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We breathe together, the three of us moving as one while the rest of the world continues to fall away. Beck is the thread holding us all in place.

The gong from before resounds, the brass echo jolting me back to reality. Noah swallows and looks down at where Beck’s hand is on his shoulder then to where his other one disappears behind my back. He shifts away so he can get to his feet. Beck’s touch falls as he stands.

Noah holds out his hand to me and I take it, Beck standing with us. Awkward heaviness weighs between us now, and the trance we’d been in has broken.

Beck clears his throat. “That was a good first session. I encourage you both to spend lunch debriefing and journaling on your experience. Tonight, practice breathing together. It will only become easier the more you do it.”

“You’re giving us homework?” Noah asks.

“Practice makes perfect.”

The two share a look, their cheeks twitching like they’ve just shared a secret thought. It was there and gone so quickly, though, it’s like I imagined it.

“After break, there will be a group session, and we’ll have another one-on-one session tomorrow. If either of you need anything, this is my bungalow. You know how to find me.”

“Thank you, Beck,” I say.

“You’re welcome.” He pauses, his eyes lingering on Noah’s momentarily before he turns and walks inside his bungalow, drawing the curtains closed.

I’m left wondering what just took place—and filled with a yearning to have more of it.

Chapter sixteen

Beck

I lean against the bathroom door, glad to be in the safety of my bungalow. My skin is on fire, and my mind is a mess. I need to clear my head and center myself before I go back to work and face Noah and Quinn again.

I turn on the shower and shed my clothes, stepping into the water before it heats up. The cold spray feels like ice against my overheated skin, and I revel in it, tilting my head up at the water so it pelts directly on my face.

I wasn’t lying when I told Noah and Quinn they had a good first session—it was better than I could have planned for. I thought Noah would run and that would be that, but he didn’t. Not only did he talk to me until we came to some sort of weird truce, but then he let me touch him…and Quinn let me touch her.

None of what I did was out of the ordinary. I’ve done this exercise with at least a hundred, if not more, couples over the years. I’ve helped them find their breath, both with my words and guided by my touch, but this was…

I grab the bar of soap from the shower ledge and scrub angrily at my chest. I already washed earlier this morning, but I need to cleanse myself again, rid my body of their scents and the prickle on my hands from feeling Noah’s muscles and Quinn’s softness.

My dick jumps, all the blood from my brain filling my shaft as inappropriate thoughts barrage my mind like an avalanche. I think of each breath they took together, how they both melted into my touch and connected with each other in a way they haven’t in a long time—maybe ever. How Quinn looked at me with such trust, the way her body reacted when I praised her, and how Noah shifted in his chair when he watched me touch his wife in such an innocent manner.

“Fuck.” The bar of soap drops to the bottom of the shower with a thud, and I wrap my soapy fist around my throbbing cock. This is not what I should be doing while thinking about this, about them, but I need release so I can clear my mind and the Ashcrofts from my system.

I drop my chin to my chest and twist my fist up and down, angrily stroking my cock, dragging my foreskin back and forth over my sensitive head and using my other hand to squeeze my balls. I want the pain, need it right now. I groan, leaning my forehead against the blue-tiled wall. The color reminds me of Quinn’s beautiful pale-blue eyes.

Images of her on her knees while I feed her my fat cock appear in my imagination, those watery blue eyes staring up at me while I praise her like the good girl she is for taking what I give her, for sucking me down so good and choking on me.

My arousal jerks in my hand, and I stroke myself harder, the movie in my mind continuing to play as a masculine hand wearing a simple wedding band appears, fisting Quinn’s hair and pushing her wet mouth further down my aching shaft until her nose is buried against my pubic bone.

“Look at how well my wife takes your big dick, baby. Like her mouth was made for you. Just like mine is.”

Noah drops down next to Quinn, hand still in her hair. He smirks at me with that cocky grin of his, and the base of my spine tingles, balls drawing up.

“Fuck,” I groan, fisting myself faster, tugging up and down in wavelike strokes. “I’m gonna come.”

Noah pulls Quinn off my cock, and she gasps for air as Noah replaces her mouth with his. He licks the pre-cum leaking from my tip mixed with his wife’s spit and starts sucking me with just the right intensity.

I swipe my thumb over the tip of my cock, jerking myself once. Twice. On the third tug, I come with a grunt, picturing Quinn watching in awe as Noah swallows down my release, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he moans.

My cock jerks, more cum shooting from me. I open my eyes on another groan, seeing the last of my spend splatter against the wet tile and onto the ground.

I drop my hand away from my softening dick. Embarrassment mixed with anger coils in my lower belly—not at anyone but myself. I can’t believe I just got myself off imagining Noah and Quinn on their knees for me, that I allowed myself to do something so inappropriate and stupid.