I blinked away but not before glancing quickly to where I knew people were watching, knowing each and every one of them could see my sharp possessiveness and pride.

Look at her, I thought, reaching to unhook her bra. Look at this beautiful fucking woman.

Her breasts were firm when I cupped one, and a flush of warmth pulsed through me when I registered she hadn’t pumped before she came here.

“Jesus, Sare.”

“Own it, Stella.” She tugged my shirt from my pants with a devious little smirk. “If we’re going to play tonight, we’re going to play.” Sara unbuttoned my jeans and slid her hand into my boxers. “In here you don’t get to pretend it doesn’t make you crazy to suck on them or get your palms all wet. You don’t get to pretend my body like this is for her. It’s for you, too. You did it. Own it.”

She pressed the heel of her palm into me and let out a quiet groan. I was so rigid it skirted the line of pleasure and true discomfort. This is what she did to me. Scooped out every thought and sensation so she could fill me up with nothing but this searing ache for her.

“They’re going to watch you and wonder how it feels,” she said, “whether you like it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she ran the nail of her index finger along my collarbone: “They’re going to wonder how often you fuck them.”

I could barely look at her like this—rapt and sexy and self-possessed—without feeling a heavy swell of emotion in my chest. I swallowed, hands shaking as I pushed her dress down her hips. Her need was a tangible thing, growing and filling the room, and it started to consume me, too, knowing what it would feel like in the tiny slide of skin between her legs. How slick and wet she would feel on my fingers.

The fabric pooled on the floor—looking every bit as good as I anticipated—and I didn’t bother to lower her lacy pants before I slid my hand down in them, fingers searching and finding her soaked.

“Fuck.”

“They’re wondering why your mouth isn’t on my breast,” she whispered, pulling my head down until I licked at the tight pink swell, until I felt the sweetness draw across my tongue. I groaned, squeezing her with a hand that had started to feel a little greedy, more than a little wild. She slid her hands down my back. “They’re wondering what it’s like to play with them like this.”

I sucked, groaning and turning her until she faced the mirror and could watch what they watched: me, bent at the waist to reach her breasts, licking them into a wet shine, making them grow fuller and tighter.

“I’ll fuck them,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” she gasped.

“I’ll come all over that pretty neck and then lick your pussy so deep they’ll see in my face how sweet you taste.”

She pushed me until I reached the mattress and sat and then straddled me, bending to seal her mouth to mine. I let out a sound between a groan and a plea for more when her tongue pushed into my mouth, tiny and sweet but commanding, hungry to feel and dominate. I loved my Sara like this, in charge and powerful, fists in my hair so she could pull my head back and get me at whatever angle she wanted. She fucking owned every cell in my body, every breath, every reflex.

I could barely move my hands from her breasts, working and kneading, loving the feel of the tightness in my hands and the wet on my palms. I swiveled her so her back faced the mirror and they could see the slide of my hands around her ribs, over her back, down to her ass.

She ground down over my cock, and then pushed me until I was lying on my back so she could peel my trousers and boxers off in a fierce, determined tug.

“Socks,” I commanded quietly, and she giggled as she finished undressing me completely.

My wife gave me a look that communicated some pretty wicked intentions before she licked her way up my legs and pushed them apart to draw her tongue across my balls.

“Filthy fucking girl,” I said through a laugh, closing my eyes as she drew her slick tongue up my cock. I pulled her hair into my fist and guided her as she was sloppy and wild all over me. Pushing onto an elbow, I reached to spank her tight ass with my other hand and groaned when she pushed herself deep onto my cock in response, swallowing the tip deep into her throat.

It was too good—too much wet and suction and pull along my length if I was going to last at all—and I pulled out and flipped Sara to her back, smiling at her surprised giggle and climbed over her ribs, pushing her tits around my cock. I was still slick from her mouth and I rocked over her, fucking with a sort of savage abandon I hadn’t let myself feel in so long. I might bruise her and I could tell neither of us cared. I could come all over her neck, defile her, feel the tip of my cock hit the delicate skin of her throat and it was the kind of rough and possessive behavior, I could see from her expression, that she needed.

She’d missed seeing me like this, I knew. She’d missed seeing me obsessed and hungry to claim, seeing me overcome and wild. Did she really need to be reminded? I told her every day she was beautiful. Every night she felt my desire for her when she curled against me. But of course, here it was different: here we were more bare somehow than we were even in our bedroom, as if constantly raising the stakes of what we were willing to share with the people on the other side of the window.

We gave them a show but it was never false. It was as if it was a game where we could unveil every dark or wicked thought we had, every needy impulse, every vulnerability that needed to be given attention.

See? she said with her eyes. You forgot how much I love to see you wild for me. You forgot this is where we play with fetish and boundaries.