“Fuck.” On-screen, his eyes shut, lips a tense O. “Yeah. Fuck.”

And he came – came for her, it felt, right on his clenched belly, shaking fingers making a mess of him.

Despite everything he’d just shown her, despite how personal, how intimate it felt… watching his face as he came down from the insanity of the lust felt twice as raw. He tugged his bottoms up to cover his cock, then leaned to the side to grab a hand towel. He smiled at the camera, chest and stomach still rising and falling fast as he wiped his skin clean. “Hope you enjoyed that little show. Hope you can’t get to sleep now, wishing you were over here with me, instead of stuck there with him. I hope —” The distant barking of a dog cut him off, and he doubled over for a moment, abs hitching with a silent chuckle as he straightened. Another bark, and he turned to laugh-shout, “Molly. Shut it.” Then to the camera, “Anyhow, that’s what you’re missing, Samira. Call me when he’s gone some night, so you can get me there yourself, okay? Sweet dreams.” And that handsome face went blurry and bright, leaning in close to the glowing computer, killing the camera.

Sam’s heart was pounding, but only half from the private show. If she could only watch five seconds of that video ever again, it would’ve been his smile, and the way his muscles had tensed from laughing when he’d scolded his dog. And that realization had her hands trembling, as she admitted to herself, she had a crush on him.

Duh. But the clarity of the thought was so sharp and so sudden, it stung. She should be hot for him, that was fine. If she could come from his touch – his mouth or hands or cock – all the better. But a crush? Why did that scare her so much?

Because Mike doesn’t get hard imagining my crush.

No, Mike didn’t fixate on soft things – first kisses, private and tender touches, the subtle trappings of romantic interest. For that matter, neither did Bern, she assumed. She was feeling something that belonged only to her, with no place in their games. She’d imagined having sex with any number of men she’d never, ever touch – strangers and celebrities and wholly fictional men – in the five years she’d been with Mike.

But I’ve not had a crush on a one of them. Nothing this warm and soft and…

Stop it.

When she took the earbuds out, Mike asked, “You okay?”

“Oh yeah. Just…” She made a frazzled noise, feeling every measure of it. “I think I’ll take a bath.”

“It’s after ten,” he said, watching her kick away the covers.

“I know, but I’m all wired.” Let him think it was a ploy, let him think she was pretending to sneak away, to touch herself under the guise of the bath. In reality, she was wired. Only because no one’s ever sent me homemade porn before. Not from Bern’s smile. Not from hearing him say her name…

And not just Sam, either. Samira. Mike used her full name when he was worried about her; to check that she was okay. Bern wielded it in a far more mischievous way.

The hot water dissolved the bulk of her worries, leaving a simmering buzz of arousal. By the time the heat waned, she knew full well that Mike would have watched those same few minutes’ debauchery she had, and she was eager for the sex that awaited her. He’d be thinking of the things that excited him – the threat of the man his wife lusted for. Of that man’s size, his confidence, his words. He wouldn’t dwell for a moment on his smile or laugh, or the silliness of him shushing his dog. He’d fixate on the blunt, aggressive aspects, the dynamics that vibrated on his male wavelength. Those subtler seductions wouldn’t even register.

And they shouldn’t. And they wouldn’t, not outside of those few minutes’ panic. It was late, and Sam was overthinking her reaction. And policing herself for something entirely natural. I mean, God forbid I have a crush on the man I’m getting off with.

Mike had changed since their games had become reality, though not in any of the ways she’d imagined or feared. She’d worried he might grow jealous or possessive in a capacity that felt more angry than lustful. Or that he’d become insecure in everyday life, not merely while he was mired in his role, or turn genuinely distrustful of her. Or hateful toward Bern. But she’d been wrong.

Mike was changing in a dozen soft, surprising ways. He’d never been stingy with affection, but now she caught him touching her fondly at odd, sweet moments. He smiled at her more, the gesture sometimes sheepish, sometimes hungry, but always warm and conspiring. Gratitude suffused him, and she felt it in his touch and saw it in his eyes, tasted it in the needy, eager way he kissed her.

While they’d never stagnated or even cooled much toward each other, she hadn’t felt this… this infatuation humming from him since they’d first fallen in love. She hummed for him as well, as surely as she hummed for Bern. It brought to mind a term she’d come across when looking into the whole cuckolding thing to begin with, one used in the polyamory community. New relationship energy. That honeymoon glow you could only get from a new lover, or in Mike’s case, from a wife he was suddenly viewing through a mind-bending new lens. Through a kaleidoscope, through a chemical high.

She stood from the bath and toweled off, feeling light and loose. Mike would be in bed, hard as hell and wound so tight it had to hurt. Bern was a few miles away, probably sleeping soundly, she thought, smiling as she dressed.

She shut off the light and fan and padded into the bedroom, finding Mike reading. Or pretending to read.

“Good bath?”

“Very nice.”

He watched her climb into bed, his gaze surprisingly mild. Had he not taken the hint? She’d left that video open on her phone just for him.

“Three more workdays,” she said, switching off her lamp. Three more workdays and it was the weekend, sure. But three more workdays and their next encounter with Bern was going down. Christmas countdown, she thought, recalling his analogy.

“Three more,” Mike agreed, turning onto his side to stroke her bare arm.

She smiled at him. “You feeling amorous, Mr. Heyer?” She was on her period, but that never stopped them.

Gaze on his grazing fingers, he said, “I watched it.”

“Oh?”

Were they playing? She didn’t think so. If they’d been playing, Mike would be acting hurt. She felt her stomach sour, dread coiling inside her.

He met her eyes. “Did it turn you on?”

Truth only. “Yeah. It did.”

“And that’s what he wants most. Somebody watching.”

She nodded, feeling cold. Scared.

“Let’s get a camera,” Mike said.

Like a knot tugged free, Sam’s entire body fell slack from relief. “A video camera?”

“If you’re comfortable with it.”

“It’s sooner than we’d planned to go there – only our fourth date, or whatever you could call it… but I think I’m ready, yeah.” Her only real misgivings about taping the sex were those of vanity – she was far more nervous about seeing her naked body on-screen than she was about the video getting out. Mike would be careful, and Bern got off on being watched, so there was more in it for him if they kept it for themselves.

“You think you’re ready?” Mike prompted.

“I am.” She smiled. “A little shy about seeing my naked ass on camera, that’s all. But that, in exchange for simultaneously fulfilling two gorgeous men’s greatest fantasies?”

“Think about it for a couple of days. If you still feel okay, maybe we’ll do a little shopping on Saturday morning.”

And maybe she’d get to send Bern a text to the tune of, You must have been a good boy – looks like Santa brought you a camera. Man, would that ever get him off. Then she pictured the theoretical video, of Bern’s gaze burning into the lens, his performance as much for their eyes as it would be for Sam’s body.