(Tom’s POV)
Tom’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the pulse throbbing low in his groin. He stood leaning against the bedroom doorframe, his knuckles white where he gripped the wood, and watched his wife.
Sarah.
She was magnificent. Even now, just standing in her simple silk robe, tying the belt loosely at her waist, she took his breath away. He cataloged the details he worshipped, the details he was about to offer up. Her body was all soft curves and enticing fullness. Lush, heavy breasts that filled his hands perfectly, tipped with wide, dusky nipples that puckered instantly at the slightest change in temperature, or thought, or touch. Right now, they were hard little points beneath the silk, straining against the fabric. He knew how sensitive they were, how a flick of his tongue could make her gasp. Soon, another man’s mouth might be there.
His gaze traveled down her waist, the gentle swell of her belly – a belly he desperately fantasized about seeing rounded and full – to the generous curve of her hips and ass. Her legs were long, shapely, strong. Dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, a thick curtain he loved burying his face in. She turned slightly, catching his eye in the vanity mirror, and offered a small, shaky smile. Her eyes, usually warm brown and full of affection, now held a complex mixture of fire and fear. Excitement and pure, unadulterated nerves. Just like his.
His cock was rock-hard inside his pants, pressing painfully against the zipper. It had been hard for hours, ever since they’d confirmed Marcus was on his way. Marcus. The bull. The man who was coming here, to their home, to fuck his wife while he watched.
“You’re sure about this?” Tom’s voice was a rough rasp, barely a whisper.
Sarah turned fully, the silk robe swirling around her. She walked towards him, her steps deliberate. “We’re sure, Tom,” she said, her voice softer than his, but firmer. She reached up, placing a cool hand on his cheek. He
