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“But if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to speak about it,” Phil offers before adding, “but you two look like you might be into it.”

“Now I need to know what it is,” I say.

“You really want to know?” Noah asks.

“I’m not a prude.” My response comes out snippier than I had planned, but I’m not one. Stevie’s told me so many things she’s done with Lucas and other couples they play with. If anything, I was excited by what she told me and would have shared that excitement with Noah had I known he’d be into it.

Had I known he’s used a safe word before…

“Hotwifing is a form of consensual non-monogamy where the wife sleeps with other men,” Phil says.

I snap my head to the couple. They’re both smiling slyly while looking at me, and I have to wonder if Phil is hoping I’d want to sleep with him. I hold off a gag, because no way in hell is that going to happen.

“That sounds like an open relationship,” I say.

Josie chuckles. “Sort of, but Phil participates in his own way. He helps me pick my partners, and he watches. Not all people do it that way, some just want to hear the details afterward.”

“Not me,” Phil says. “I like to see how much my hotwife is being enjoyed, knowing that I get to have her to myself at the end of the day. It strengthened our relationship in ways I could have never imagined—especially since it requires a lot of trust and honesty.”

Noah’s hand finds my thigh under the table just as the gong sounds and Hazel announces that our mentors are ready to take us for our one-on-one exercises. Phil and Josie say their goodbyes, but I hardly hear them, my eyes now connected with Beck’s, who’s standing not far from us.

His beautiful brown irises stare at me. Noah’s hand on my thigh strokes methodically up and down, the sensation of the fabric from my skirt and the weight of his hand coiling heat low in my belly.

An intimate scene, so detailed it feels real, appears in my imagination: Beck moving above me, long hair a curtain around his face, his large body engulfing me, and his cock buried deep inside my pussy. Noah watching us from a chair, his breath labored as he strokes his dick up and down, the movement similar to his touch on my thigh right now.

“That’s it, Quinn. You’re taking my cock so well. Isn’t she, Noah?”

“Quinn?”

The image disappears, and I pry my eyes away from Beck to find my husband’s concerned hazel ones.

“Are you okay, Sunshine?”

I don’t answer, feeling like I might throw up after what I just pictured—and after Noah was so vulnerable with me yesterday.

He takes his hand from my thigh and brings it to my face, brushing a bead of sweat away from my brow before placing the back of his hand on my forehead. When I still don’t answer, he takes my lemonade and brings the straw to my lips.

“Drink this. You’re awfully hot.”

You can say that again, I think, taking a sip of the sugary liquid. The cold and tart lemonade settles my stomach but not my mind.

“Do you need to go back to the room and sit this session out?” Noah asks, the concern in his voice making me feel worse.

I manage to shake my head. “No, I want to do the session.”

He sets the glass down and looks me over again. “Are you sure? You can rest—”

“No, I’m fine. You’re right; just got a little overheated.”

Noah’s lip twitches upward. “And I thought I was the one who can’t handle the heat.”

I laugh a little, easing some of the tension in my body. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve already changed your shirt after this morning’s session and applied a gallon of 100+ SPF sunscreen.”

Noah snorts. “Can’t turn into a smelly lobster, now can I?”

“I guess not.”

He touches my forehead again. “Hopefully this session is inside”—he leans closer to me—“and away from Phil and Josie.”