Bob Caldwell sat at his kitchen table. The mug of coffee between his palms had gone cold an hour ago, but he hadn’t bothered to reheat it. His focus lay elsewhere, specifically, on the driveway that remained empty since Jessica Marshall had pulled out in her Tesla earlier that morning.

He’d spotted her from behind his partially opened blinds looking fresh despite the early hour. She dressed in dark jeans and a simple white blouse, her blonde hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. Going to pick up her husband from the airport, no doubt. Tom Marshall, returning from his San Diego business trip.

Bob checked his watch again. He had no idea exactly when Tom’s flight would land, when they would return.

He moved to the window again, adjusting the blinds just enough to afford him a clear view of the driveway without exposing himself. Waiting to spring a trap on a man who thought himself smarter, more sophisticated, more deserving than Bob could ever be.

College educated Thomas Marshall with his corporate title and management consulting bullshit was just as much of an animal as the rest of them. For all his pedigree and polish, Tom had stood in the dark, watching another man jerk off to photos of his wife. What separated them wasn’t morality or restraint, just opportunity and admission.

Bob had spent the previous evening refining his approach, rehearsing key phrases that would cut straight to Tom’s insecurities. The goal wasn’t to destroy the man. It was to establish dominance, to position himself not as a threat to be eliminated but as a resource to be utilized.

He returned to the table, picking up the notebook where he’d outlined his strategy. The pages were filled with his neat block handwriting, a remnant of drafting classes from his early twenties, when architectural drawings had required exactness long before computers took over.

Through his open window, Bob heard it before he saw it, the distinct sound of the Tesla approaching. He moved back to his position by the window, watching as it pulled into the driveway.

Timing was everything. He needed to intercept them immediately, before Tom had a chance to get his bearings, before he could start any conversation about confessions or revelations with Jess. Bob had surmised that Tom would be jet-lagged, emotionally off-balance from their phone conversation Thursday night, and completely unprepared for a confrontation.

Bob watched through the window as both car doors opened, and Tom emerged from the passenger side, looking precisely as Bob had anticipated. Tired, slightly rumpled from the flight, shoulders carrying the rigid tension of a man with too many secrets and too few allies. Perfect.

Bob slipped out his door, making his way toward the front yard with the pace of someone addressing a minor but time-sensitive issue. He changed his features into a mask of mild concern, not emergency-level panic that would alarm Jess, but just enough urgency to justify immediate attention.

“Welcome back, stranger!” Bob called out as he approached. He kept his tone casual, neighborly, with just enough volume to announce his presence before they reached their front door.

Tom froze momentarily, his hand on the handle of his rolling suitcase. Jess turned, a polite smile forming on her face.

“Bob,” she acknowledged with a nod. “Morning.”

Bob closed the distance. “Sorry to bother you folks. I know you just got home and all, but I’ve got a bit of a situation downstairs. I think there might be a leak in the kitchen.”

The word ‘leak’ worked exactly as intended. Tom’s posture shifted from exhausted traveler to landlord, professional obligation temporarily overshadowing personal fatigue.

“A leak?” Tom echoed. “Is it bad?”

“Can’t tell yet,” Bob replied with a shrug. “Could be nothing, could be a burst pipe. Noticed some moisture near the sink. Just thought you might want to take a look before it gets worse. I can handle it myself, but figured you’d want to know, being the owner and all.”

Jess stepped forward, concern replacing annoyance. “Do you need both of us to come take a look?”

This was the delicate pivot point, the moment when Bob needed to separate them without raising suspicion. “No need for the whole cavalry,” he said, offering his most disarming smile. “Just figured Tom might want to see what we’re dealing with.”

Tom glanced at Jess. “I should probably check it out,” he said. “Won’t take long, hopefully.”

Jess hesitated, her eyes moving from Tom to Bob and back again. “I can come too,” she offered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bob interjected smoothly. “Just some water and pipes. Nothing exciting. Besides, looks like you’ve got luggage to sort out.” He gestured toward Tom’s suitcase.

Tom nodded, setting his suitcase upright. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” he told Jess.

For a moment, Bob thought she might insist on coming anyway. Her eyes narrowed slightly but then she nodded, reaching for Tom’s suitcase handle. “Okay. Don’t be too long, though. You need to rest.”

“Yes ma’am,” Tom replied with a weak smile.

Bob watched as Jess headed toward their front door, the suitcase rolling behind her. He kept his expression neutral despite the satisfaction blooming inside him.

“This way,” Bob said, gesturing toward his ground floor unit. “Thanks for taking a look. Appreciate it.”

Tom followed silently. The man had no idea what was coming, and that knowledge alone made Bob feel ten feet tall.

As they approached his unit, Bob produced his key and unlocked the door. “After you,” he said, stepping back to let Tom enter first.

Tom stepped inside, and Bob followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click that seemed to echo in the stillness of the apartment. The space was tidy, every surface clean, every item in its place.

Bob turned towards Tom. “Between you and me, there’s no leak.”

Tom stopped abruptly. “Excuse me?”

“I said there’s no leak. Never was. Just needed a moment of your time, man to man.” He kept his tone casual, non-threatening.

“What’s this about?” Tom demanded, his voice caught between confusion and rising alarm.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Bob suggested, gesturing toward the small kitchen table.

Tom remained standing, his body language transitioning from confused to defensive. “I should get back upstairs. Jess is waiting.”

“Jess can wait five minutes,” Bob replied. “This conversation has been two weeks coming. Since that first Saturday night, in fact.”

The color drained from Tom’s face so rapidly that Bob had to suppress a smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tom attempted.

Bob smiled. “Sure you do, Tom. First night I moved in. The pool photoshoot. You suggested it, remember? Had me taking pictures of your wife in that wet swimsuit.”

Tom swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “What about it?”

“After the photos, after dinner, when you two went upstairs,” Bob continued, watching Tom’s discomfort grow with each word, “you came back downstairs, didn’t you? Came out to the yard to get something you’d left behind.”

Tom’s hand moved to the back of his neck, a nervous tell if ever Bob had seen one. “I don’t remember.”

“Sure you do,” Bob pressed. “You were out there. You saw me in my unit, through the window. Saw me masturbating to those photos of Jess. And you watched, Tom. You stood there outside my window and watched until I finished.”

Tom’s face had gone pale. His eyes darted toward the door as if calculating the distance, the probability of escape without further confrontation. “I don’t-”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Bob cut him off. “We both know what happened. I saw you that night, just like you saw me.”

“What do you want, Bob?”

Bob pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, gesturing for Tom to take the seat opposite. This time, Tom complied, his legs seeming to give out beneath him as he sank into the chair.

“Now we’re communicating,” Bob said. “What do I want? That’s an interesting question. Not what you might think.”

“Money?” Tom asked.

Bob snorted, genuinely amused. “Christ, no. I’m not blackmailing you, Tom. This isn’t about that at all.”

“Then what?” Suspicion and confusion warred on Tom’s face.

Bob leaned back in his chair, adopting a more conversational posture. “I want to talk about what that moment revealed. About why a successful, educated man like yourself was standing outside another man’s window, watching him masturbate to photos of his wife.”

Tom stared at the tabletop, his expression a study in shame and discomfort. “It was a mistake,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have-”

“But you did,” Bob interrupted. “And that tells me something about you, Tom. Something I recognized because I’ve been there myself.”

Tom’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got certain… inclinations,” Bob stated. “Desires that most men don’t talk about, at least not openly. The kind of feelings that make you question yourself, that leave you confused.”

Tom’s breathing had become shallow, his eyes wide. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think,” Bob replied calmly. “Not because I’m psychic. I know because I recognize the signs. My first wife, Sarah and I, we went through something similar.”

Tom’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Bob continued, telling the story he’d constructed the night before. “Sarah was beautiful, not unlike your Jess. Different, of course, shorter, curvier, but still the kind of woman men noticed. Early in our marriage, I started having these thoughts, these fantasies about other men wanting her, looking at her.”

He paused, gauging Tom’s reaction. The younger man was listening intently now, his attention captured.

“At first, I hid it,” Bob continued. “Felt ashamed. What kind of man gets turned on thinking about his wife with someone else? But the thoughts wouldn’t go away. So finally, I told her.”

Tom stayed silent.

“We were young, experimental. She was curious.” Bob shrugged. “We started small. She’d tell me stories about guys checking her out. Later, we’d fuck like teenagers, best sex of our lives.”

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I made mistakes,” Bob said, his tone shifting to something more serious. “We took it too far. Started involving friends in our exploration. The boundaries got blurry. Sarah started enjoying her freedom more than our marriage. Started seeing some of those guys without telling me. You know how it ended.”

“She cheated,” Tom said quietly.

Bob nodded. “With one of those friends. Someone who’d started as just a fantasy, a tool in our sex life. Became much more than that.” He sighed. “The fantasies you’re having, Tom? They’re normal. More common than you’d think. But they need to be handled carefully. With respect for the marriage, with clear boundaries.”

Tom’s expression had transformed from embarrassment to cautious interest. “What makes you think I have these… fantasies?”

“Because men who don’t have them don’t let other men take pictures of their wife in a wet swimsuit, Tom. They certainly don’t stand outside windows watching other men masturbate to photos of their wives,” Bob replied bluntly. “They get angry, violent even. They confront the situation. You didn’t. You watched, and then you kept it to yourself. That tells me everything I need to know.”

“Even if what you’re saying is true, why are you bringing this up now?”

Bob leaned forward. “Because I think I might be able to help you. Both of you, actually.”

“Help us?” Tom’s disbelief couldn’t have been more evident. “How exactly would you do that?”

“By offering what neither of you can find anywhere else,” Bob replied. “A controlled environment. A safe space to explore these feelings without risking your marriage.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m suggesting that I’m in a unique position here,” Bob continued. “I’m not a friend whose friendship you’d risk. I’m not a colleague whose gossip could damage your career. I’m not a complete stranger who might turn out to be dangerous. I’m just Bob, your tenant, with a clear understanding of what’s at play and the experience to navigate them safely.”

“You think we should… what? Use you to explore my fantasies?” The incredulity in Tom’s voice was almost comical.

Bob chuckled, keeping his tone light. “I’m just saying, if these feelings don’t go away, and trust me, they won’t, they’re going to be explored one way or another. Either in a controlled environment where everyone’s intentions are clear, or in ways you can’t control.”

“Jess would never agree to something like that,” Tom said.

“Maybe,” Bob conceded. “But women like Jess, beautiful, confident, often have unexplored desires they’re afraid to vocalize. Especially to the men they love most.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked.

“It’s paradoxical,” Bob said, as if sharing profound wisdom. “But sometimes the person we’re most afraid of judgment from is the one we’re closest to. Jess might have feelings, desires, fantasies she’d never admit to you directly, not because she doesn’t trust you, but because she loves you too much to risk your opinion of her.”

Tom’s expression suggested Bob’s words had struck a nerve. “You don’t know Jess.”

“I know human nature,” Bob countered smoothly. “And I’ve observed how she carries herself, how carefully she presents herself to the world. Women like that often compartmentalize their sexuality, showing only what they believe is acceptable.”

Tom fell silent, his mind clearly racing with implications.

“Look,” Bob continued, his voice taking on a more empathetic tone, “I’m not pushing for anything specific here. I’m just offering my perspective as someone who’s been down this road before. Like I said, these feelings will either be explored in a healthy, controlled way, or they’ll emerge in ways that might damage your marriage.”

“And you think you’re the solution?” Tom asked, skepticism creeping back into his voice.

“I’m not claiming to be the solution,” Bob replied carefully. “Just a potential resource. Someone who understands from experience. Someone who’s available if you decide this is something worth exploring.”

Tom’s gaze moved to the wall, toward the ceiling, as if he could see through it to where Jess waited upstairs. “What’s in this for you??”

The question was the crux of the matter, the point where Bob needed to balance honesty with manipulation. He’d prepared for this particular pivot carefully. He paused, as if considering Tom’s question deeply.

“Three things,” Bob said. “First, I’m genuinely glad we can talk about the masturbation thing openly now. It was awkward knowing you’d seen that and neither of us acknowledging it.” He offered a self-deprecating smile, playing up the harmless older man angle. “Getting that out in the open is a relief.”

Tom remained silent, waiting for the rest.

“Second,” Bob continued, “maybe it sounds sappy, but after losing two marriages, I’ve been thinking about what wisdom I might pass on. What mistakes others could avoid with the right guidance. Helping a young couple navigate potentially treacherous waters has its own reward.”

Tom continued to remain silent, just watching.

Bob’s smile shifted to something more direct, more honest. “And third, your wife is gorgeous, Tom. I’m not going to pretend that if exploring these fantasies could involve me in some capacity, that wouldn’t be enjoyable. I’m not a saint, and I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise.”

Tom didn’t react with the immediate anger or disgust. Instead, he seemed to be considering the admission, weighing its implications.

“Jess mentioned she’s got projects coming up in Houston and Savannah,” Bob added, careful to reference only what Jess had directly told him in conversation. “She’ll be traveling. Meeting with clients. Working with people you don’t know, in situations you can’t control. Things will happen, Tom. That’s life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom demanded, defensiveness flaring.

Bob raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Just that life has a way of presenting opportunities, whether we’re looking for them or not. I’m offering a known quantity, something you could have input on, rather than leaving things to chance.”

Tom stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I need to get back upstairs.”

Bob remained seated, his posture deliberately relaxed. “Of course. This is a lot to process. Too much for one conversation, probably.”

“This is insane,” Tom muttered, though he was speaking more to himself than to Bob. “You’re suggesting-”

“I’m not suggesting anything specific,” Bob interrupted gently. “Just opening a door to conversation. If you want to walk away and pretend this discussion never happened, that’s entirely your prerogative. I’ll respect that.”

Tom stared at him, searching for deception or threat. “And if I do? If I walk out that door and we never speak of this again?”

“Then this stays between us,” Bob assured him. “Man to man. Whatever you decide, Tom, this conversation remains private.”

Tom ran a hand through his hair, his internal struggle evident in every tense line of his body. “I need to get back to Jess.”

“Go ahead,” Bob said, making no move to stop him. “She’s waiting for you. Just know the offer stands, no expiration date. If you want to explore this further, I’m here… and Tom? For what it’s worth, I genuinely believe most marriages would be healthier if people could discuss their desires openly, without judgment. You’re not broken for having these feelings. Neither is Jess, whatever her desires might be.”

Tom’s hand found the doorknob, gripping it like a lifeline. “You said there was no leak?”

“No leak,” Bob confirmed. “But if Jess asks, tell her it was just a loose connection under the sink. All fixed now.”

Tom nodded again, opened the door, and stepped out without another word. Bob remained seated, listening to the receding footsteps as Tom made his way back toward the main house, back toward the unsuspecting Jess.

The trap had been set, the bait taken. Tom would be consumed by this conversation for days, turning Bob’s words over in his mind, examining them from every angle. The seed had been planted. Now Bob just needed to water it occasionally, give it sunlight, and watch it grow.

Tom Marshall would come back. Bob was certain of it. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. The relief of having his secret acknowledged, combined with the tantalizing possibility of exploring his fantasies safely, would be too powerful to resist.

Bob allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Sometimes the most effective strategy wasn’t blackmail or threats or outright confrontation. Sometimes it was simply understanding what a man wanted, needed, and positioning yourself as the path to obtaining it.

The first domino had fallen. Now it was only a matter of time until the rest followed, one by one, leading directly to Jessica Marshall.

—

Tom ascended the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. His mind replayed fragments of Bob’s words on a relentless loop. “…standing outside another man’s window, watching him masturbate to photos of his wife…”

He paused at the top of the staircase, forcing himself to take several deep breaths. Jess was waiting. He needed to compose himself, to bury the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

Bob knew. Bob had seen him that night, standing in the shadows, watching. And instead of confrontation or outrage, Bob had offered… what exactly? Guidance? Partnership? A solution to desires Tom barely understood himself?

“Three things,” Bob had said. “First, I’m genuinely glad we can talk about the masturbation thing openly now… Second, maybe it sounds sappy, but after losing two marriages, I’ve been thinking about what wisdom I might pass on… And third, your wife is gorgeous, Tom.”

Tom’s hand tightened on the banister. The audacity of it all, the calm way Bob had dismantled Tom’s defenses and presented himself as some kind of mentor in the art of complicated desires. The man’s assumptions weren’t entirely wrong, which made everything worse.

The sound of movement from their bedroom pulled Tom back to the present moment. He straightened his shoulders, tried to arrange his features into something resembling normalcy, and moved toward the doorway.

Jess was bent over his suitcase, unpacking and sorting his clothes. She looked up as he entered, a smile brightening her features until she registered his expression.

“Hey,” she said, setting down the shirt she’d been folding. “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just tired,” Tom managed, attempting a reassuring smile that felt more like a grimace. “The flight was bumpy, couldn’t sleep much.”

Jess studied him, her head tilting slightly, that intuitive gaze seeing more than he wanted. “What did Bob want? Was there a leak?”

Tom felt a surge of irrational panic at the mention of Bob’s name. “Loose connection under the sink,” he recited the lie Bob had conveniently provided. “Nothing serious. He fixed it already.”

“That was quick.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed, eager to move the conversation away from Bob. “He knows his way around plumbing.”

“Well, that’s good,” Jess said, turning back to the suitcase.

Tom moved toward the bathroom. “I think I’ll take a quick shower. Wash off the travel grime.”

She nodded. “Take your time. I’ll make lunch while you shower.”

Tom escaped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him perhaps more firmly than necessary. He stripped, his mind still churning with Bob’s words, with the implications of the older man’s offer, with the tangled mess of desire and shame that had been growing inside him.

The shower spray hit him with welcome force, hot water washing over tense muscles. Tom closed his eyes, letting physical sensation temporarily drown out the chaos in his mind. But even here, sanctuary eluded him as Bob’s words continued to echo. “…these feelings don’t go away, trust me, they won’t, they’re going to be explored one way or another. Either in a controlled environment where everyone’s intentions are clear, or in ways you can’t control.”

Was Bob right? Were these urges Tom had been experiencing truly immutable, a permanent feature of his sexuality rather than some passing phase? And if so, what did that mean for his marriage, for his future with Jess?

Tom grabbed the soap, working it into a lather. The conversation with Jess loomed ahead, unavoidable and potentially devastating. She knew something was off. She’d sensed it in his voice during their Thursday night call, in his evasiveness about the “princess” connection.

How much should he reveal? The whole truth seemed impossible. Hey Jess, remember when Bob called you princess and I repeated that while we were having sex? Well, I said it because I heard him call you that while I watched him masturbate to your photos that first Saturday night. And now he’s offering to help us explore my cuckold fantasies.

Tom’s stomach turned at the thought. No, he couldn’t tell her everything, not yet. Maybe not ever. But he needed to give her something, some truth they could build on.

By the time Tom emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, Jess had already left the bedroom. The suitcase was completely unpacked, his clothes neatly sorted on the bed. He dressed quickly in comfortable jeans and a plain white t-shirt, then padded barefoot toward the kitchen.

The smell of grilled cheese sandwiches greeted him before he entered. Jess stood at the stove, spatula in hand, expertly flipping a sandwich in the pan. Another plate already held a perfectly golden-brown sandwich, cut diagonally the way he liked it. A small side salad completed the simple meal.

“Perfect timing,” Jess said without turning. “This one’s almost done.”

“Smells amazing,” Tom replied, moving to the refrigerator. “Want anything to drink?”

“Just water for me.”

Tom poured two glasses of water and set them on the table. He took his seat, watching Jess as she transferred the second sandwich to a plate and joined him.

“Comfort food,” she said with a small smile. “Figured you could use it after traveling.”

“Thanks,” Tom said.

For a few moments, they ate in silence. Tom tried to focus on the food, on the simple pleasure of a perfectly made grilled cheese sandwich, on the fact that he was home with his wife after days apart. But Bob’s voice kept intruding, fragments of their conversation replaying on an endless loop.

“If these feelings don’t go away, and trust me, they won’t…”

“Women like Jess, beautiful, confident, often have unexplored desires they’re afraid to vocalize…”

“A controlled environment. A safe space to explore these feelings without risking your marriage…”

“Tom?” Jess’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Tom blinked, realizing he’d been staring at his half-eaten sandwich without moving for who knows how long. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just tired. And thinking about work.”

“Meridian still a mess?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he latched onto the excuse gratefully. “The implementation’s behind schedule. Davis is breathing down everyone’s neck. The usual corporate crisis.”

Jess nodded, setting down her sandwich. “Look, I know you’re tired. But I think we need to talk about Thursday night.”

Tom’s stomach clenched. “Right.”

“I want to apologize,” Jess began, surprising him. “Making up that story about Chris Webb was manipulative and unfair. I shouldn’t have tested you like that.”

Tom set his sandwich down. “Why did you?” he asked, genuinely curious despite everything else swirling in his mind.

Jess sighed, running a hand through her ponytail. “I don’t know. After our conversations about flirting with other men, about exploring boundaries… I guess I wanted to see how far these fantasies really went for you. If they were really just about flirtation or if they were about… more.”

“And you got your answer,” Tom said quietly.

“I did,” Jess agreed. “And it scared me a little, Tom. The way you reacted, how eager you were for details, how you were…” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “…physically aroused by the idea of me alone with Webb.”

Tom felt heat rise to his face. “I’m sorry I reacted that way.”

“Don’t apologize for what turns you on,” Jess said, reaching across the table to take his hand. “That’s not what this is about. I’m not judging you, Tom. I’m trying to understand. I’m trying to figure out what this means for us, for our marriage.”

Tom squeezed her hand. “I know. I’m trying to understand it too.”

“The way you responded to my story,” Jess continued, “it wasn’t just that you believed it. You… wanted it to be true. At least part of you did.”

Tom couldn’t deny it. “It turned me on,” he admitted.

“But you said you would have been okay with it,” Jess pressed. “If the story had been real. If I’d really gone to Webb’s hotel room. You said yes.”

“In the heat of the moment, I said a lot of things,” Tom replied carefully. “I think we both need to step back and figure out where our actual boundaries are before we go any further with this.”

Jess studied his face. “That’s what bothered me most, I think. Not that you have these fantasies, but that all the pressure was on me to decide how far to go. You kept saying ‘do whatever feels right,’ but that puts all the responsibility on me.”

“You’re right,” Tom acknowledged. “That wasn’t fair.”

“It also makes me wonder if you even know what you want, Tom. Where your lines are. What you could handle in reality versus what excites you in fantasy.”

It was a fair question, one he’d been avoiding even before this morning’s confrontation.

“I don’t think I do know,” he admitted. “Not clearly enough.”

Jess nodded, her expression softening. “That’s okay. This is new territory for both of us.”

Tom seized the opening. “I was thinking… why don’t we take a step back from all of this. No more flirting with other men, no pushing boundaries, just us focusing on each other for now.”

“Even Bob?” Jess asked, her gaze direct.

Tom nearly choked on his water. “What about Bob?”

“Well, we talked about me possibly flirting with him as a way to test the waters. You seemed excited by that idea before you left for San Diego.”

“I know, but…” Tom struggled to find the words that would dissuade her without revealing why. “I think we should pause everything until we’re on the same page with boundaries. Including anything with Bob.”

“Okay,” Jess agreed. “No flirting with Bob. Or anyone else.”

“Right,” Tom said. “Let’s just focus on us for now.”

“Speaking of us,” Jess continued, “there’s something else we need to talk about. The ‘princess’ thing.”

Tom felt his chest tighten. “What about it?”

“It just seems strange that Bob would use the exact same endearment you’ve suddenly started using in bed,” Jess said, watching his face carefully. “I mean, what are the odds of that being coincidence?”

“Pretty slim, I guess,” Tom said, struggling to maintain eye contact. “But I honestly don’t know how else to explain it. Maybe I heard him use it around the house and it got stuck in my subconscious?”

“When would that have happened, though?” Jess pressed. “You and Bob haven’t spent much time together without me present, and he’s never called me that before, at least not that I’ve heard.”

Tom shrugged, aiming for casual confusion though his heart hammered in his chest. “It’s just a coincidence, Jess. A weird one, but still just a coincidence.”

Jess held his gaze for a long moment, clearly not satisfied with his answer. But to his surprise, she simply nodded and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Tom echoed, uncertain.

“If you say it’s a coincidence, then it’s a coincidence,” she said, her tone neutral in a way that somehow felt more concerning than anger or suspicion would have been.

Tom knew he should find a more convincing explanation, but exhaustion was catching up with him, compounded by the emotional toll of his confrontation with Bob.

“Listen,” he said, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry I’m not more present right now. Between the travel, the Meridian disaster, and everything else… I just feel drained.”

Jess’s expression immediately softened with concern. “Of course you’re tired. I’m pushing too hard when you’ve just gotten back from a business trip.”

“It’s not that,” Tom assured her. “These conversations are important. I just don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind for them right now.”

“It’s okay,” Jess said, standing to clear their plates. “We can have a normal weekend. You should rest, recharge.”

Tom followed her to the sink, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she rinsed the dishes. “I was thinking,” he murmured against her hair. “Maybe Friday night we could go out for dinner. Just the two of us. Talk about everything properly when I’m not half-asleep and stressed about work.”

Jess turned in his arms, her face brightening. “I’d like that. Where are you thinking?”

“Somewhere nice,” Tom replied. “Dressy enough for that green dress you looked so amazing in at the Skyline party.”

Her smile widened. “That sounds perfect.”

Tom kissed her forehead. For a brief, tender moment, they were just Tom and Jess, husband and wife, planning a date night. No complicated fantasies, no manipulative tenant, no secrets threatening to unravel their life.

“I should probably get some work done this afternoon,” Tom said reluctantly. “Catch up on emails, prep for Monday.”

“Do what you need to do,” Jess replied. “I was thinking of running to Whole Foods anyway. We’re out of pretty much everything.”

“And maybe hit the gym after?” Tom suggested, knowing her usual weekend routine.

“Probably,” Jess agreed. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’ll be buried in my office for a few hours anyway.” The thought of his office, his sanctuary within their home, called to him. A place where he could sort through his thoughts without Jess’s perceptive gaze catching every flicker of emotion.

They separated, each moving toward their respective tasks. Tom retreated to his office, closing the door behind him with a sense of both relief and guilt. He sat at his desk but made no move to open his laptop. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, and allowed Bob’s words to replay in full.

“…The fantasies you’re having, Tom? They’re normal. More common than you’d think. But they need to be handled carefully. With respect for the marriage, with clear boundaries…”

“…Men who don’t have them don’t let other men take pictures of their wife in a wet swimsuit, Tom. They certainly don’t stand outside windows watching other men masturbate to photos of their wives…”

“…Women like Jess, beautiful, confident, often have unexplored desires they’re afraid to vocalize. Especially to the men they love most…”

That last part had burrowed deep into his consciousness. Could it be true? Did Jess harbor desires she was afraid to share with him? The thought seemed absurd on its surface. They’d always been open with each other, honest about their needs and wants.

But then again, he’d kept his own growing desires secret until recently. He’d stood outside Bob’s window that night, watching, aroused, and never breathed a word of it to Jess. Perhaps they both had depths they were afraid to explore together.

Tom shook his head, trying to clear it. Bob was manipulating him, that much was obvious. The man wanted access to Jess, had admitted as much directly. “Your wife is gorgeous, Tom. I’m not going to pretend that if exploring these fantasies could involve me in some capacity, that wouldn’t be enjoyable.”

The audacity of it still stunned him. And yet, there had been something disarmingly honest about Bob’s approach. No pretense, no false morality, just an acknowledgment of desire coupled with a claim of experience and wisdom.

Tom’s stomach churned as he remembered another part of Bob’s speech. “We took it too far. Started involving friends in our exploration. The boundaries got blurry. Sarah started enjoying her freedom more than our marriage. Started seeing some of those guys without telling me.”

Was that the real danger here? Not that exploring these fantasies would damage Tom’s psyche, but that Jess might discover she preferred the excitement of novelty to the comfort of their marriage?

Tom forced himself to open his laptop, to at least maintain the pretense of working. His inbox overflowed with emails from the Meridian project, each one marked urgent, each one adding to the weight pressing down on him. He began sorting through them, his mind still half-occupied with Bob’s words and their implications.

The sound of Jess’s Tesla whirring in the driveway barely registered. She was going to Whole Foods. Then the gym. Normal weekend activities. Except nothing felt normal anymore.

Tom’s cell phone buzzed with a text. He glanced at it, half-expecting it to be from Bob. But it was Davis, checking in on some detail from the Meridian implementation. Tom responded quickly, grateful for the mundane distraction.

The afternoon stretched ahead of him, hours alone in the house with nothing but his thoughts and Bob’s voice echoing in his mind. Tom stared at his screen, the words blurring as his concentration wavered. What would he say to Jess when she returned? How could he maintain normalcy when everything had shifted so dramatically beneath the surface?

One thing was clear. He needed distance from Bob. He’d suggested pausing their “exploration” partly to protect Jess from his own complicated feelings, but also to buy time, to figure out how to handle the knowledge that Bob knew his secret.

Tom’s mind drifted to the alternative scenario, the path where he told Jess everything. About standing outside Bob’s window. About Bob’s offer. He tried to imagine her reaction, playing out the scene in his mind.

She would be hurt, obviously. Betrayed by his silence. But beyond that, how would she respond to the revelation that their tenant had offered to help them explore Tom’s fantasies? That Bob had admitted to finding her attractive, to being willing to participate? Would she be disgusted? Afraid? Or would there be a flicker of curiosity, the same curiosity she’d exhibited when discussing the possibility of flirting with other men?

Tom shook his head, banishing the thought. No, he couldn’t tell Jess. Not yet, maybe not ever. Better to keep Bob at arm’s length, to shut down any further exploration until this situation with Bob had somehow resolved itself.

But how? Bob wasn’t going anywhere. He had a lease. He lived beneath them, shared their home. Complete avoidance wasn’t possible. And now he held this power over Tom, this knowledge that could destroy everything if revealed in the wrong way.

Tom’s gaze drifted to the open document on his screen, a halfway composed email response about data migration protocols that suddenly seemed absurdly trivial compared to the personal crisis unfolding in his life.

He let his head fall into his hands, fingers pressing against his temples as though he could physically force his thoughts into some kind of order. There were too many variables, too many potential paths forward, none of them free from risk.

Should he confront Bob directly? Tell him to back off, to forget what he saw, to maintain a strictly tenant-landlord relationship?

Should he acknowledge Bob’s offer but firmly decline, keeping communication open while establishing clear boundaries?

Should he continue as if nothing had happened, avoiding Bob when possible and hoping the situation would somehow resolve itself with time?

None of these options felt satisfactory. Each carried its own dangers, its own potential for disaster. And hanging over all of them was the uncomfortable fact that part of Tom, a part he was increasingly unable to ignore, was intrigued by Bob’s offer.

Not because he wanted Bob specifically involved in their lives. The thought of the older man touching Jess still made Tom’s skin crawl with a complicated mixture of revulsion and if he was honest, intense arousal. But because Bob had articulated something Tom had been feeling for months, that these desires weren’t going away, that they needed some sort of outlet, some form of exploration that wouldn’t threaten the foundation of his marriage.

Tom forced himself to return to his email, to focus on the concrete, the manageable, the aspects of his life he could still control. Work had always been his refuge, the place where complexities yielded to analysis and hard work. But today, even that sanctuary felt compromised.

He typed mechanically, going through the motions of professionalism while his mind continued to churn with Bob’s words and their implications. The afternoon crept by, marked only by the steady ticking of the wall clock and the occasional ping of incoming messages.

At some point, Tom realized he’d been staring at the same paragraph for nearly twenty minutes without comprehending a single word. He pushed back from his desk with a frustrated sigh, rubbing his eyes as if he could physically wipe away the mental exhaustion.

The house felt too quiet without Jess. Tom wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water, his gaze involuntarily drawn to the floor, to where Bob existed beneath them, probably planning his next move in whatever game he was playing.

“What am I doing?” Tom murmured to himself. He was Tom Marshall, successful management consultant, respected professional, husband to a brilliant and beautiful woman. He wasn’t some pawn to be manipulated by a twice-divorced handyman with boundary issues.

And yet, here he stood in his kitchen, jumpier than a teenager caught with porn, all because Bob Caldwell had seen him watching through a window and called him on it.

Tom drained his glass and set it in the sink. This had to stop. He needed a strategy, a plan, something more substantive than avoiding Bob and hoping the problem would solve itself.

His phone buzzed with a text.

Jess: Almost done at Whole Foods. Need anything specific?

The normalcy of the message grounded him. This was his life, texting his wife about groceries, making weekend plans, managing work stress. Bob Caldwell was a complication, not a catastrophe.

Tom: We’re out of coffee. And maybe some of those cookies I like?

Jess: Already got the coffee. Will grab cookies. Home in about 30.

Tom smiled. She knew him so well, had anticipated his needs before he even expressed them. This was what mattered, this connection, this shared understanding that went beyond words.

He returned to his office with renewed determination. He would finish out the workday properly, be present for Jess when she returned, have a normal weekend. Friday night’s dinner would be a chance to reconnect, to strengthen their bond before figuring out how to handle the Bob situation.

The next hour passed in genuine productivity as Tom focused on his inbox, responding to urgent messages and organizing his thoughts for Monday’s meetings. The familiar rhythm of work settled his nerves, providing structure and purpose when everything else felt uncertain.

He heard Jess’s car pull into the driveway but remained at his desk, finishing the email he’d been composing. By the time he emerged from his office, she was already halfway through unpacking groceries, reusable bags spread across the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” she greeted him with a smile. “Productive afternoon?”

“Got through most of my inbox,” Tom replied, moving to help her. “How was Whole Foods?”

“Packed,” Jess said. “Saturday afternoon chaos, as usual. But I got everything on the list, plus those chocolate chip cookies you love.”

“My hero,” Tom said, pulling her into a brief hug. The simple physical contact steadied him, reminded him of what was real and important.

“I was thinking,” Jess said as they continued unpacking groceries, “maybe we could order in tonight? Watch a movie? Keep it low key.”

“Sounds perfect,” Tom agreed.

“But I’m still heading to the gym,” she added. “Need to clear my head a bit.”

Tom nodded, understanding the feeling all too well. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

When everything was stored, Jess headed to the bedroom to change for the gym. Tom followed, settling onto the edge of the bed to watch as she gathered her workout clothes.

“You seem better,” she observed, pulling her hair into a tighter ponytail.

“I feel better,” Tom replied, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. “Work helped, honestly. Looking at concrete problems, finding solutions…”

“Your happy place,” Jess teased, but her smile was affectionate.

“One of them,” Tom corrected, his eyes following her movement around the room. “The other is right here, with you.”

Jess paused, her expression softening. She crossed to where he sat, leaning down to kiss him gently. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured against his lips.

“Missed you too,” Tom replied, meaning it completely despite everything else swirling beneath the surface. He deepened the kiss, his hands finding her waist, drawing her closer.

“If you keep that up,” Jess whispered as she pulled away slightly, “I might have to skip the gym.”

Tom smiled, tempted to take her up on the implicit offer. “Raincheck?” he suggested instead. “Tonight, after dinner?”

“Definitely,” Jess agreed, reluctantly stepping back. She disappeared into the closet, emerging minutes later in her workout clothes, the black leggings and sports bra combination that never failed to make Tom’s mouth go dry.

“Shouldn’t be more than an hour,” she said, grabbing her gym bag. “Text if you think of anything else we need.”

“Will do,” Tom replied. “Have a good workout.”

After Jess left, Tom returned to the kitchen, pouring himself another glass of water. The silence of the house settled around him once more, but this time it felt less oppressive, more contemplative. He was Tom Marshall, and he was home. This was his sanctuary, his refuge, the place where he belonged.

Bob Caldwell and his manipulations were a problem, yes. A significant one. But not an insurmountable one. Tom would find a way to handle it, to protect his marriage, to navigate these complex desires without surrendering control to someone else’s agenda.

Friday night’s dinner would be the first step. A chance to reconnect with Jess, to reestablish their bond, to remind himself of what truly mattered.

For now, though, he would allow himself this moment of relative peace. The storm hadn’t passed. If anything, it was just gathering strength. But for this afternoon, in this quiet house, he could pretend that everything was normal, that his world wasn’t teetering on the edge of a precipice.

An hour later, when Jess returned from the gym flushed and energized from her workout, Tom greeted her with a genuine smile. They spent the evening as planned. Takeout Thai food, a movie they’d been meaning to watch for months, comfortable conversation about everything and nothing.

Later, as promised, they made love slowly, tenderly, without the frantic edge that had characterized their recent encounters. Tom focused entirely on Jess, on her pleasure. No fantasies intruded, no third party existed in his mind. It was just them, husband and wife, finding their way back to each other amidst the gathering complications.

—

On Sunday morning, Tom woke before Jess, her body curled against his back, her breath warm against his neck. For a moment, he simply lay there, savoring the closeness, allowing himself to exist in the present without the intrusion of Bob’s voice or the complicated tangle of desires that had been exposed.

When Jess stirred, mumbling sleepily against his shoulder, Tom turned to face her, watching as consciousness gradually claimed her. This was his favorite version of Jess, unguarded, soft with sleep before the day’s demands forced her to don her professional armor.

“Morning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Mmm,” Jess replied, eyes still closed. “What time is it?”

“Just after eight,” Tom said, glancing at the bedside clock. “No rush.”

Jess stretched beside him. “Coffee?” she offered, already knowing his answer.

“Please,” Tom replied with a smile. “I’ll start breakfast.”

Jess handled coffee while Tom prepared eggs and toast. The normalcy felt both reassuring and somehow fragile, as if the foundation beneath their established life had shifted significantly. Tom found himself watching Jess more intently than usual, cataloging each familiar gesture, each routine interaction, like a man trying to memorize the details of a beloved landscape before a storm.

After breakfast, Tom moved to his office to catch up on work emails while Jess tackled the laundry that had accumulated during his trip.

Around noon, Tom heard a lawnmower start up outside. He moved to the window, glancing down to see Bob pushing a mower across their backyard.

“Bob’s mowing the lawn,” Tom called to Jess, who was folding clothes in their bedroom.

“That’s nice of him,” she replied, appearing in the doorway. “We didn’t ask him to do that, did we?”

“No,” Tom confirmed. “But the yard did need it.”

They watched together for a moment, Bob oblivious to their observation. There was something disconcerting about the normality of it, their tenant performing basic yard maintenance as if yesterday’s confrontation had never happened.

“Should we offer to help?” Jess asked.

Tom tensed involuntarily. The thought of facing Bob again, of forced casual conversation after everything that had passed between them, made his stomach clench.

“Sure,” he managed.

They made their way down to the yard, Tom steeling himself for Bob’s reaction. But when the older man spotted them, he simply waved, shutting off the mower as they approached.

“Afternoon,” Bob called, his tone casual, friendly, utterly devoid of the intimate knowledge that had colored yesterday’s conversation. “Figured the yard could use a trim.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jess said, though her smile showed her appreciation. “But thank you.”

“No trouble,” Bob replied, wiping sweat from his forehead with a forearm. “Good to stay busy.” His eyes moved to Tom, offering a nod that could have been interpreted a dozen different ways. “Nice day for it.”

Tom searched Bob’s face for some sign, some acknowledgment of what had passed between them, but found nothing beyond neighborly pleasantness. It was as if Bob had compartmentalized yesterday’s conversation, tucking it away until it became useful again.

“Need any help?” Tom asked, forcing casualness into his voice.

“Almost done with the mowing,” Bob said. “But if you wanted to edge along the fence line, that’d be appreciated.”

For the next hour, the three of them worked together in the yard. Jess collected fallen branches and debris, piling them neatly for disposal. Tom handled the edging, the buzz of the trimmer filling his ears, drowning out the thoughts that had plagued him since yesterday. Bob finished the mowing, then moved on to pruning the rosebushes he’d weeded earlier in the week.

The physical labor provided Tom with a welcome distraction, a way to channel his nervous energy into something productive. By the time they finished, the yard looked better than it had in years, the hedges neatly trimmed, the grass evenly cut, the flower beds free of weeds.

“Looks good,” Bob observed, surveying their work with evident satisfaction. “Amazing what a few hours can do.”

“It does look great,” Jess agreed. “Thanks for getting us motivated, Bob. We’ve been neglecting the yard.”

“Happy to help,” Bob replied. “Think I’ll grab a shower. Getting too old to be out in this heat all day.”

With a final nod, Bob left for his downstairs unit, leaving Tom and Jess alone in the yard.

“That was nice,” Jess commented, gathering her gardening gloves. “Working together like that.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed automatically, though his mind was elsewhere, still trying to reconcile Bob’s current behavior with yesterday’s confrontation. Was this the man’s strategy? To act as if nothing had happened, to maintain the appearance of the helpful tenant while positioning himself for whatever came next?

The remainder of Sunday passed with quiet domesticity. They prepared dinner together, dicing vegetables side by side at the counter, moving around each other in their kitchen. The conversation flowed easily, touching on work, friends, plans for the coming week. If Tom occasionally fell silent, lost in his thoughts about Bob’s offer and its implications, Jess didn’t comment.

That night, when they went to bed, Tom found himself reaching for Jess with unexpected urgency. Whether driven by the need to reaffirm their connection or simply to lose himself in physical sensation, he couldn’t have said. But when their bodies joined, when Jess’s breath quickened against his neck and her nails dug into his shoulders, Tom was present, focused entirely on the woman beneath him, on her pleasure.

No fantasies intruded, no shadow of Bob’s influence darkened the moment. It was just them, husband and wife, finding comfort and release in each other’s bodies. When they finished, both breathless and satisfied, Tom held Jess close.

“I love you,” he murmured as sleep began to claim him.

“Love you too,” Jess replied, her voice already soft with approaching dreams.

Monday shattered Sunday’s peaceful rhythm. Tom’s alarm blared at an ungodly early time, dragging him unwillingly from sleep. The Meridian implementation loomed like a thundercloud on his professional horizon, promising a week of long hours and complex problem-solving.

Beside him, Jess stirred but didn’t fully wake, merely burrowing deeper into the blankets as Tom slipped from bed. He showered quickly, dressed in his usual business attire, and made coffee, leaving a mug on Jess’s nightstand before pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

“Have a good day,” she murmured, half-asleep.

“You too,” Tom replied. “See you tonight.”

The drive to work provided space for reflection, his mind wandering away from the upcoming day’s challenges to Bob’s words from Saturday morning. These feelings you’re having, Tom? They’re normal. More common than you’d think. But they need to be handled carefully.”

What exactly had Bob meant by “handled carefully”? The question lingered, forcing Tom to acknowledge that despite his initial revulsion at Bob’s offer, some part of him understood the older man’s point. These desires, watching Jess with other men, finding arousal in others wanting her, hadn’t diminished since he’d first acknowledged them. If anything, giving them voice had only intensified their hold on him.

The week unfolded with punishing intensity at Davis & Associates. The Meridian implementation continued to present complex challenges, each solved problem revealing three more in its wake like a hydra. Tom found himself working late every night, often not reaching home until around 8 PM, exhausted and mentally drained.

Jess maintained her own busy schedule, dividing her time between the office on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and working from home on Tuesday and Thursday. They passed like ships in the night, exchanging updates over quick dinners or late-night texts. The intimacy of the weekend seemed a distant memory by Wednesday, eroded by professional demands and physical exhaustion.

On Tuesday evening, as Tom warmed leftover pasta for a late dinner, Jess mentioned casually, “I chatted with Bob today.”

Tom’s hand paused, spoon suspended above the pot. “Oh?” he managed, striving for casual interest.

“He was working in the garden during my lunch break,” Jess explained, pouring them both a glass of water. “I sat on the balcony, and we talked for a bit.”

“What about?” Tom asked, resuming his stirring with forced casualness.

“Nothing important,” Jess said. “Mostly about plants. He’s quite knowledgeable, actually. Told me all about these native perennials he’s thinking of planting along the back fence.” She took a sip of her water. “I wasn’t flirting or anything,” she added, a hint of something, defensiveness? reassurance? coloring her tone. “Just being friendly. Like we agreed.”

“Right,” Tom nodded, surprised by the flicker of disappointment that accompanied her clarification. Despite everything, his careful suggestion to pause their exploration, his own conflicted feelings about Bob’s offer, some part of him had hoped she might test those boundaries, might recapture the intriguing energy of their earlier conversations.

“He’s easy to talk to,” Jess continued, seeming not to notice Tom’s reaction. “In that ‘grandfather sharing wisdom’ kind of way.”

Tom handed her a plate of reheated pasta. The comparison of Bob to a grandfather should have been reassuring, should have alleviated the complicated tangle of emotions Bob’s presence evoked. Instead, it intensified Tom’s internal conflict. If Jess saw Bob as a harmless older man, a grandfatherly figure, then perhaps Bob’s offer had merit. Perhaps he truly could serve as a “safe” outlet for the fantasies that continued to resurface despite Tom’s attempts to suppress them.

The thought disturbed and intrigued him equally.

Thursday brought a similar report from Jess about another casual conversation with Bob during her lunch break. Again, she was careful to clarify that there had been no flirting, nothing that crossed the boundaries they’d established on Saturday. And again, Tom felt that unexpected twinge of disappointment, that silent wish that she might have pushed just a little, tested the waters despite his stated desire to pause their exploration.

As the day progressed, Tom found his thoughts returning with increasing frequency to Bob’s offer, examining it from new angles, finding elements that made a perverse kind of sense. Perhaps there was something to Bob’s claim of experience with these dynamics, something valuable in his warning about maintaining clear boundaries.

The memory of Thursday night’s phone call with Jess, with her fake story about Chris Webb, kept surfacing in Tom’s mind. The intensity of his arousal when he’d believed she might be with another man hadn’t diminished with the revelation that the story was false. If anything, his fantasies had grown more vivid, more persistent, demanding outlet or acknowledgment.

By Friday morning, Tom had to admit, if only to himself, that his attempt to pause their exploration had been at least partly motivated by fear, not just of Bob’s manipulation but of his own desires. The days since their Saturday morning conversation had provided perspective, allowing Tom to separate his reaction to Bob’s knowledge of his voyeurism from the underlying truth of what Bob had said about his fantasies.

These feelings weren’t going away. Pretending otherwise was simply delaying the inevitable, postponing a conversation that needed to happen between him and Jess.

Friday afternoon found Tom at his desk, focusing on final preparations for the weekend handoff of the Meridian project, but his mind was elsewhere. Tonight’s dinner with Jess loomed ahead, a commitment he’d made when he still believed that pausing their exploration was the right approach. Now, he wasn’t so certain.

What would he say to her? How could he explain his evolution from wanting to pause everything to considering a careful, bounded exploration? Would she see it as weakness, as surrender to desires he should be able to control? Or would she understand, would she share some version of the curiosity that continued to pull at him despite his best efforts to ignore it?

His phone chimed with a text.

Jess: Looking forward to tonight.

Tom stared at the message. They needed this reconnection, this chance to talk openly without the immediate pressure of professional demands. Whether that conversation led to a continued pause or a cautious resumption of their exploration remained to be seen.

With a sigh, Tom turned back to his work, forcing himself to focus on the Meridian implementation. Each minute seemed to crawl by with excruciating slowness as his mind continually drifted to the evening ahead.

By 5 PM, he’d made enough progress to justify leaving, citing dinner plans when his team lead raised an eyebrow at his early departure. The drive home provided time to organize his thoughts, to prepare for the conversation ahead.

What did he want, really? The question was both simple and impossibly complex. He wanted Jess, of course. Her happiness, her trust, her love. But he also wanted to explore these newly acknowledged desires without surrendering control to Bob’s manipulation or risking their marriage.

There had to be a middle ground, a path that acknowledged these feelings without giving them undue power or exposing Jess to unnecessary risk. Finding that path would require honesty, with himself and with Jess.

As Tom pulled into their driveway, he spotted Bob in the front yard, watering the newly planted flowers along the walkway. Their eyes met briefly as Tom emerged from his car, and Bob offered a casual nod, as if their Saturday conversation had been nothing more than a neighborly chat about lawn care.

“Evening,” Bob called. “Flowers needed a drink in this heat.”

“Thanks,” Tom replied, genuine gratitude in his voice. Whatever Bob’s motivations, the yard did look better for his attention.

“You folks have plans tonight?” Bob asked, shutting off the water and coiling the hose neatly. “Friday night and all.”

“Dinner,” Tom said, the single word revealing nothing of the evening’s significance.

“Sounds like fun,” Bob nodded.

The casual exchange felt surreal given everything unspoken between them, yet somehow appropriate, a tacit agreement to maintain surface civility while deeper currents flowed beneath.

As Tom headed inside, he realized that whatever happened next, with Jess, with their marriage, with these complicated desires, would be their choice, not Bob’s. The older man might have inserted himself into their dynamic, might have accelerated Tom’s acknowledgment of his fantasies, but he couldn’t dictate their response. That remained firmly in Tom and Jess’s hands.

—

Tom’s fingers fidgeted with his collar as he waited for the Uber to arrive. The crisp white shirt felt suddenly restrictive against his throat despite having worn identical shirts countless times before. He checked his watch, then glanced toward their bedroom where Jess was putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

“Almost ready!” Jess called from the bedroom.

Tom checked his watch again. The Uber was two minutes away according to the app. He’d booked it slightly early, anticipating Jess would need extra time to finish getting ready. A small, unnecessary insurance against being late for their 8 PM reservation at Vesper, the upscale restaurant downtown that had required Tom to call in a favor from a client to secure a table on short notice.

“Our ride’s almost here,” he called back.

When Jess emerged from the bedroom, Tom froze. The emerald dress she’d worn to the Skyline launch hugged her body like it had been painted on, accentuating every curve while maintaining an air of sophistication that prevented it from appearing explicitly sexual. Her blonde hair was styled to fall over one shoulder in loose, elegant waves, and a pair of modest diamond earrings, his gift for their second anniversary, glinted whenever she moved her head.

“You look…” Tom began, but the words died in his throat. Gorgeous felt inadequate. Stunning, too generic. Beautiful, too expected.

Jess smiled, understanding the silence. “Thank you,” she said, moving toward him with a smile.

Tom had chosen his navy Tom Ford suit, the one he saved for important client meetings and special occasions. He wore a white dress shirt with a black tie and his black Italian leather oxfords gleamed with a fresh polish. He’d even taken extra time with his hair.

“I figured since you missed seeing me in this dress the first time, the least I could do was make it worth the wait,” Jess said, reaching up to straighten his already-perfect tie.

“It was definitely worth the wait,” Tom replied. He let his hands settle at her waist, feeling the smooth fabric of the dress beneath his palms. “If we didn’t have a reservation…”

Jess laughed. “Later,” she promised, her eyes holding a mischief that made his heart rate accelerate. “After dinner.”

His phone buzzed, the app alerting him that their Uber had arrived. Tom reluctantly broke contact. “Shall we?” he asked.

Outside, the evening was pleasantly warm with just enough breeze to make the temperature comfortable. Their driver, a middle-aged woman with short gray hair, greeted them with politeness, confirming their destination before pulling away from the curb.

Tom watched as Jess settled into her seat, the slit in her dress revealing a tantalizing glimpse of thigh. The driver’s eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, her gaze drawn naturally to Jess’s beauty before returning to the road.

“Vesper, huh?” the driver commented, breaking the silence. “Special occasion?”

“Just a date night,” Jess replied. “It’s been a busy week.”

“Well, you two look fantastic,” the driver said. “That green is your color, honey.”

Jess smiled, the compliment clearly appreciated. “Thank you.”

Tom’s hand found Jess’s in the space between them, their fingers intertwining automatically. Despite the complications that had arisen since his return from San Diego, despite Bob’s manipulation and the unresolved tension of their “pause,” this connection remained, solid and grounding.

“I’m looking forward to tonight,” Tom said, his voice low enough that only Jess could hear. “Just us. No distractions.”

“Me too,” she replied, squeezing his hand gently.

The rest of the short drive passed in comfortable silence, both of them watching Austin’s skyline grow more prominent as they approached downtown. The Uber pulled up to the restaurant’s entrance, a discreet glass door beneath an understated sign illuminated by tasteful copper fixtures.

Tom helped Jess from the car, her heels clicking against the pavement as they approached the entrance. Inside, the restaurant exuded quiet luxury. Wood tables spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy, soft lighting from crystal chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of the city lights. The hostess, a poised woman in a black dress, greeted them with a warm smile.

“Mr. and Mrs. Marshall,” she said, checking her tablet. “Your table is ready. Please follow me.”

As they moved through the restaurant, Tom was acutely aware of the glances they attracted. Jess in that emerald dress was impossible to ignore, drawing appreciative looks from both men and women. Each gaze sent that familiar pulse through Tom’s body, pride mingling with something darker, something more complex.

Their table was positioned near the windows, offering a spectacular view while maintaining enough distance from neighboring tables to allow for private conversation. Tom held Jess’s chair. He settled across from her, accepting the leather-bound menus from the hostess.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” the hostess said before departing.

Alone at last, Tom found himself momentarily at a loss for words. All week, he’d rehearsed various openings for this conversation, different approaches to bridge the gap between their Saturday morning agreement to pause their exploration and his evolving thoughts on the matter. But now, faced with Jess across the table, radiant in emerald, all his carefully prepared phrases evaporated.

“This place is beautiful,” Jess said, filling the silence as she glanced around. “How did you manage to get a reservation on such short notice?”

“Remember Jeremy Collins from Wilton Media? The client whose daughter is getting married next spring? I helped him secure a venue when everything was booked solid. He knows the owner here.”

“The networking never stops,” Jess teased, though her smile held genuine appreciation.

Their server appeared, a tall man in his thirties with a discreet earpiece marking him as part of the restaurant’s staff. “Good evening,” he greeted them. “My name is Wilson, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. May I start you with something from the bar?”

Tom glanced at Jess, who nodded slightly, a silent agreement to their usual dining ritual. “We’ll start with a bottle of wine,” Tom said. “Do you have the 2012 Gold & Silver Cabernet?”

“We do, sir. Excellent choice.”

“Perfect. We’ll take that,” Tom confirmed.

Wilson departed to retrieve their wine, leaving them alone again. Jess opened her menu, eyes scanning the offerings. “Everything looks amazing,” she commented. “What are you thinking of getting?”

“Probably the Beef Wellington,” Tom replied, though his attention was more on Jess than the menu. In the soft lighting, she seemed to glow. “How about you?”

“The lamb is calling my name,” Jess said, closing her menu decisively. She looked up, catching Tom’s gaze. “What?” she asked, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Nothing,” Tom said, returning her smile. “Just appreciating the view.”

A slight blush colored Jess’s cheeks, visible even in the dim lighting. After six years together, four of them married, he could still make her blush. It was one of the countless small wonders that continued to surprise him about their relationship.

Wilson returned with the wine, presenting the bottle for Tom’s inspection before uncorking it. He poured a small amount for Tom to taste, then, at Tom’s nod of approval, filled both their glasses.

“Are you ready to order?” Wilson asked.

They placed their appetizer and dinner orders, and the server disappeared once more, leaving them to their wine and conversation.

Tom lifted his glass. “To date night,” he said, offering a simple toast.

“To date night,” Jess echoed, touching her glass to his with a delicate clink.

The wine was excellent, rich and full-bodied with notes of dark fruit and hints of oak. Tom took a second appreciative sip, allowing the alcohol to warm his throat and settle some of the nervous energy that had been building all day.

“So,” Jess began, setting her glass down. “How’s the Meridian implementation going? Any progress this week?”

“Better than last week,” he replied. “We’ve resolved most of the critical issues. The rest is just cleanup and documentation.” He paused, considering how much detail to go into. “Davis seemed pleased with the progress. He mentioned he’s back-channeling with the CEO directly. I think he’s trying to position me for that Senior Consultant role we talked about.”

“That’s great, Tom,” Jess said, her enthusiasm genuine. “When do you think he’ll make it official?”

“Probably after the final implementation review if everything stays on track.” Tom took another sip of wine. “What about you? Any updates on the Houston or Savannah projects?”

“Chen sent over the preliminary briefs for Houston yesterday,” Jess said, her professional passion evident in the way she leaned forward slightly. “It’s going to be challenging but exciting. They’re looking at mid-century modern influences but with some Asian design elements mixed in. Right up my alley.”

As Jess elaborated on the Houston project, Tom found himself relaxing into their conversation. This was the foundation of their relationship, genuine interest in each other’s work, shared ambitions, mutual support. Whatever else was happening between them, this solid core remained.

Their appetizers arrived, a chilled seafood tower they’d decided to share. The elaborate presentation momentarily shifted their focus, both of them admiring the artful arrangement of fresh oysters, jumbo shrimp, and lump crab.

“This looks incredible,” Jess said, selecting an oyster.

Tom watched as she tilted her head back slightly, letting the oyster slip from its shell into her mouth. The simple act carried an unintentional sensuality that sent a pulse of desire through him.

The wine continued to flow, each glass softening the edges of the week’s stress, creating a buffer between their daily lives and this evening’s sanctuary. By the time their main courses arrived, they’d settled into a comfortable rhythm of conversation that meandered between work anecdotes, family updates, gossip about mutual friends, and light-hearted debates about movies they wanted to see.

Beneath this surface normalcy, Tom could feel the weight of unspoken topics hovering between them. Jess occasionally glanced at him with that perceptive look that suggested she was waiting for him to broach the subject they’d both been avoiding. The wine had loosened his tongue just enough to make the prospect less daunting, but he still hesitated, uncertain how to begin.

“This lamb is perfect,” Jess said, offering him a bite from her fork. The gesture was casual, intimate, a routine they’d established years ago of sharing tastes from each other’s plates.

Tom accepted the bite. “That is good,” he agreed. “Want to try the beef?”

Jess nodded, and he cut a small piece, raising his fork to her lips. Their eyes met as she took the offered bite, and something in her gaze, a knowing warmth, an invitation, gave him the courage he’d been seeking.

“Jess,” he began, setting down his fork. “There’s something I want to talk about.”

Her expression shifted subtly, her eyes focusing more intently on his face. “I’m listening,” she said.

Tom took a deep breath, then another sip of wine for good measure. “Remember last Saturday when we agreed to pause our… exploration? To take a step back and focus just on us for a while?”

Jess nodded, her fingers unconsciously playing with the stem of her wine glass. “I remember,” she said.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it all week, and I’m not sure that’s really what I want.” The words came out in a rush, as if he feared losing his nerve if he spoke too slowly.

Something flickered across Jess’s face, not surprise, exactly, but recognition. “I suspected as much,” she said quietly.

“You did?”

Jess nodded, taking a sip of her wine. “The way you responded to my story about Webb on the phone… that wasn’t the reaction of someone who wants to pause anything, Tom. And when I mentioned my conversations with Bob this week, I could see it in your face. You were disappointed that I wasn’t flirting with him.”

Tom felt heat rise to his cheeks, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”

“Only to me,” Jess assured him. “I’ve known you for years, Tom. I can read your expressions better than you think.” She leaned back in her chair slightly, studying him. “So, what changed? You were pretty adamant about taking a step back when you got home from San Diego.”

It was a fair question, one that required an honest answer. Tom chose his words carefully, aware of the delicate balance between truth and discretion. He couldn’t tell her about Bob’s confrontation, not without revealing the voyeurism that had started all of this, but he could explain the evolution of his thinking.

“I think I panicked,” he admitted. “After our phone call Thursday night, when you made up that story about Webb… the intensity of my reaction scared me. The fact that I was aroused by the thought of you with another man, that I said I’d be okay with it happening for real… it felt like I was losing control of something I didn’t fully understand.”

Jess listened attentively, her expression open and free of judgment. The knot in Tom’s chest loosened slightly at her receptiveness.

“So, I withdrew,” he continued. “I convinced myself that we needed to pause everything until I could sort out my feelings. But the truth is, all week, I’ve been thinking about it. These… desires, these fantasies, they’re not going away just because I decided to ignore them.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Jess asked, her tone careful but not dismissive.

Tom took another sip of wine, gathering his thoughts. “I’m not sure, exactly. I just know that pretending these feelings don’t exist isn’t the solution.”

Jess nodded slowly, absorbing his words. She was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but serious.

“I hear you, Tom. And I appreciate your honesty. But if we’re going to explore this further, whatever ‘this’ is, I need something I didn’t have before.”

“What’s that?”

“Concrete boundaries,” Jess replied firmly. “Real, specific rules that we both agree to and stick to, no matter what. The whole ‘do whatever feels right’ approach puts too much pressure on me and leaves too much room for misinterpretation.”

Tom nodded, relief washing over him at her apparent willingness to continue their exploration. “That makes sense,” he said. “What kind of boundaries are you thinking of?”

Jess glanced around, ensuring no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. “Before we get into specifics, I want to be clear about something. I’ve told you before, but I want to tell you again. There are aspects of this exploration that… intrigue me. The feeling of being desired, the sense of power in knowing the effect I have on men, the excitement of pushing boundaries in a controlled way…”

Tom’s pulse quickened at her admission.

“But,” she continued, raising a finger in warning, “I’m also worried about the potential consequences. What if your feelings change after fantasy becomes reality? What if our relationship dynamic shifts in ways we’re not prepared for? What if someone outside our marriage figures out what we’re doing, and it becomes embarrassing or impacts our professional lives?”

“Those are all valid concerns,” Tom acknowledged, recognizing the careful consideration she’d given the subject.

“I’m glad you see that,” Jess said. “Because these aren’t hypothetical worries, Tom. They’re real risks we’d be taking with our marriage, with our lives together. And that’s not something I’m willing to gamble with carelessly.”

Tom found himself grateful for her pragmatism, her ability to see beyond the immediate allure of fantasy to the practical considerations they needed to address.

“You’re right,” he said. “We need boundaries. Clear ones.”

“Exactly,” Jess nodded. “I suggest we create a list of rules. Non-negotiables that apply no matter what happens, even for something as seemingly innocent as flirting.”

“I’m all for that,” Tom agreed, eager to demonstrate his willingness to approach this more methodically. “What did you have in mind?”

Jess sat up straighter, her expression shifting to something more businesslike despite the intimate nature of their conversation. She looked like she was about to present at a client meeting, organized and prepared.

“First,” she began, “I need to state upfront that I’m not interested in having sex with anyone else. I’m open to pushing some boundaries, to exploring the fantasy to a certain degree, but I don’t want you to keep pushing me toward that endpoint. That needs to be clear from the start.”

Tom nodded, a complex mixture of slight relief but major disappointment washing through him. “Understood,” he said. “No pressure toward sex with others.”

“Good,” Jess said, taking a sip of wine. “Now, as for the rules themselves. I think they need to cover a few key areas. Communication, veto power, privacy, and emotional boundaries.”

Tom reached for the wine bottle, refilling their glasses as Jess continued.

“Rule one, communication,” she stated. “Nothing happens without prior discussion and mutual agreement. Full disclosure about all interactions, no secrets or surprises. If I flirt with someone, you know about it beforehand, and I tell you everything afterwards.”

“Agreed,” Tom said immediately. “Complete transparency.”

“Rule two, veto power,” Jess continued. “Either of us can stop anything immediately, no questions asked. If at any point either of us becomes uncomfortable, saying ‘stop’ or ‘I’m done’ is enough to end whatever’s happening without discussion or negotiation in the moment.”

Tom nodded again. “Absolutely. Safety valve for both of us.”

“Rule three, privacy,” Jess said, her tone growing more serious. “This stays completely private between us. No sharing with friends, no matter how close.” She gave him a pointed look. “Not even Madi gets details from me, and none of your work friends hear about this from you. And no friends or coworkers as potential partners, either. That’s just asking for trouble.”

Tom thought of Miles and his frequent comments about Jess’s appearance. “Definitely agreed on that one. Professional and social circles are off-limits.”

“And finally,” Jess said, “rule four, emotional boundaries. No dating, no separate emotional relationships, no romantic connections outside our marriage. This is not about opening our relationship in the traditional sense.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Tom agreed. “No emotional relationships.”

Jess seemed to relax slightly, shoulders loosening as they established these guidelines. “Those are the big four,” she said. “We can add more specific ones as situations develop, but I think those cover the core principles.”

Tom absorbed the rules, appreciating the clarity they provided. The structure felt right, necessary, a framework within which their exploration could occur without threatening the foundation of their marriage.

“I think these are excellent,” he said sincerely.

Jess nodded, looking relieved at his easy acceptance of the boundaries. “The rules apply no matter what, Tom. We discuss it beforehand, we both agree, we share all details afterward, and we maintain veto power at all times.”

“I understand,” Tom assured her. “And I think it’s the right approach. This is uncharted territory for both of us. Having clear guidelines makes sense.”

Their server appeared to clear their plates and inquire about dessert. The interruption provided a natural break in their intense conversation, allowing both of them to collect their thoughts. They agreed to share the restaurant’s famous chocolate soufflé, and Wilson departed to place their order.

When they were alone again, Jess took a long sip of her wine, studying Tom over the rim of her glass. “Can I ask you something directly?” she said, setting the glass down.

Tom nodded, though something in her tone made him wary. “Of course.”

“Do you want me to flirt with Bob?”

The directness of her question made him acutely aware of how she knew nothing about his interaction with Bob, about the older man’s offer of “guidance.”

“I…” Tom started, then stopped, searching for the right words. “It’s complicated,” he admitted finally.

“Complicated how?” Jess pressed, her eyes never leaving his face.

“I’m attracted to the idea,” Tom said carefully. “The fantasy of you flirting with him, of him wanting you, that definitely has a… certain appeal.” He paused, weighing his next words. “But there are practical concerns too. He’s our tenant. He lives in our house. If things became awkward or uncomfortable…”

“We’d still be stuck with him,” Jess finished the thought.

“Exactly,” Tom nodded, relieved at her understanding. “I think I need more time to think about the Bob situation specifically. Can I get back to you on that one?”

Jess studied him for a long moment, as if trying to read something beneath his words. Finally, she nodded. “That’s fair. Take the time you need. We don’t have to decide everything tonight.”

Their soufflé arrived, perfectly timed. The server placed it between them with two spoons, then disappeared again, clearly sensing the private nature of their conversation.

Tom broke the soufflé’s chocolatey crust with his spoon, releasing a cloud of steam. “This looks incredible,” he said.

They each took a bite, the rich, warm chocolate providing a brief distraction. The dessert was objectively excellent, but Tom found himself more focused on Jess, on the way her lips closed around her spoon, on the slight furrow between her brows that suggested she was still processing their conversation.

“So,” Tom ventured after a few bites of dessert, “assuming we’re moving forward with this exploration, but with these new rules in place… where do we start?”

Jess considered the question. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe we need a test run of sorts. Something controlled, with clear boundaries, to see how we both really feel when fantasy meets reality.”

Tom’s mind raced with possibilities. The wine had lowered his inhibitions just enough to make him bold. “What if we started tonight?” he suggested, leaning forward slightly.

“Tonight?” Jess echoed, surprise evident in her voice. “What did you have in mind?”

“After dinner,” Tom said, “we could go to Domino, that upscale nightclub. We could go for a drink, see how it feels for you to interact with other men. Nothing serious, just a test of the waters.”

Jess glanced down at her emerald dress. “I’m not exactly dressed for a nightclub, Tom.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Tom countered immediately. “And Domino isn’t your average nightclub. It’s high-end, sophisticated. That dress would be perfect.”

He could see her weighing the suggestion, considering potential scenarios. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “It feels like jumping in the deep end. Maybe we should start with something smaller, more controlled.”

“Fair enough,” Tom conceded, not wanting to push too hard. “It was just a thought. We can take this at whatever pace feels right for you.”

Jess took another bite of the soufflé, her expression thoughtful. “Actually,” she said after a moment, “maybe you’re right. Maybe a nightclub is the perfect starting point. Anonymous, no real stakes, just a chance to see how it feels for both of us.”

Tom’s heart rate accelerated at her reconsideration. “Really?”

“Really,” Jess nodded, a new determination in her eyes. “But with the rules in place. We discuss exactly what’s allowed beforehand, I tell you everything after, either of us can call it off at any point, and this stays between us.”

“Absolutely,” Tom agreed quickly. “We’ll define the boundaries clearly before we even get there.”

Jess raised her wine glass. “To new adventures, then,” she proposed, a hint of nervous excitement coloring her voice.

“To new adventures,” Tom echoed, touching his glass to hers.

As they finished their dessert and wine, the conversation shifted to the practical details of their impromptu nightclub plan. They agreed that Jess would be free to dance with other men, to accept drinks, though she would be careful about consumption, to engage in light flirtation. Physical contact would be limited to dancing, nothing beyond what would be considered socially acceptable in a crowded nightclub.

Tom would remain nearby, observing rather than hovering, giving her space to interact naturally while ensuring her safety. They established a signal, Jess touching her right earring, which would indicate she wanted him to intervene.

By the time Wilson returned with their check, they had constructed a tentative framework for the evening ahead. Tom handed over his credit card, the substantial bill barely registering compared to the significance of the conversation they’d just had.

While they waited for Wilson to process the payment, Jess reached across the table to take Tom’s hand. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice soft but serious. “It’s one thing to fantasize, another to actually see me…”

Tom squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I’m sure,” he said, though the flutter of nervous anticipation in his stomach suggested a more complicated truth.

Wilson returned with the credit card slip, which Tom signed with a generous tip. The formalities completed, he stood and moved around the table to hold Jess’s chair. As she rose, several nearby diners glanced their way, drawn to the movement, to Jess’s undeniable presence.

Tom offered his arm, which she took with a smile that contained equal parts nervousness and excitement. Together, they made their way through the restaurant, past the hostess stand, and into the warm Austin night. As they stepped onto the sidewalk, waiting for the Uber Tom had already summoned, a group of well-dressed men exiting a bar down the street turned to stare openly at Jess.

The familiar thrill coursed through Tom’s body, that complex mixture of pride and arousal, of possession and anticipation. Tonight, for the first time, he would allow that feeling room to breathe, to evolve beyond the confines of private fantasy into something visible, if carefully controlled.

Jess’s hand tightened on his arm, her body leaning slightly closer. “Still sure about this?” she murmured, clearly having noticed the men’s attention.

Tom looked down at her, at the woman who had been his center for six years, who understood him better than anyone else in the world, who was willing to explore his deepest fantasies despite her own hesitations. In that moment, he loved her more fiercely than ever before.

“I’m sure,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. “As long as we’re together.”

Jess’s smile deepened, a hint of her own excitement breaking through her careful composure. “Together,” she agreed. “Always.”

Their Uber pulled up to the curb, its headlights briefly illuminating them in a wash of white light. Tom opened the door for Jess, watching as she gracefully folded herself into the backseat, the emerald dress riding up slightly to reveal more of her toned thighs. He followed her in, giving the driver their new destination.

As the car pulled away from Vesper, Tom felt as though they were leaving behind not just the restaurant but a version of their relationship, a known configuration that had served them well for years. What lay ahead was uncertain, uncharted, potentially dangerous in ways neither of them could fully anticipate.

The city lights blurred past the window, Austin’s nightlife awakening as evening deepened. Next stop, Domino. The first test of fantasy against reality, of theory against practice. Tom’s heart pounded with anticipation, with fear, with desire. Beside him, Jess’s profile was illuminated by the passing streetlights, her expression a fascinating mixture of determination and vulnerability.

Whatever the night held, one thing was certain, they were venturing into this new territory hand in hand, bound by rules of their own making, guided by a shared commitment to honesty and mutual care. It might not be enough to protect them from every potential pitfall, but it was a beginning, a framework within which they could explore the shadows of desire while keeping sight of the light they’d built together.