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The bathroom door eased open, and she stepped out with the kind of unhurried grace that only deep confidence gives.
The lingerie you’d picked out clung to her exactly as you’d imagined when you chose it—except now it wasn’t yours. The deep wine-red silk curved over her hips, the sheer panels revealing just enough to make your chest tighten. She’d left her hair slightly tousled from the steam, strands brushing the tops of her shoulders, her skin glowing warm from the heat.
But she wasn’t looking at you.
Her eyes went straight to him, lips parting in the faintest smile, as if she’d dressed for his gaze alone. She walked right past you—her bare thigh brushing your shoulder as she moved toward him—and tilted her chin up for his inspection.
“What do you think?” she asked him, turning slowly so the silk shifted against her curves.
His answer was a low hum of approval, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. One of his hands came to rest at her hip, the other sliding up her back to the clasp at her nape. His fingertips lingered there, not rushing, but claiming.
You stayed kneeling at the foot of the bed as instructed, the soft carpet beneath your knees already warm from your own heat. The cage felt tighter with every second, the weight of the key pressing like a reminder against your thigh.
She finally glanced at you, her eyes sharp but amused. “Didn’t you have something to say to him?”
Your throat felt dry. “You… look incredible on her,” you managed, and the moment the words left your mouth, you saw her smile deepen—not for you, but for him, as if your confession were his gift.
He bent his head to murmur something in her ear, and her laugh—low, intimate—curled in your gut. She leaned into him, her hand resting briefly on his chest before she eased back, looking between you both.
“Stay there,” she told you again, more firmly this time. “And watch.”
He guided her toward the bed, not pushing, just steering her with a hand at the small of her back. She climbed onto the mattress with the ease of someone returning to a familiar place, positioning herself on hands and knees in the center. The silk shifted, catching the light, the thin straps sliding lower on her shoulders.
From where you knelt, the line of her body framed against his standing form was almost too much—her gaze locked on his, her lips parted slightly in anticipation. He stepped up behind her, unbuttoning his shirt without looking at you, and it was clear: you were here on her invitation, but the room, the air, and her body were his
She was already on the bed when you saw it—the change in her posture from eager to indulge him, to something more deliberate, more calculating toward you.
The sheets were turned down beneath them, their bodies angled toward each other, skin bare against skin. She was stretched partly on her side, one knee tucked over his thigh, her breasts pressing forward as she let him cup them both in his hands. His thumbs moved lazily over her nipples, making them pebble under his touch.
You knew that sight too well—your own hands had spent years learning exactly how to draw those gasps from her—and yet now, it wasn’t your hands, and it never would be in the same way again.
Her eyes cut to you, glinting. “You’ve always loved these,” she said, lifting her chest slightly into his palms. “Go on… tell me.”
Your fingers curled instinctively around the cold steel of your cage, the ache swelling against it. “I… I love your tits,” you admitted, the words spilling out with more desperation than you’d meant.
“Mm. I know,” she purred, turning her head just enough to kiss along his jaw while his hands continued to knead her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers with unhurried control. “Do you like watching him touch them?”
You swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Her smile widened, not at your answer, but at the sound of your voice—thin, caught between hunger and humiliation. “Should they only be touched by him now?” she asked, letting her back arch so her breasts pushed harder into his hands.
The question was a knife, twisting in that old place in you that had once claimed her body as your own.
“Yes,” you breathed, your grip tightening on the cage.
“Say it properly,” she ordered, her gaze sharpening.
“They… they should only be touched by him now,” you repeated, heat rising in your face as she let out a satisfied hum and turned back to him, murmuring something you couldn’t hear. His hands stayed on her breasts as if your words had sealed a pact.
From the way her eyes flicked back to you—hungry to see your reaction—it was clear she wasn’t done extracting what she wanted
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