It started like a thousand other nights where we flirted with the idea of more.
David and I had talked about it — the fantasy of seeing me flirt, seeing another man want me, the rush of feeling wanted and watched at the same time. But talk is just talk until you’re sitting at the dimly lit hotel bar, your hand lazily stirring a cocktail while your husband watches you openly seduce another man. Hell, I didn't even know if I could anymore. Was I even sexy? But then it happened...
The guy was gorgeous. Tall, tan, confident but not cocky. He caught my eye immediately.
David saw it too. He smiled that little knowing smile of his — the one that said go get him, baby.
And so I did.
I leaned into the stranger’s space, laughing a little louder, touching his forearm as I made some ridiculous joke. I was shamelessly flirty in a way I never allowed myself to be before.
David watched — quiet, calm, and god, if I didn't see a spark of something raw flicker behind those strong blue eyes. A mix of jealousy, lust, and pure adrenaline.
I didn’t have to drag the stranger along. When I suggested we go somewhere “a little more private,” he practically leapt off his barstool.
His hotel room was just a few floors up — same building, just a short elevator ride away.
As we piled into the elevator, there was this electric tension.
I teased David: "You sure you want to come with us, honey? We could leave you at the bar…"
But he shook his head, a little breathless.
"No. I want to watch."…
