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Continued from the previous post.
That night, we explored the resort, ascending the grand staircase to the second level. Kim wore another satin dress, but this time, the hem barely reached mid-thigh. Shorter than anything she’d worn so far. As she climbed ahead of me, I couldn’t help but watch the way the satin dress moved with each step. The hem flirted higher with every movement, exposing a hint of her curves, and at one point I caught just the slightest glimpse of black lace between her cheeks.
On the second level, in a lounge area, a group of Jamaican men were shooting pool. Every man at the pool table stopped what they were doing. One guy actually froze mid-shot, his eyes glued on Kim, mouth slightly opened.
Kim pretended not to notice, but her walk became more deliberate, hips swaying. She was performing for them, and we both knew it.
We’d made it about halfway up when I heard a familiar voice booming across the space: “Aye! My newlyweds!”
I turned to see AJ walking toward us from the direction of the lounge, and I almost didn’t recognize him. Gone were the board shorts and tank top. He wore dark jeans that fit perfectly, and a white linen button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His dreadlocks were pulled back, and he looked… polished. Handsome in a way that made my stomach tighten.
“AJ!” Kim’s face lit up, and she moved toward him without hesitation.
They embraced, again, and I watched carefully. It wasn’t the same charged hug from the beach earlier. This was more socially acceptable—his hands on her back, her arms around his shoulders—but it lasted a beat too long to be purely friendly. When they separated, AJ’s eyes traveled down to her long bare legs.
He didn’t even try to hide it.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice appreciative. “Always looking good!”
“Thank you,” Kim replied, clearly blushing. “You look nice yourself.”
“Yeah mon, can’t be looking like a beach bum all the time,” AJ laughed, finally acknowledging me with a nod. “What you two been up to?”
“Just had dinner,” I answered. “Now looking for something to do.”
“Well…” AJ said, his attention already back on Kim. “You can meet some friends of mine. They’ll be performing for tomorrow’s beach party.”
He gestured toward the pool table where the men were still watching us. Watching Kim, specifically.
Before I could respond, Kim said, “Sure!”
We followed AJ over to the lounge area. The men straightened up as we approached, their casual postures becoming more attentive. They were all around our age, dressed in shirts with the top few buttons opened, with a confidence that suggested they were used to attention.
“Fellas, these are my friends—the newlyweds I told you about,” AJ announced. “This is Kim and…” He paused, and I realized that AJ had forgotten my name. “Her husband.”
The introductions went around. I caught a few names—Marcus and Devon out of the five—but I was more focused on how they were all looking at Kim. Not subtly, either. Their appreciation was open and unapologetic.
“You’re with the band?” I asked, trying to establish some kind of normal conversation.
“That’s right, mon,” the oldest one Marcus responded. He was maybe forty, with close-cropped hair going gray at the temples. “We play the beach party tomorrow night. You two should come.”
“We’ll be there,” Kim replied, with an odd enthusiasm.
Within moments, the group had naturally divided. Marcus had engaged me in conversation about where we were from, how we were enjoying the resort—standard tourist talk. Meanwhile, AJ had positioned Kim a few feet away, and she was surrounded by the other band members.
I tried to focus on Marcus, to be polite, but my attention kept drifting to Kim. She was laughing at something Devon said, her hand touching his arm briefly. The men were competing for her attention, each one trying to say something funnier or more charming than the last.
“You have a beautiful wife. She’s younger than you, yeah?” Marcus asked, pulling my attention back.
People often made that mistake. Kim and I were both twenty-six, but I’d started losing my hair early, my hairline receding in a way that added years to my appearance. Kim, meanwhile, looked like a girl straight out of high school—smooth skin, petite frame, an energy that read as much younger.
“We’re actually the same age,” I corrected, “but yeah, she looks younger.”
“Mmm,” Marcus nodded, his eyes drifting to where Kim stood. “I only said it because you a lucky man. That’s a beautiful woman you got there.”
“Thanks, I know,” I replied, trying to keep my voice casual.
That’s when AJ took Kim’s hand and spun her around—like a dance move, showing her off to his friends. The satin dress flared out, and for a moment, I saw the bottom curves of her backside, the black lace in between. The men hooted appreciatively, and Kim laughed, clearly enjoying herself.
My heart hammered in my chest. This was beyond flirting. This was something much more.
“We don’t see many Asians here at the resort,” Marcus continued, and something in his tone made me look at him more carefully. He was watching me watch Kim. “Your wife, she very youthful looking. So petite and delicate, you know? Very different from what we used to.”
He paused, then added with a slight smile, “You enjoying the resort? All the… attention?”
The question felt loaded, like he was asking something else entirely. Could he sense what this was? Could he tell that I wasn’t just a regular husband annoyed that men were hitting on his wife?
“It’s been… fun,” I managed.
“Mmm-hmm,” Marcus nodded slowly. His eyes held mine for a moment. “I’m sure it has been.”
I turned back to watch Kim. She was in the center of the group now, animated and glowing. AJ stood close to her—too close, really—and something about his body language had shifted. Earlier in the day, even when he’d hugged her topless on the beach, there had been a carefulness to his actions. Now, dressed up and among his friends, he seemed emboldened. His touches lingered, casually possessive.
“You enjoy watching your wife?” Marcus asked suddenly, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
The question hit me like a physical blow. My mouth went dry. “What?”
“Just an observation, mon,” Marcus said, that knowing smile still on his face. “You barely been listening to me. Your eyes keep going to her. And you don’t look angry about all the attention she getting. You look…” He paused, considering. “You look like a man who enjoying the show.”
I should have denied it. Should have gotten defensive or changed the subject. Instead, I just stood there, caught.
Marcus chuckled softly. “Relax, mon. I’m not judging. Every man got his thing, you know? And if your thing is watching your pretty wife get admired…” He shrugged. “Could be worse things.”
Before I could respond—before I even knew what I would say—I saw one of the younger band members lean in close to Kim’s ear, saying something that made her eyes widen. Whatever he’d said, it had shifted the energy of the group. They were all watching for her response now.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I excused myself from Marcus and walked over to the group.
“Hey,” I said, probably too loudly.
Everyone turned to look at me, and the expressions on their faces were unmistakable: I had interrupted something. AJ’s hand dropped from Kim’s back. The circle opened slightly to let me in, but the mood had changed. Whatever moment they’d been having was over.
“We should probably head up,” I said to Kim, trying not to sound as rattled as I felt.
“Yeah, okay,” Kim agreed, glancing at AJ. “We’ll see you tomorrow, for volleyball?”
“1 PM sharp, same place,” AJ confirmed, his eyes holding hers for a long moment. “I’ll be waiting.”
We said our goodbyes—Kim hugging AJ once more, waving to the band members—and made our way up the stairs to the terrace level. My heart was racing, my mind spinning with what I’d just witnessed.
We found a quiet corner near the railing overlooking the ocean, giving us privacy despite the other couples scattered around the terrace.
“So,” I said, trying to sound casual and failing, “what were you all talking about?”
Kim leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. “They really like my dress, said it looked very Jamaican. And AJ spun me around… you know, to show them.”
“I saw that,” I said.
“They also said they’re not used to seeing Asian people at the resort. They thought I was Japanese at first.” Kim paused, biting her lower lip in that way she did when she was about to reveal something. “They said I looked very cute.”
“Cute,” I repeated. The word felt inadequate for what I’d witnessed.
Kim leaned forward, lowering her voice even though no one was close enough to hear. “One of them asked me something.”
“What?”
She held my gaze, her eyes bright with excitement and a hint of nervousness. “He asked me if I’ve ever been with a Black man.”
The question hung in the air between us. The audacity of it—asking a woman on her honeymoon, with her husband nearby—should have made me angry. Instead, I felt a full-on rush of arousal.
“What…” I breathed. “Which one asked you that?”
“I think his name is Devon?” Kim said.
“What did you say?” The question came out hoarse.
Kim’s smile turned wicked—that expression I’d come to know so well, the one that meant we were stepping over a line we couldn’t uncross. “I told them no, but… there’s a first for everything.”
My mind reeled. “You said that? With AJ right there?”
“Yeah…” Kim admitted. “Then he told them ‘See, I told you she was cool like that.’”
“What does that mean,” I repeated slowly, processing. “So, he’s been… what? Talking about you to his friends?”
“Apparently,” Kim said, reaching across the table to take my hand. “Does that bother you?”
Did it bother me? I was so hard I could barely think straight. I was jealous and aroused and terrified and excited all at once. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe? But also…”
“Turned on?” Kim finished for me.
Her hand reached between my lap grabbing the bulge in my pants. “You’re so hard. This is what you want, isn’t it? You like watching me?”
She was right. This was the dynamic we’d explored back home, in controlled scenarios. But here, now, with AJ and his friends openly expressing interest in my wife—with her encouraging it, enjoying it—everything felt accelerated, more intense.
“That old guy, Marcus,” I said suddenly. “I think he knows.”
“Knows what?”
“About us. About… me sharing you.” I gestured vaguely, encompassing everything. “He asked me if I enjoyed watching you. He could tell.”
Kim’s eyes widened. “Really? What did you say?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t say anything. But is it that obvious?”
“Maybe they’ve seen it before,” Kim suggested. “Or they’re looking for it.”
The implication settled over us. How many couples had Marcus seen play out similar dynamics at this resort? How common was this, really? And were they really looking for it?
Friday night arrived with the energy of a hundred bodies moving to live reggae music on the beach. Torches lined the sand, their flames dancing in the ocean breeze. The resort had transformed the main beach area into an open-air club, complete with a stage where the band we’d met—Marcus, Devon, and the others—were setting up their equipment.
Kim had chosen a white summer dress with tiny flowers. She looked fresh and innocent, which somehow made everything feel more charged.
“You look so beautiful,” I told her as we walked down to the beach.
“Thank you,” she replied, squeezing my hand. But her eyes were already scanning the crowd, looking for him.
We found AJ near the stage, coordinating with the band. When he saw us, his face broke into a huge grin. He was in his element here—no longer the activities coordinator but a showman, an entertainer. He wore a tight-fit shirt that showed off his muscular arms and broad shoulders, and I saw Kim’s eyes track over his body appreciatively.
“My favorite newlyweds!” he called out, walking over to us. “You ready for a real Jamaican party?”
The night started with dancing and drinking—rum punches that tasted like fruit juice but packed a serious punch. The band was incredible, their music infectious, and soon the beach was packed with people moving to the rhythm.
About an hour in, AJ took the microphone. “Alright, alright, we need some volunteers for a little competition!” he announced, and I saw him scanning the crowd. His eyes found us, and he pointed directly at Kim and me. “The newlyweds! Come on up here!”
My stomach dropped. “Oh no,” I said, but Kim was already pulling me toward the stage.
“Come on, it’ll be fun!” she insisted, her face flushed from the rum and excitement.
Another couple was chosen—a man who looked to be in his forties and his wife, an attractive blonde woman I’d noticed sunbathing topless several times during the week. They looked confident, like they’d done this before.
AJ explained the rules: “First the husbands will have a dance-off, then the wives. The couple that gets the loudest cheers wins!” He held up a bottle of expensive-looking Jamaican rum. “And the winners get this beauty right here!”
The music started—a fast-paced reggae beat—and suddenly I was supposed to dance in front of a hundred people. The other husband immediately started moving. His hips rolled to the rhythm, but he was older and his body looked stiff.
I felt ridiculous at first, self-conscious, but then I caught Kim’s eye in the crowd. She was genuinely excited, and something loosened in my chest. I let myself go, stopped caring how I looked, and just moved.
The crowd responded. People started clapping, whistling. When AJ called for applause to determine the winner, the cheers for me were noticeably louder.
“The young blood takes it!” AJ announced, clapping me on the shoulder. “And now let’s see the ladies!”
Kim stepped onto the stage, and the energy shifted immediately. The other wife went first—and she went hard. Full twerking, dropping low, moving in ways that had the crowd hooting and hollering. She was good, no question.
Then it was Kim’s turn.
The music shifted to something with a Latin influence, and Kim didn’t try to compete with the raunchy dancing we’d just seen. Instead, she moved with grace—salsa steps, turns, her hips swaying naturally to the rhythm. Her summer dress swirled around her thighs as she spun, and there was something almost innocent about her movements that made them even sexier.
The crowd went wild. Men were whistling, women were cheering, and I saw AJ watching her with undisguised appreciation.
When the music ended and AJ called for applause, it wasn’t even close. Kim won by a landslide.
“The newlyweds take it!” AJ announced, handing me the bottle of rum. “Now let’s celebrate properly!”
Before I knew what was happening, AJ had unscrewed the cap and tipped the bottle toward my mouth. “Open up, champion!” he laughed.
I opened my mouth and he poured—not a shot, not even a double, but what had to be at least three or four ounces of straight rum. It burned going down, making my eyes water, and the crowd cheered as I struggled not to choke.
“Now the lady!” AJ said, turning to Kim with the bottle.
Kim tilted her head back, opening her mouth, and AJ poured generously. Too generously—rum spilled out the sides of her mouth, running down her chin and neck, some of it dripping onto her chest. She was laughing and coughing at the same time, wiping at her face.
“She can take a big load!” I shouted carelessly, the rum talking louder than I meant to.
The crowd erupted in laughter. AJ’s eyes went wide for a second, then he threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah mon, I know!” he replied, and the way he said it made my stomach flip.
The rest of the night became a blur of music, dancing, and more drinking. The rum from the bottle kept circulating around, and I lost count of how many times I drank from it.
But even through the haze of alcohol, I remained hyperaware of Kim. She was magnetic that night—people couldn’t help drifting toward her. Men kept approaching with congratulations about the contest. They’d find excuses to stand close to her, complimenting her dancing, asking how she’d enjoyed the week.
And I stepped aside. Every time someone wanted to talk to Kim, I gave them space. Some of them were from volleyball—older men in their fifties and sixties who’d been watching her all week. They’d approach, but their real goal was clear: to get close to her, to touch her arm in a casual way, to maybe sneak in a hug that lasted a beat too long.
Kim didn’t pull away. She smiled at them, laughed at whatever they said, let them have their moment with her.
I should have felt angry. Instead, I felt a twisted sense of pride mixed with arousal. These men desired my wife so badly, and she was giving them these small interactions—not enough to truly satisfy them, but enough to make them feel special.
“She’s very popular,” a familiar voice said beside me.
I turned to find AJ standing there, watching Kim with the same expression I probably wore.
“I know!” I replied, my voice too loud, too enthusiastic. The rum was definitely in control now.
AJ and I stood there together, two men watching my wife surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. It should have been the most awkward moment of my life. Instead, it felt strangely comfortable, like we were sharing something.
Kim must have felt our eyes on her because she looked over, saw us standing together, and excused herself from her current conversation. But as she approached, slightly unsteady on her feet, she didn’t come to me.
She went to AJ, leaning into him with a familiarity that made my breath catch.
“Hey there, handsome!” she teased him, her voice slightly slurred.
The music shifted to a slower reggae rhythm, and something possessed me. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the whole week building to this moment, but I heard myself say: “You should dance with her.”
AJ’s eyes locked onto mine. In that look was a question, a challenge, an understanding. His expression clearly said: You really want me to take her, don’t you?
I didn’t answer verbally. I just nodded slightly.
AJ took Kim’s hand and led her a few steps away from me—not far, maybe ten feet—and they began to dance. At first, it was innocent enough: turning, moving to the music, their bodies close but not touching.
Then the song changed. Something slower, more intimate. AJ pulled Kim closer, and she melted into him without hesitation.
My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. They were swaying together, Kim’s head resting against AJ’s chest, his arms around her waist. The visual was striking—my petite wife, barely 5’4″, looking almost fragile against AJ’s 6’3″ frame. Her pale skin contrasted beautifully with his dark complexion. His muscular arms wrapped around her soft curves.
People around us were definitely noticing. I caught whispers, saw heads turning, couples nudging each other and gesturing toward Kim and AJ. Everyone could see what was happening. Everyone knew.
AJ spun Kim around so her back was against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Kim’s hands went to his forearms, holding on, and she pressed back into him. Her dress rode up slightly as she moved herself against him. They stayed together like that, intimately, sensually, right in front of me.
Then AJ looked over Kim’s shoulder and met my eyes. He held my eyes with something that felt like an acknowledgment of what was happening, a question about whether I was really ready for this.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
All I could do was watch. And in that moment, the truth settled in with startling clarity: Kim wanted him, and he wanted her. It was in the way they looked at each other, the way they smiled like they were sharing something meant for them alone, the way their voices dropped to a private whisper. They were wrapped in each other’s arms, completely absorbed, and I was suddenly on the outside looking in.
The song finally ended, and Kim separated from AJ, walking back toward me. AJ quickly headed in a different direction, like he was checking on the band. Kim looked at me with an odd expression—nervous, aroused, guilty, excited, all mixed together.
Then she asked the question that changed everything:
“Do you think I can hang out with AJ tonight?”
My stomach dropped. “You mean… alone? Just the two of you?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” Kim said, her words slightly slurred but her eyes focused. “He wants to take me out. To a club. He said it would be fun.”
A club. Off the resort. Alone with AJ.
“I’ll come too,” I said, hearing the pleading note in my voice and hating it.
Kim shook her head firmly. “No. AJ said he doesn’t want you coming.”
He doesn’t want you coming. The words echoed in my head. They’d already discussed this. While dancing, while whispering to each other, they’d planned it. Kim had already agreed before even asking me.
My mind raced through every warning we’d heard about leaving the resort at night, about the dangers, about tourists being targeted. “Are you sure it’s safe? You know what they say about going outside the resort, especially this late—”
“I’ll be okay,” Kim cut me off, her tone brooking no argument.
She wanted this. My wife of one week, ten years together, wanted to leave our honeymoon to go out with another man. Someone we’d only met days ago. Someone who’d been openly flirting with her, touching her, who’d just held her intimately in front of a crowd of people.
The walk back to our room was surreal. Kim was slightly unsteady from the alcohol, but her purpose was clear. She checked her phone for the time.
“AJ wants me in front of the hotel at 11 sharp,” she said as we entered the hotel lobby.
It was 10:35 PM. Only twenty-five minutes.
Back in the room, I sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Kim went to the bathroom. She turned on the light, and I could see her in the mirror—touching up her makeup, fixing her hair, spraying more perfume. The flowery scent drifted into the bedroom. She looked at herself critically, adjusting her dress, checking her reflection from different angles.
She was getting ready for him. For AJ. My wife was primping and preparing herself for another man while I sat there watching.
The emotions were overwhelming—jealousy burned in my gut, but underneath it was an arousal so intense it was almost painful. This was what we’d talked about, what we both wanted. But the reality of it was hitting me hard.
Kim emerged from the bathroom looking fresh and beautiful, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing her purse. “I should go.”
She headed for the door, barely looking at me, and something snapped.
“Wait!” I called out, jumping up from the bed.
Kim stopped, her hand on the doorknob, turning to look at me with a mix of impatience and excitement.
I rushed to my suitcase, fumbling through my belongings, my hands shaking. I found what I was looking for and walked back to her, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.
I pressed it into her hand.
A condom.
“Just in case you need it, okay?” I said, my voice cracking.
Kim stared down at the small foil packet in her palm. For a long moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. When she finally looked up at me, her eyes were shining—guilt and sadness, all mixed together.
“Alan…” she started, but couldn’t seem to find the words.
Then she turned the door handle and left.
The door clicked shut, and I was alone. I stood frozen, listening to her footsteps retreat down the hallway. The silence was deafening.
What had I just done? I’d given my wife a condom so she could go sleep with another man. On our honeymoon. During what was supposed to be our celebration of commitment to each other.
The wrongness of it crashed over me like a wave. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was my wife leaving me, choosing another man, doing the most disrespectful thing I could imagine.
I stood there for maybe a minute, paralyzed by conflicting emotions.
Then I ran out the door.
I looked down the hallway—empty. She was already at the elevators or maybe down the stairs.
I pressed the elevator button frantically, watching the numbers climb. Fourth floor… third floor… too slow.
I couldn’t wait. I bolted for the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time, stumbling against the concrete. I needed to catch her, to talk to her, to make sure this was really what she wanted—what we both wanted.
I burst into the lobby, looking around wildly. The late-night staff at the front desk glanced at me curiously. I ran past them, out the front entrance into the warm night air.
And there she was.
Kim was with AJ and he was helping her into a van. His hand held hers gently, guiding her up into the vehicle. But they weren’t alone—I could see figures inside, multiple people. The band members. Marcus, Devon, the others. All five of them, it looked like.
Before I could call for her, the door slid shut. Through the window, I could barely make out Kim’s silhouette as she settled into a seat between two men, surrounded by many more.
The van pulled away, taillights disappearing down the resort’s winding driveway.
I stood there at the entrance, suddenly aware that I was breathing hard, probably looking insane. The valet and bellhop were both staring at me with expressions that mixed pity and knowing amusement.
They knew. Everyone at the resort knew.
My wife had just left with another man—with multiple men—and I’d stood there and watched it happen. I’d literally given her a condom and sent her on her way.
I walked back into the lobby on shaky legs, past the front desk staff who quickly looked away, trying to give me privacy for my humiliation. I made it to the elevator, pressed the button for our floor, and rode up in silence.
Back in our empty room, I sat on the edge of the bed. Kim’s makeup bag was still open on the bathroom counter. Her perfume bottle sat uncapped. The room smelled like her.
But she was gone. My wife was out there somewhere, in a van with AJ and his friends, heading to some club off the resort. She had a condom in her purse that I’d given her—permission that I had given her.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan rotating slowly overhead. The jealousy was crushing. The arousal was undeniable. The fear was real.
This was really happening. This wasn’t roleplay or dirty talk during sex. This was my wife, gone, with another man. And all I could do was lie there and wait for her to come back.
If she came back.
The weight of what I’d done was now hitting me. We’d been at this resort for less than a week. We’d known AJ for four days. But I’d handed my wife to him and five other men, strangers, and I had no way to reach her, no way to know if she was safe.
What the fuck had I been thinking?
I grabbed my phone, fingers shaking as I tried to call her. The screen showed the same message it had shown all week: No Service. Why hadn’t we bothered setting up international calling.
I opened my messaging app anyway, typing frantically: Are you okay? Where are you? Text me.
The message sat there with a red exclamation point. Not delivered. She wasn’t on WiFi.
I threw the phone onto the bed and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
The thoughts started spiraling.
What was happening in that van right now? Were they already at the club, or had they pulled over somewhere? Was Kim sandwiched between men in the back seat, hands exploring under her dress? Was AJ kissing her? Were they all taking turns?
I sat up, my heart racing. Maybe I should go look for her. But where? She hadn’t told me where they were going and Jamaica had dozens of clubs.
The resort warnings echoed in my head—don’t leave at night, don’t go into certain areas, tourists get targeted. Kim was a petite Asian woman in a summer dress, innocent, beautiful, naive, and clearly vulnerable. With six Jamaican men she barely knew.
God, what if something happened to her? What if they weren’t taking her to a club at all? What if—
No. I couldn’t think like that. AJ worked at the resort. He wouldn’t risk his job, his reputation. Marcus and the others were professional musicians. They weren’t criminals.
But I didn’t actually know that, did I? We’d shared some drinks, played some volleyball, danced at a party. That didn’t mean I knew them.
I got up and went to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror looked haggard—face and eyes red from the rum and stress. I looked like exactly what I was: a man who’d just sent his wife off to fuck another man and was having a complete breakdown about it.
The arousal was still there, underneath the panic. That was the worst part. Even terrified, even sick with worry, I was hard. My body was responding to the images in my head—Kim pressed against AJ in that van, his hands sliding up her thighs, her head falling back as he kissed her neck.
I hated myself for it.
Back in bed, I checked the time obsessively. 12:00 AM. 1:00 AM. 2:00 AM.
Each minute felt like an hour. Each hour felt like a day.
I tried to reconstruct their evening in my head. Maybe nothing was happening. Maybe they were just dancing, drinking, having fun. Maybe Kim would come back at a reasonable hour, having had an adventure but nothing more.
But I’d given her a condom. And she’d taken it.
3:00 AM.
I must have dozed off because suddenly I was dreaming—vivid, intense dreams of Kim and AJ together. His dark skin against her pale body. Her moans. His hands gripping her hips. The dreams felt so real that when I jolted awake, I reached for her beside me, expecting to find her there.
The bed was empty.
4:00 AM.
The panic was different now. Colder. More resigned. She wasn’t coming back. Something had gone wrong, or she’d made a choice to stay, or—
I couldn’t finish the thought.
Where was she? What was she doing? Was she safe? Was she happy? Was she thinking about me at all?
The emotional exhaustion was finally overwhelming the anxiety. My eyes felt heavy, my body drained. The rum from earlier had left me with a pounding headache. I lay back down, curling around her pillow, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume.
Maybe if I just closed my eyes for a minute…
The sound of the door opening jerked me awake.
For a moment, I was disoriented—where was I, what time was it, what was that sound? Then it all came rushing back.
Kim.
I heard footsteps, then the bathroom door opening and closing. The shower started, water splashing.
She was back.
I looked at the clock: 6:04 AM. The first gray light of dawn was seeping through the blinds. She’d been gone for seven hours.
I jumped out of bed, my heart hammering, and rushed to the bathroom door. I tried the handle—locked.
“Kim!” I called out, pressing my palm against the wood.
“I’m taking a shower,” her voice came back hoarse, muffled by the water and door.
Relief flooded through me so intensely I felt dizzy. She was here. She was safe.
But underneath the relief was something else—a desperate need to know.
“What happened?” I asked through the door, trying to keep my voice steady. “Are you okay? Did anything happen between you and AJ?”
There was a pause, just the sound of running water. Then: “I’m so tired. I’ll tell you about it later.”
She sounded exhausted. Almost annoyed.
I pressed my forehead against the door, my mind racing. “Kim, please, just let me know…”
There was no response.
I stood there by the bathroom door, every muscle in my body tense, waiting. The shower ran for what felt like forever. I imagined her under the spray, washing away the evidence of the night. Whose hands had touched her body? Whose scent was she scrubbing off?
Finally, the water shut off. I heard her moving around—brushing her teeth, the cabinet opening and closing.
The door opened.
Kim stood there in a towel, her wet hair plastered to her back and shoulders. She looked tired—deep circles under her eyes, her skin pale, her movements slow. But she was here. She was whole.
She walked past me to the bed, not quite meeting my eyes. She dropped the towel, and the casualness of it—her naked body, right there—felt surreal after the night I’d just had.
She climbed into bed and I followed, lying next to her, not touching at first. Then she turned toward me and I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her. She felt warm and real, but different somehow. The weight of her body against mine was familiar, but something had changed. And there was a scent—her usual perfume faint now, mixed with something unfamiliar.
“I was so worried,” I whispered into her hair.
“I know,” she replied quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Her arm came around me, and we lay there in silence for a moment. The relief of having her back was overwhelming, but the questions were burning holes in my brain.
“What happened?” I asked again, softer this time.
“I’ll tell you all about it later,” she murmured, her eyes already closing. “I’m so tired, Alan. I just need to sleep.”
I should have let her. I should have given her that space, let her rest, waited for her to be ready to talk.
But I couldn’t.
“Did you have sex with him?”
The question hung in the air between us. Kim’s body went still in my arms. For a long moment, she didn’t respond, and I thought maybe she’d already fallen asleep, hadn’t heard me.
Then I felt it—the slightest movement of her head against my chest.
She nodded.
The confirmation hit me like a physical blow. Even though I’d known—had suspected, had practically orchestrated it—hearing it confirmed was different.
My wife had fucked another man. On our honeymoon. Just hours ago.
The emotions that crashed over me were so intense and contradictory I couldn’t separate them—sharp jealousy that made my chest tight and immediate arousal I couldn’t suppress.
“Did you…” I started, my voice hoarse. “How about… the others?”
Her eyes opened slightly, confused, still heavy with exhaustion.
“The others?” she repeated slowly, her voice thick with sleep.
“Marcus, Devon, the others,” I clarified, my heart pounding.
Kim pulled back slightly to look at me, and I saw the moment of realization cross her face—surprise, then comprehension, then something that might have been guilt or maybe just resignation.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“You saw.”
My heart hammered against my chest.
“I saw you getting into the van. I saw them all in there.”
She closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. She was quiet for so long I thought she might have fallen back asleep or decided not to answer. But then I saw it—a small, almost dreamy smile playing at the corners of her mouth, like someone who’d been thoroughly satisfied.
“Kim,” I said carefully, “did they… did they all fuck you?”
Her smile deepened ever so slightly, just for a heartbeat, before she answered.
“Shh,” she murmured, her breathing already slowing again. “So tired. I’ll tell you… everything… later…”
Her words trailed off, and within seconds her breathing had evened out into the rhythm of deep sleep. She was gone, exhausted, her body finally shutting down after whatever had happened during those seven hours.
But that smile lingered on her lips even as sleep took her.
I lay there holding her, my mind reeling. The implications crashed over me like waves. Not just AJ. Not just once. But multiple men, multiple times. The band members—Marcus with his knowing smile, Devon who’d asked about her history with Black men, the others whose names I barely remembered. She’d been in that van with all of them, gone to a club with all of them, and something had happened.
She’d been too exhausted to even keep her eyes open, too tired to explain. What had they done to her that left her this depleted? How many had been inside her.
I looked down at her face, peaceful in sleep. I hadn’t noticed before, but her lips were swollen now that I looked closer. And then her body, that flawless skin. There were faint red marks on her breasts, hickies on her neck, and what might have been bruises on her thigh.
I’d given her permission to go with AJ. But the others? We hadn’t discussed that. She’d made that choice on her own, or maybe the situation had escalated beyond what either of us had imagined.
But then I realized something else that made my stomach drop—there was only one condom. I’d given her one. For AJ. If all of them had…
We’d talked about this fantasy for years. We’d played with the idea, teased each other with it, used it to fuel our own intimacy. But it had always been just that—fantasy. Safe and controlled.
Now it was real.
I held my beautiful wife, felt the rise and fall of her breathing, and tried to process the fact that she might have been with six men.
She’d promised to tell me everything later. But would she really? Would I want to hear all the details?
The jealousy was there, sharp and painful. But so was the arousal, undeniable and shameful. And underneath it all was something else—a kind of awe, maybe, that she’d actually done it. That we’d crossed this threshold together, even if “together” meant I’d been lying in bed alone while she’d been out there with them.
Kim shifted in her sleep, her leg sliding between mine, and I felt the warmth of her body. Whatever had happened, whoever had touched her, she’d come back. She was here now, in our bed, in my arms.
But as I lay there holding her, watching the sunrise paint golden light across our honeymoon suite, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
And I knew that when she finally woke up and told me the full story, there was no going back.
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