This time I had sworn to myself: no more of those parties where Markus talks shop about stock prices with his friends while the women discuss pediatricians in the kitchen. Yet here I stand, a glass of white wine in my hand, watching my husband laugh with Felix — that Felix with the dark eyes and that way of looking at you as if he knows exactly what you need before you know it yourself.
It had been Markus’s idea. Three months ago, after a bottle of red wine and an evening where we confessed our deepest fantasies to each other. “I want to see you with another man,” he had said, and I had laughed until I realized he was serious. “Not just anyone,” he had added, “someone I trust. Felix.” His best friend since college. The one who stops by for Sunday morning breakfast and compliments my homemade bread while Markus is still asleep.
I had thought about it for a long time, wrestled with myself over whether I really wanted this. But every time I saw Felix, when his hand accidentally brushed mine, when he looked at me with that gaze that went deeper than mere friendliness, I felt a pull inside me. And Markus had assured me it wouldn’t make him jealous — on the contrary, he would desire me all the more afterward. So I had agreed. With conditions: slowly, step by step, and only if it felt right. Tonight it felt right.
The Game Begins
Felix is standing next to me at the bar now, while Markus discusses something with another guest. “You look incredible tonight,” he says quietly, and his voice sounds different than usual — deeper, more intimate. I’m wearing a black dress that leaves my shoulders bare, and I feel his gaze on my skin like a touch. “Markus told me you two are planning a game,” he continues, and his smile is a mixture of curiosity and desire.
“It’s no longer a game,” I reply, and my heart beats faster. “It’s an invitation.” I lift my glass and take a sip that gives me courage. Markus has given me free rein, but with one condition: he wants to watch. Not in the same room, but close enough to hear the sounds. I had hesitated, but the thought of my husband listening while another man takes me has uncovered something in me that I can no longer ignore. A part of me that hungers for risk, for the forbidden that is suddenly allowed.
Felix sets down his glass and steps closer. His body is warm, and I smell his aftershave — a blend of cedar and musk. “And what do you want?” he asks, and his hand suddenly rests on my hip. The touch is firm but not demanding. It asks. It offers. And I accept.
“I want you to kiss me,” I say, and my voice is barely a whisper. “Here, in front of everyone. So Markus can see.” I see Felix’s eyes flash — he understands. He enjoys the game as much as I do. Felix hesitates a moment, then leans in. His mouth meets mine, and it’s not a gentle kiss — it’s a kiss that says everything we don’t speak aloud. His tongue glides between my lips, and I taste whiskey and something sweet. My hand finds his neck, and I feel the warmth of his skin. When we part, I see Markus out of the corner of my eye — he’s staring at us, his face a mixture of arousal and a hint of jealousy. Exactly what I needed. That little tremor inside me that says: Yes, you are desired, you are daring.
“The bedroom upstairs is free,” I say to Felix, and my voice is steady now. “Markus will wait in the closet next door. He only wants to hear, not see.” Felix nods, and I take his hand. We walk through the crowd, and I feel the guests’ gazes on us — curious, amused, maybe a little shocked. I don’t care. I’m on my way to something I’ve denied myself longer than I want to admit.
The Negotiation
Upstairs, in the guest room, Felix closes the door behind us. The bed is made with a cream-colored bedspread, and the light from the bedside lamp bathes the room in a warm orange. For a moment we stand there, just breathing, just feeling. “Are you sure?” he asks, and his voice is soft. His hand is still on my back, and I feel the warmth through the fabric of my dress.
“Yes,” I reply, and I turn to face him. “I want this. I want you.” My hands glide over his chest, feeling the firm fabric of his shirt. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, a ritual that touches me deep inside. “Then let’s take this slowly,” he says. “I want to feel every moment of you.”
He turns me toward him, and his hands glide over my shoulders, sliding the straps of my dress down. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, and his breath brushes my ear. “I’ve imagined this so often.” I help him open the zipper, and the dress falls to the floor. I stand only in a black lace bra and panties, and his gaze is hungry. His eyes wander over my body, from my breasts, outlined beneath the fabric, down over my stomach to my legs. “Turn around,” he says softly, and I obey. I feel his fingers, stroking gently along my spine, down to my ass, where they pause briefly. “Perfect,” he breathes.
“Then stop imagining,” I say, and I kneel on the bed. “Come here.” He pulls off his shirt, and I see his muscular torso — broad shoulders, a light dusting of hair on his chest that thickens downward. His belt clinks as he opens his pants, and then he stands before me, only in boxers that barely conceal his arousal. I reach out and stroke the fabric, feeling the hardness beneath. He groans softly, and the sound triggers something in me.
“I want to feel you,” I say, and I pull him onto the bed with me. We kiss again, this time more fiercely, while my hands roam over his back. His skin is warm, slightly damp under my fingers. I lie on my back, and he leans over me, his lips moving from my mouth to my neck, where he sucks gently. A soft moan escapes me, and I feel my nipples harden. He unfastens my bra, and his lips find my breasts. His mouth is hot, his tongue circles my nipple, first one, then the other, until I throw my head back and moan. Next door, I hear a creak — Markus moving in the closet. The knowledge that he’s there, that he hears us,
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