Sabrina sat on the edge of the couch, one leg tucked under her, her body turned slightly away from Raymond even though they were only a few inches apart. Six years of marriage and somewhere along the way, the fire had dulled. It hadn’t always been like this—there was a time when he used to look at her like she was a prize, like he couldn’t keep his hands off her. But now? Now, he barely noticed when she wore her favorite red dress or when she let her hair down with that just-fucked wave he used to love.
Raymond, for his part, didn’t feel much either. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Sabrina. He did. But something inside him had gone quiet. Desire had become routine. Passion had become polite. And when Sabrina suggested they see a sex coach, he agreed—not because he believed it would help, but because he had nothing better to offer.
Their session with the coach, Dr. Brenna Hale, was unlike anything either of them expected.
Dr. Hale was direct, no-nonsense, and not the least bit squeamish about taboo. In fact, she seemed to lean into it with a sly grin and an arched brow.
“You two don’t need therapy,” she said after a long, quiet look at them. “You need sexual recalibration.”
Raymond gave her a confused look. “What does that even mean?”
“It means, Raymond, that you’ve forgotten how to want your wife. Not love her. Want her. Desire her. Lust after her. You’re no longer in competition. And men—most men—need a reason to see their wives not just as their partner, but as something valuable that could be taken.”
She leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Biologically, men often don’t see their wives as property in the modern world—but unconsciously, they still see them as a sexual supply. And supply only feels valuable when demand is present. You’re not protecting something you think you can’t lose.”
Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “So what are you saying? That he needs to see someone else want me?”
Dr. Hale smiled softly. “Exactly. I know this isn’t conventional, but I’ve seen cuckolding—ethical, consensual cuckolding—resurrect the deepest embers in marriages that seemed cold. A man witnessing his wife’s desirability reminds him of what he has… and what he could lose.”
Raymond shrugged. He wasn’t offended. He wasn’t particularly anything. Numb. Sabrina, on the other hand, felt like she had nothing left to lose. So, she said yes.
The next Friday, she got dressed like she hadn’t in years. Tight black skirt that hugged her hips, a crimson silk top that matched her hair, stilettos that made her calves pop, and a spritz of that perfume that used to drive Ray wild.
She looked into the mirror and tilted her head. Maybe I still got it.
Ray stood behind her in a button-down, watching in silence. His expression was unreadable. But he held the door open for her on the way out, hand at the small of her back.
They went to a lounge-style bar—not a dive, not too upscale. The kind of place where men nursed bourbons and women sipped martinis and everyone seemed just a little bit available.
Within twenty minutes, Sabrina was approached by a tall, olive-skinned man named Darius. Confident smile. Warm eyes. The kind of charm that made her feel seen. He complimented her laugh. Her lipstick. Her legs. They shared a drink, then another. Raymond watched from across the table, nursing his scotch and saying little.
But something was happening inside him. A low, hot twinge. The way Darius looked at Sabrina—like she was prey. The way she leaned in when she laughed. That little toss of her hair. She didn’t do that for him anymore. When was the last time she batted her lashes at him like that?
Something ancient stirred in Raymond’s chest. Possessive. Jealous. A flicker of primal energy—she’s mine.
Sabrina noticed. She caught Ray’s eyes across the table and offered him a little smile that said, You feel that, don’t you?
And for the first time in months, Ray leaned forward.
“Careful,” he said to Darius with a smirk. “She’s got a wicked sense of humor.”
Sabrina felt it instantly—Ray was engaging, not withdrawing. He was playing. Bantering. Like he wanted her attention again. And just like that, the dynamic shifted. He flirted with her in front of Darius. Touched her knee. Made jokes. He hadn’t lit up like that in forever. And she soaked in every second of it.
But Darius was no fool. He saw the chemistry. Still, he didn’t back down. He asked for her Instagram, and Sabrina handed over her phone with a flirty smile. They talked about grabbing a drink next weekend.
Raymond’s heart skipped. Not in a full-blown panic—but in that anxious flutter that said, Don’t let her slip away.
When they got home, the silence was thick. But not the awkward kind. The charged kind.
Ray closed the door behind them and just looked at her.
“You really liked him, huh?”
Sabrina raised an eyebrow, cocked a hip. “Maybe.”
He stepped closer. “You were laughing. Like you used to with me.”
She didn’t respond. Just let the tension bloom.
“I didn’t like it,” he said finally. “Watching him look at you like that.”
Her lips curled into a slow smile. “Why not? Didn’t you like seeing how wanted I am?”
Ray didn’t answer with words. He stepped in, cupped her cheek, and kissed her—hard, like he hadn’t in years. Hands in her hair, breath hot, full of want.
They stumbled to the bedroom, stripping along the way, fingers tangled, lips devouring. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was messy. Urgent. Possessive.
He pinned her wrists. Bit her shoulder. Growled into her ear. Sabrina moaned louder than she had in ages, grabbing at his back, digging in her nails.
Raymond was back. Passionate. Wild. Like he finally saw her again.
Afterwards, tangled in sheets, sweat cooling between them, Sabrina smiled lazily.
“So,” she whispered, “maybe Dr. Hale’s a genius.”
Ray chuckled, still catching his breath. “If this is what jealousy feels like… maybe I needed it.”
Sabrina leaned in, kissing his jaw. “If you ever forget again, I’ve got Darius on speed dial.”
Ray groaned. “Don’t tempt me.”
But deep down, he knew… he wouldn’t forget. Not anymore. He’d seen the threat, the competition. And suddenly, Sabrina wasn’t just his wife again. She was his woman. The fire was real. And this time, he wasn’t letting it go out. All he had to do to fuel the fire was think of their night out, the threat of her leaving for the arms of another man.
