Still smiling, he tossed the lust-smelling covers aside and swung his legs to the floor. He was heading a small bust, starting at midnight tonight, but he and Sam had the day, and after next Friday, he was on vacation. Staycation or whatever the fuck it’d been dubbed of late, but that was fine by Mike. He could finally diagnose the mysterious squeak in the car, sleep in, putter and nap and breathe easy with no one relying on him for an entire glorious week. No one but Sam, and the rare demands his easygoing, self-sufficient wife might make were his pleasure to address.

He pulled on some clean shorts and jeans, a tee and sweater to cut the morning chill. He headed downstairs and found Sam just where he knew he would, mug in hand, gaze on an open book.

She smiled up at him from the couch, brown eyes sweet and dark as she liked her coffee, and shining in the sunlight. He wanted to record each and every detail of her, her laugh lines and the way she squinted, how her ears stuck out a bit, the molasses brown of her glossy hair. She was thirty-six and she looked it, but he wouldn’t have her any other way. She might rue every new line and gray hair she found, but Mike loved them, each a tiny hint about the woman she’d one day be.

“Morning, handsome. Coffee’s ready.”

He stooped to kiss her forehead. “Thanks. When’d you get up?”

“An hour ago, maybe. So weird to out-sleep you.”

He headed for the kitchen to fill a mug, speaking to her over the breakfast bar. “You must have worn me out.”

“Oh yes, blame your wife for your laziness,” she teased.

He grabbed last Sunday’s paper from the table and joined her on the couch. Leaning over, he planted an extra kiss on her temple. “It wasn’t a complaint.”

His cock gave a twitch at the memories of last night. He’d come home that evening wound up from work, every muscle strung tight enough to snap, a stress headache brewing behind his eyes. Then he’d texted to see when she’d be home, and her curt Stuck at work late was all he’d needed to know what was in store for him. Work drama forgotten, the tension had shifted, and he’d started growing hot and impatient as he waited. He’d already been playing their game in his head for an hour by the time she’d come home. When he’d collapsed beside her after the sex, every muscle and nerve had been slack, all the tautness erased from his body and brain.

Other men could keep their anti-anxiety meds. Sam was the only therapy he needed.

Tonight he’d spoil her rotten. Whatever she wanted – be it an entire hour of head or just a quick peck and a night’s reprieve from all sexual demands – it was hers for the asking.

He scooted closer so his thigh touched her knee. He reached under her pillow, disrupting her reading to give her chilly foot a squeeze. “Thanks.”

She met his gaze, oh so innocent. “For the coffee?”

“For last night.”

She smiled deeply. “My pleasure.”

Maybe, but probably only to the extent it was his pleasure. “Whatever you want tonight. Or this afternoon or right now. Whenever.”

“All I know is that I want to get takeout for dinner.”

“La Feria?”

“I was thinking Soba.” She shut her eyes, smiling. “Pot stickers. Oh yes.”

“That all it takes to spoil you? Where’s the challenge in that?”

She looked him up and down, mischievous. “I’m sure I’ll think of some other ideas as the day goes on.” Her tone confirmed his hopes, warm with flirtation.

“Anything,” he said, and let her foot go with a final squeeze.

For a long time they read without speaking, the calm enriched by the smell of the coffee, the rustle of pages, the sounds of traffic and activity outside. After a half hour or more, Sam broke their companionable silence.

“You know last night,” she said lightly.

A familiar, irrational surge of anxiety jabbed Mike – fear that she was done with their games. Though she gave him no good reason to, he felt this worry now and then, aware of how strange his needs were and how thoroughly he’d already been spoiled. She was patient and more than indulgent. But would she grow weary of their games, in time?

He spoke casually to mask his fear. “I seem to recall last night, yes.”

“All this stuff we do. All the stuff you like…”

Mike’s field had conditioned him to always expect the worst, and his heart sank in selfish mourning. “Sure.”

She met his eyes. “How far were you thinking you wanted to take it? Further than we have?”

The fist around his heart loosened. “Oh, honey.” He turned and cupped her jaw, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “I love what we do. I’m not going to ask you for anything more. I’m not going to ask you for anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She’d been dropping hints for a couple of months now, clearly curious to know if he intended to leverage his kink beyond fantasy talk into something serious. He should have assuaged her fears the first time he’d sensed them. “Were you worried I was planning for us to take things further?”

She averted her eyes, her expression not evidencing the relief he’d hoped to offer. “No, I wasn’t worried.”

“I can read you like this book,” Mike said, tapping her paperback. He pulled her into a hug, but her body stayed rigid. “Jesus, Sami. I’d never ask you to do that.” He searched her face for signs of impending tears but found none, thankfully. “Is it not fun for you anymore?”

She didn’t answer right away, gaze focused on some nowhere-space between them and the far wall. “It’s still fun.”

“But?”

She bit her lip and met his eyes. “Have you ever thought about taking things further?”

He wouldn’t lie, as much as he feared freaking her out. “I’ve thought about it, sure. But that doesn’t mean I’d ever —”

“Would you like to?”

“I… In theory, yeah, maybe. But what we’re doing, it’s great. It’s enough. Hell, it’s plenty. Don’t worry. I’m not biding my time, waiting to ask you to do anything you’re not into. I’m not grooming you for some skeezy three-way.”

Finally, a tiny smile. “I’ve thought about it, too.”

His fearful heart thumped hard, then froze. “Thought about…?”

“About maybe taking things further someday.”

His mouth was dry as sand. “Like…”

“Like us, and another guy. Maybe.”

For a couple of breaths, he felt that sensation he dreaded so much – that suffocating feeling of inferiority, of worthlessness, of being not-enough, never-enough, not-even-close. Then, as always, it shifted, like gas dousing fire. His cock grew heavy between his thighs and a flush crept from his chest up his neck. “Like, you and a guy, and me watching?”

She nodded, a practical gesture, as though they were discussing whether to get the Focus’s tires rotated. “Yeah. Something like that. Whatever gets you hot.”

Fucking Christ, he was hot right now. But it wasn’t simply a matter of turning up the volume on their role-playing. They were talking about a real live other man, the real live sanctity of their marriage, and a scenario that demanded they both trust his turn-on wasn’t going to go sour and rot through the foundation they’d built together over the past few years. He’d nearly driven her away once before with his jealousy – the scare of a lifetime.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Do you think we’re up to it?”

“I think we’re up to talking about it. The idea, and the logistics. Whatever consequences could come of it.” She smiled. “I am an actuary, after all – I get off on risk assessment.”

It reminded Mike of the conversations they’d had as newlyweds about whether to have children. Weighing the urges against the risks and reality; their easy, low-stress home life versus the ticking clock that demanded a decision be made. They’d ultimately decided against, and why? To keep things simple, keep each other at the center of their lives.

To keep ourselves free and open to exploring this marriage to its fullest, Mike thought. Would it be a disservice to their decision to let this question mark go unexplored?