Chapter 4
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Ryan sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles ached. He couldn’t look away. Jess — his Jess — was perched on Marcus’s lap, thighs spread just enough to straddle him, sheer dress bunched around her hips.
Marcus’s hands were settled on her waist, calm, controlling. He wasn’t pawing at her. He didn’t need to. His voice carried more weight than any grip.
“Move,” Marcus said.
Jess stiffened. Ryan recognized that look in her eyes — the same one she gave him when she was forced into something she swore she didn’t want but couldn’t quite resist. Panic layered with defiance.
Her mouth trembled. “I… I can’t.” She darted a look at Ryan, as though begging him to step in, to rescue her. But he couldn’t speak. His throat was dry, the words jammed inside.
Marcus leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing Jess’s ear. Ryan watched his wife’s back arch instinctively from the warm breath. “You remember what we talked about before tonight. You have your word. Say it, and this ends. No shame. But if you don’t…” his hands loosened, freeing her hips, “…then stop pretending you don’t want to.”
Ryan flinched. The safe word. He’d forgotten they’d discussed that during the setup — a private line she could draw if things ever went too far. He thought hearing it mentioned would ease him, give him a sense of control. Instead it gutted him. Because Jess didn’t say it.
She sat frozen, cheeks red, jaw locked. Ryan could almost feel the war raging inside her. He wanted to take her hand, to whisper she didn’t need to prove anything. But his body betrayed him. He was hard — achingly, shamefully hard — watching his wife tremble on another man’s lap.
Marcus’s voice dropped, silk over steel. “Show me.”
Jess shook her head violently, muttering, “This is insane.”
“Then prove it,” Marcus said. “Or prove me right. Move.”
The silence stretched, crushing Ryan’s chest. Then Jess’s hips tilted the smallest fraction, just enough for her thin thong to drag against Marcus’s lap. The contact was slight, but Ryan saw the way her lips parted, the faint shiver that ran through her.
Marcus smiled. “There it is. That’s you. That’s your body, not his.”
Ryan’s stomach turned. The words hit him like a blade — Marcus didn’t even have to name him. Jess moved again, a little firmer, and Ryan’s pulse hammered in his ears. He wanted to shout, to demand she stop, but his cock throbbed with each subtle grind.
Then Marcus gripped her hips, halting her mid-motion. “That’s enough.”
Jess blinked, breath ragged. “What? Why—”
“You don’t get to chase it yet. Not until you admit it. You’re wet, Jess. And it isn’t because of him.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Ryan, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s because of me.”
Ryan’s chest tightened. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, that her wetness had always been his victory. But Jess didn’t argue. She didn’t leap off Marcus’s lap or spit out the word that would end this. She sat there trembling, lips pressed together, thighs quivering against Marcus’s.
Ryan shifted, his own erection straining, shame mixing with a hollow jealousy that left him dizzy. He couldn’t tell if he wanted it to stop or if he wanted Marcus to push her even further. And that confusion, that lack of control, burned worst of all
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