(Ava’s POV)
Ava traced the edge of the black lace with a fingertip. Delicate, expensive, and sharp against her skin. It was the kind of lingerie Mark liked, the kind he bought her but rarely saw her wear unless she was initiating something specific. Tonight felt specific. Very specific.
She stood before the full-length mirror attached to the back of the bedroom door, letting the simple cotton robe fall open. Thirty-two. Her body wasn’t nineteen anymore, but it held a ripeness, a curve and weight that drew eyes. Mark’s eyes, usually. But tonight… tonight was different.
Her breasts were full, nipples already hard pebbles against the chill air, anticipating. The lace bra pushed them up, creating a deep shadow between them, framing the smooth skin of her décolletage. She adjusted the strap, a tiny movement, but one that made the swell of her flesh tremble slightly. Below, the matching panties sat low on her hips, a thin strip of fabric barely containing the dark, tightly curled hair beneath. She liked the way it looked – not bare, but deliberately tended, a shadow of promise. Her hips curved outwards, flowing down to thighs that felt strong, capable. Ready.
She wasn’t just getting ready for Liam. Liam was… instrumental. A means to an end. An old friend, conveniently single, conveniently attractive, and conveniently unaware of the real game being played. The real audience was Mark. Her husband. Soon to be hidden away in the small, rarely used study adjacent to their bedroom. Listening.
A shiver traced its way up her spine, entirely unrelated to the temperature. It was the thrill of the secret, the edge of risk. She knew Mark watched her sometimes, his gaze lingering when he thought she wasn’t looking. She knew he had… curiosities. Fantasies he wouldn’t voice, thoughts that flickered behind his eyes before he shuttered them away. He thought his fascination was hidden, a private shame or thrill he indulged in silence. He was wrong. She’d seen the browser hi
