely no reason for me to enjoy the sight of my wife with another man.
I was raised to believe that a good husband would put an end to this. A good husband would keep his wife to himself. A good husband would not daydream about the lips of another man. And he certainly wouldn’t imagine those lips against his wife’s.
But I do.
