Chapter 3
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Jess hadn’t moved since the sheer dress had fallen away. Her arms hovered at her sides, every part of her stiff and uncertain, but her body betrayed her in little ways: the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the heat still high in her cheeks, the way her toes curled against the rug as if grounding herself.
Ryan wanted to rush forward, to take her hand and give her some shield against the moment. But he stayed in the chair, gripped by equal parts shame and awe.
Marcus stepped closer, unhurried. His presence was suffocating, yet calm, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t leer, didn’t gawk. He simply studied her, and that calm authority made her squirm more than anything.
“Good,” Marcus said quietly. “You listened. Now come here.”
Jess blinked. “What?”
He sat down on the edge of the wide chair by the wall, his size filling it easily. He leaned back slightly, one leg bent, the other stretched out, watching her with quiet expectation. “Come here. Sit.” He patted his thigh.
Jess’s whole body recoiled at the suggestion, her eyes snapping wide as she looked between Marcus and Ryan. “No… no way. I can’t—”
“You can,” Marcus said, interrupting her without raising his voice. His hand stayed on his thigh, waiting. “You want to pretend you can’t, because you think hesitating keeps you safe. But your body already knows what it wants.”
Jess flushed deeper, shaking her head. “This is insane,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone.
Ryan swallowed hard, his chest tight. He could see her unraveling, the way Marcus’s steady tone chipped through every defense she tried to build.
“Sit,” Marcus repeated. “Now.”
The command snapped the air taut. Jess bit her lip, her eyes flicking once more toward Ryan as if daring him to intervene, but Ryan sat frozen, trapped in his own storm of guilt and desire.
Jess moved. Slow, reluctant, every step heavier than the last until she stood in front of Marcus. He didn’t touch her at first, just looked up at her, his calm confidence turning the silence into pressure.
“Turn around,” he said.
She hesitated, but did it, facing Ryan. From Ryan’s chair, the view cut straight to the scrap of black fabric running up her back, straps biting faintly into her hips.
“Now sit.”
Jess closed her eyes for a beat, exhaled, then lowered herself into his lap. She perched stiffly on the edge of his thigh, her hands gripping her knees as if she could make herself smaller.
Marcus shifted beneath her, adjusting her with a hand on her hip, sliding her closer until her back pressed into his chest. Jess’s lips parted in a sharp gasp at the contact.
“Better,” he murmured, his breath near her ear. “Don’t fight it. Just feel.”
Ryan’s heart pounded. His wife sat on another man’s lap, her body tense, yet her thighs pressed tight together, as though even in her resistance her body had its own pull.
Marcus leaned forward slightly, speaking low so that Ryan could still hear. “Do you feel how hard you’re gripping yourself? How much you’re fighting? That’s the only thing holding you back.”
Jess shook her head quickly, her hair brushing her cheek. “I can’t believe I’m even doing this,” she whispered, but her voice trembled, the conviction already fading.
Marcus’s hand slid slowly up her side, stopping just beneath her arm, the touch light but certain. He didn’t grab, didn’t force. He simply rested there, a presence she couldn’t ignore.
“Stop saying what you can’t believe,” he told her calmly. “Start admitting what you’re actually feeling.”
Jess’s chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Ryan watched her close her eyes tight, as though shutting out the world. But when she opened them again, she wasn’t looking at Ryan anymore. She was staring straight ahead, her lips parted, caught in the tug-of-war between fear and arousal.
Marcus didn’t move his hand, didn’t rush her. He just waited, letting the silence and the heat between them do the work.
And Jess, trembling in his lap, knew she couldn’t hide much longer.