“You’re so fucking good,” Sam groaned. If she was faking it again, he’d never have guessed.

“You wanna ride my dick?”

Fuck yes, please.

“Yeah.”

Mike watched as his wife straddled her new lover, her gaze holding Mike’s when she sank down on that rival cock. “Fuck.”

Bern echoed the sentiment, his intruder’s hands closing over her hips. The guy was in for a treat – Sam was great on top. Mike had a hell of a view, could see her face, see her breasts, see each inch of Bern disappear as she rose and fell, see the indentation of her flesh where this strange man’s fingers pressed.

“Good,” Bern muttered. “Ride me. Ride my dick.”

Mike’s mouth went dry and his hand twitched, cock begging.

Sam found her pace, and after a minute or more she finally turned her attention to Mike. Her face told him everything his fantasy fed on. Scorn in her eyes, revenge in her smile. Talk to me, he begged. He might have to speak first. But as his lips parted and closed uncertainly, she took those reins, intuitive as always.

“Like what you see?”

He swallowed, throat tight and sore. “Sam. What the fuck? How can you do this?”

She slowed, but didn’t stop, and to Bern of all people, she said, “Sorry.”

“Sam,” Mike repeated. “What the fuck?”

She went still, hands caressing Bern’s chest idly. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this, but he gives me things you just can’t.”

“I’d give you anything you asked for,” Mike murmured, mesmerized for a moment, feeling almost out of his body. Christ, they’d never played their game like this before.

“There are some things you just can’t offer me.” She raised her hips, Bern’s cock slipping free. She walked backward on her knees and Bern sat up, propping himself on straight arms, spreading his thighs.

“You could never give me this.” She held Mike’s gaze, taking Bern’s length in her hands. Mike wondered if the man could feel her wedding band on his skin. Sam stroked his cock and balls, admiring, flaunting. Mike’s own hands were curled into fists at his sides.

“I’d buy you toys,” he told her.

A huff of derision. “They can never compare to a real man. A real man with a big dick, who knows how to use what he’s got.” She dropped to her elbows, taking Bern in her mouth. That in itself hijacked Mike’s blood pressure. But when he saw the other man’s fingers tangle in her hair, he thought his body might rip clean apart, leave him in a sparking, mangled heap on the bedroom floor. Somehow he held it together, even as he watched Sam’s capable lips slide up and down, watched her cheeks hollow with the exquisite sucking that had been Mike’s alone until recently.

Startling as a gunshot, Bern met Mike’s eyes, and spoke to him for the first time. Two simple words, cocky and cruel, to reach across the room and strike him dead in the heart. “Taking notes?”

Mike shuddered, hate and lust short-circuiting his brain and body, every impulse a hot, conflicted jumble. He wanted to kill this man… but not as bad as he wanted this man’s come slicking his wife’s sex.

If he shot in her mouth, would I kiss her?

The very thought was a shock – the sort of question he’d been avoiding asking himself, since that first night. Since the first time he’d tasted this man on his wife’s skin – the first time he’d ever tasted any man, period.

In truth, yes, he wanted to. He ached for the insult of it, more than anything. But he didn’t think he could, not while the guy was still there. Not the first night. Maybe eventually.

Maybe eventually, he’d share that kiss with her, and perhaps even more… eat her out and be forced to taste what another man had left. They’d certainly fantasized about it enough, and role-played it. Mike liked that part, the way his brain flipped, halfway through the game. He’d start out cowed by humiliation, but as the imagined seed was licked away, the dynamic would change, possessiveness kicking back in, and he’d get hot from thoughts of reclaiming her. Sometimes the role-playing stopped short and they just fucked like beasts, Sam letting him see how riled he got her.

“Suck that cock.” It was Bern speaking, giving voice to Mike’s own thoughts. “Suck me good and I’ll make you come so fucking hard.” He gathered Sam’s hair in his hand, guiding her bobbing motions. “Good. That’s good…”

But soon enough, he let her go. Sam sat up.

“Hands and knees,” Bern told her.

Sweet fucking Christ, yes, please .

That view. Side-on. Before Sam had even fully settled into the position, Bern was taking her. If the guy liked getting watched, well, happy birthday, asshole. Mike kept his face stoic, but everything happening before him struck him as viscerally as a kick in the guts.

Strange hands held her hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh there, and with each stroke came a flash of bare, flushed cock and dark hair, a rough grunt.

Mike wanted to touch himself. So fucking badly. He didn’t think his dick had ever hurt like this – like a cruel hand had his balls in a fist, twisting. Add to that the jealous flames licking up and down his body, and this had to be akin to madness.

“Goddamn, you’re hot.” Bern’s body sped, one hand resting on Sam’s lower back, the other dangling at his side as he watched, the pose full of cocky porn swagger. But it was better than any porn Mike had ever seen. His deepest desires made real, this show his alone to enjoy, with all its smells and sounds and the heat of two fucking bodies. His wife.

“You like it hard?” Bern asked.

“Yeah.” The second the word left her lips, the sex went from rigorous to rough. Mike’s hand twitched, begging to relieve his cock.

Bern grasped Sam’s hips, kneading her flesh in time with his driving length. “Bet you feel amazing when you come.”

She moaned her reply and craned her neck to watch him.

“Maybe I’ll just find out for myself.” Bern stooped closer, riding her tighter, looping an arm around so he could touch her clit. To make his job easier, Sam pushed up from her elbows and braced herself on her palms.

It was surreal, watching this man fucking her the way Mike might, on the nights when his kink wasn’t center stage. It stung for real, but only for a second. It was perfect, of course, the idea that this shithead was giving Sam the kind of sex Mike knew she liked most.

“Bern.” Her voice was stilted from the motions. “Jesus.”

“Yeah, you like that? You like that nice fat cock?”

Mike flushed hot as Sam said, “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you come for me, show me just how much you love it?”

“I will.”

Will you? Really? She’d faked it that first time. Would tonight be different? He honestly had no clue if he wanted that. He wanted her pleasure, and his kink wanted evidence that he really was outmanned. But a selfish, honest bit of him still hoped Bern couldn’t get her off. Once the guy was gone, Mike would give her anything she asked for, make her tremble around his dick or against his tongue or fingers, to hell with the game for a change – let them both remember how good they were together. Just the two of them.

You’re wasting the show, worrying about it.

Fucking right he was.

He pushed the self-analysis aside and drank in the scene taking place before him. For him.

Their bodies were hugged too close for Mike to glimpse that most explicit point of contact. In its place he fixated on the sound – animals rutting. In his bed. Bern’s triceps twitched with the strokes he gave Sam’s clit, and her own hands were fisted around the covers. She looked crazy in the hottest way possible, her pretty face flushed, lips parted, wild eyes aimed at Bern over her shoulder. How he adored that look – the one she always wore when she’d had a couple of glasses of wine and dulled her inhibitions. The one she wore on the nights when she asked for it hard and fast.