He took Sam’s hand and linked her slender fingers with his big ones, and focused on the baby steps. “How would we even find somebody?”

“Probably online,” she said. “Put an ad on a personals site. Like, a kinky personals site. The background check would be a piece of cake, at least.”

Mike nodded. True, he could get the dirt on any guy with a few keystrokes. But that didn’t cover STIs, character, intentions… He wasn’t exactly a public figure, but he was a public servant. If some sexual tourist found out Mike’s position, what was the worst that could happen? Three-ways weren’t illegal, and they wouldn’t be soliciting. He’d face a hell of a lot of judgment and scrutiny and humiliation, but his job wouldn’t be at risk. Neither would Sam’s, though she still had her privacy and reputation to consider.

“What about if the guy, like, talked about us online or something?”

She smirked. “I think you’re underestimating how likely you look to break his neck, honey.”

“Oh. Maybe.”

“Or that invisible gun that’s always hovering at your side, even after you’ve taken your holster off. But if that’s not enough, we could make him sign some confidentiality agreement, I bet. So we could sue him if he told anyone. But really, people do this stuff all the time.”

“I know. I’m just trained to expect the worst.”

She leaned into him, a hug without arms. Her hair was a whisper against his neck. “I know you are. Do you think if we did find someone, theoretically… How do you think you’d actually feel, watching another man with me? Would it be as hot as what we talk about, or would it be upsetting, in reality?”

Tell her the truth and risk crossing some line, being too kinky for her to stay on board with…? Truth only. Always. “I think it’d be the hottest thing I can imagine.”

She sat up and smiled, a mysterious, beguiling little gesture. “You’re such an interesting man.”

He felt his face heating and cast his gaze down at their linked hands.

“And after the sex was over?” she asked. “Would the hotness be tainted once the deed was done? After you went back to being Mr. In Control?”

“Once the deed was done, I’d know that guy would realize I have the sexiest, most decadent wife in the world. And that I’m the one who gets to wake up with her every morning, while he was the one who had to go home alone.”

She nodded, seeming to like his answer. Her attention shifted and she picked up her phone, checking the time. “I better get running soon. I’ve got a haircut at one.”

“You driving there?”

She shook her head and stood. “Walking.”

“Cool. I’ll check out that whining noise in your car.”

She smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “You’re lovely.”

He got to his feet, tailing her down the hall. “You need the bathroom, or can I grab a shower?”

“I’m good. I’ll see you when I’m back.”

“Have a good run,” he said.

“I will. Could be a long one. I’ve got a lot on my mind now.” She shot him a grin over her shoulder. “I think maybe I’ve got a project to start planning.”

CHAPTER THREE

Samira’s plotting officially kicked off two evenings later, when Mike was out on a bust that might take three hours or thirty. After a couple of days’ soul-searching, she’d decided to give the first stage of planning a shot as a treat for him, a bit of wicked news to keep him buoyed through his rough assignment.

Step one was creating a post on a kinky personals site.

BULL WANTED FOR CUCKOLD SCENE,  

GREATER PITTSBURGH 

Even typing that one line had her heart pounding, pleasure and fear mingled in every beat. It felt as though somebody were behind her, reading over her shoulder. But she’d already given herself permission to bail – if she got replies and they creeped her out across the board, she’d hit the abort button. If she received replies and they didn’t all creep her out, but her intuition wasn’t happy, she’d still abort. Though maybe she’d print out the more intriguing replies, in case they gave Mike a thrill, and further deepen the unlikely groove they’d been steadily etching into his libido.

But the more she reread the subject line, the less it intimidated her. She took a fortifying sip of wine, and a half hour later she examined her composition.

Me: married female, mid-thirties, professional, pretty, curvy, Persian roots, great skin and smile.

My husband: late thirties, calm, submissive cuckold fetishist, indulged in role-playing only so far. That’s where you come in.

You: can pass for early thirties/late twenties. Single, safe, handsome, tall, built, and hung. No race preference, brunet a plus. Open-minded and kind on the inside, gruff and cocky on the outside. No penetration during the first visit or two – we can build up to more explicit stuff if things feel right. Ultimately my husband wants to watch us together and should be made to feel belittled and outmanned, and generally have his nose rubbed in how much manlier you are than he is.

We’re fun, sane, childless, and STI-free. Ideally we’d love to find a man we have chemistry with, for a longer-term, casual arrangement. Please, no leather/rubber/intense BDSM stuff. You will pretend to be my normal old piece on the side, who just happens to be gorgeous and bossy.

If interested, let’s chat via e-mail. Please send a photo, including face. If it feels like a good fit, I’d love to meet for a drink. Then if the chemistry’s right, we can flirt and kiss while my husband watches from afar, pretending I’m meeting up with the guy I’m cheating on him with. We won’t take you home on the first date, but if it feels natural, the sky’s the limit for the future. Be warned, we will require your real name before we invite you into our home, and we will run a background check as a formality.

—S

“Not bad,” she decided aloud.

She fussed with the wording for another hour – and another glass of wine – and was shocked at the confidence with which she hit POST.

Her nerves tingled, but her curiosity far outweighed her fear. She wouldn’t get her hopes up – the fact that she was genuinely rooting for the ad to result in some candidates was thrilling enough. There was no deadline, after all. It would happen if and when it was supposed to.

The next morning, Sam sat with her coffee mug hovering near her chin, blinking, shocked by the e-mail flood that greeted her. Shocked and terrified and flattered and excited.

She was at her desk in the corner of the living room, and Mike was puttering in their tiny kitchen, beyond the breakfast bar. He’d gotten in around four a.m. and had to leave again in just a few minutes, but maybe this would give him a boost. The coffee alone probably wasn’t enough on three hours’ sleep.

“Honey, come here a sec.”

“What is it?” He rounded the counter with his own mug in hand, and peered over her shoulder at the subject lines. “Whoooaaa…”

“I know.” She’d opened a new e-mail account specially for the task, and it looked like a big old in-box full of sin, staring at her with accusing messages titled Bull found! and Can’t wait to meet a hotwife and the like.

“Forty-three messages,” Mike said.

“In about twelve hours. And here I thought you were an outlier.”

“Wish I could stick around and see what the hell they say.” But instead he kissed her cheek with a mischievous little grin. “Another late one tonight.”

“I figured.”

“But maybe you’ll have some developments to share with me when I get in.”

“Here’s hoping.”

But the number dwindled as Sam filtered out men who lived halfway across the country, ones whose pictures turned her off, ones who claimed to be “a very youthful fifty,” and some plain old creepers. It ruled out a lot of candidates.