On Wednesday morning, Tom’s hand shot out from beneath the covers, fumbling for his phone to silence the blaring alarm.

Beside him, Jess stirred. “Time already?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah,” Tom whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Jess’s hand found his in the darkness, fingers intertwining. “No. I’m driving you, remember?”

“You sure? I can take an Uber. It’s ungodly early.”

“I’m sure,” she replied, already pushing herself up.

Jess clicked on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow across her features. Even half asleep, hair tousled and eyes heavy lidded, she took his breath away.

“What?” Jess asked, catching his eyes.

“Nothing,” Tom replied. “Just…”

“Just what?”

“Just wondering how I got so lucky.”

Jess rolled her eyes but smiled. “Go get ready. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

Tom headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Under the hot spray, he tried to organize his thoughts. In just a few hours, he’d be in San Diego, buried in the Meridian implementation while Jess would remain here in Austin, with Bob lurking downstairs and Chris Webb waiting in the wings.

Last night’s conversation replayed in his mind. Jess asking what he wanted her to do with Chris Webb and his response, “Whatever makes you feel good.” The memory of her confession, that letting men look at her turned her on too. The thoughts made his cock harden.

“Tom?” Jess’s voice came through the door. “Coffee’s ready when you are.”

“Be right out,” he called back, quickly rinsing the shampoo from his hair.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Jess was on the edge of the bed pulling on her socks. She’d twisted her hair into a messy bun and changed into jeans and a simple t-shirt.

They quickly moved through their morning routines, ending with a quick breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs and toast. Tom checked his briefcase one last time, ensuring he had all the materials for his meetings. Jess gathered her purse. Forty-five minutes after they woke, they were inside Jess’s Tesla.

The neighborhood was still dark, houses silent as most of Austin slept. Tom glanced up at their home as Jess backed out of the driveway, taking in the warm yellow light they’d left on. As they pulled away, his eyes caught movement behind one of the downstairs windows in Bob’s apartment, a shadow shifting behind the blinds.

The pre-dawn streets were nearly empty as they made their way to the airport. The radio played softly, some early morning DJ’s voice too cheerful for the hour. Jess drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Tom’s hand. The gesture was so casually intimate, so automatic she probably didn’t even realize she was doing it.

“So,” Tom began. “What’s on your agenda while I’m gone?”

“Work, mostly,” Jess replied. “I need to start preliminary concepts for the Savannah project. And I’ve got that dinner with Webb tomorrow night.”

“Right,” Tom nodded. “Dinner with Webb.”

Jess glanced at him quickly before returning her eyes to the road. “Still okay with that?”

Was he okay with his wife having dinner with a man who had openly objectified her, who had placed bets with his friends about sleeping with her? The rational answer should have been an emphatic no. And yet…

“Yeah,” Tom said.

“But?” Jess prompted, too perceptive to miss the hesitation in his voice.

“No buts,” Tom insisted. “I meant what I said last night. Do whatever feels right in the moment.”

Jess’s fingers tightened slightly. “Even if that means flirting with him?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Even that.”

They lapsed into silence again. The lights of Austin’s International Airport appeared ahead, imposing and bright against the still-dark sky.

“Thursday’s going to be busy for you,” Tom said. “Work, yoga, then the dinner.”

“I’ll probably skip yoga,” Jess remarked. “Not enough hours in the day.”

“Derek will be disappointed,” Tom commented.

Jess’s laugh was soft. “I doubt he’ll notice. The class is always packed.”

“He’ll notice,” Tom said with certainty.

Despite the nearly empty streets, the airport approach was congested even at this early hour, with cars jockeying for position at the departures drop-off. Jess navigated the chaos, pulling up to the entrance.

“This is me,” Tom said unnecessarily.

Jess put the car in park and turned to face him fully. “Text me when you land?”

“Of course,” he promised.

She leaned across the console, hands cupping his face, and kissed him with unexpected intensity. Tom responded instantly, his fingers threading through her hair. The kiss deepened, tongues meeting, her soft moan vibrating against his lips. It was the kind of kiss that belonged in their bedroom, not in a crowded airport drop-off lane.

“Something to remember me by,” Jess whispered when they finally broke apart.

Tom rested his forehead against hers. “As if I could forget.”

A horn blared behind them. Tom pulled back reluctantly, grabbing his briefcase from the floor. “I’ll call you tonight,” he promised, opening the door.

“I’ll be waiting,” Jess replied.

Tom retrieved his suitcase from the trunk and gave Jess one final wave before disappearing into the terminal. Inside, the airport was a hive of early morning activity, with business travelers wearing identical expressions of resigned exhaustion as they shuffled through security.

Security was mercifully quick. Tom was soon at his gate, coffee in hand, watching the sky gradually lighten through the massive windows.

He received an incoming text.

Davis: CEO called this morning. Wants daily briefings while you’re there. No pressure.

Tom groaned. Perfect. Just what this trip needed. More scrutiny, more pressure.

The boarding announcement came over the PA system. Tom gathered his belongings and joined the line, showing his boarding pass to the gate agent before making his way down the jetway.

Once settled in his seat in first class, one of the perks of constant business travel, Tom allowed himself to relax.

The plane pushed back from the gate, engines rumbling to life. As it began its ascent, Tom watched Austin recede through the small window. Somewhere down there, Jess was driving home through the streets. Despite the first-class comfort, despite the importance of this trip to his career, Tom wished with sudden intensity that he was with her instead.

—

Unlike Austin’s dry heat, San Diego’s atmosphere carried a weight to it, dense with moisture from the Pacific. He hailed a taxi, giving the driver the address of his downtown hotel. As the car merged onto the highway, Tom checked his phone. Three emails from Davis. Two emails from the Meridian project lead. One text from Jess.

Jess: Home safe. Good luck with your meetings today. Love you.

Tom: Landed safe. Missing you already. Love you too.

The hotel was a forgettable business-class establishment, indistinguishable from countless others Tom had stayed in during his consulting career. The lobby featured the standard marble countertops, oversized armchairs, and abstract art that could have been in any major city in America.

“Checking in,” Tom told the receptionist, sliding his corporate card across the counter. “Marshall, Thomas. Reservation through Saturday.”

The check-in process was quick and impersonal. Within minutes, Tom was riding up the elevator to the ninth floor, key card in hand. His room, when he entered it, was exactly as expected. King bed, desk by the window, bathroom to the right, muted colors throughout. It would be home for the next few days.

Tom set his suitcase down and checked his watch. His first meeting at Meridian’s headquarters wasn’t for another hour, giving him time to prepare.

Once Tom got settled, he reviewed his notes, forcing himself to reacquaint with the technical details of the implementation despite thoughts of Jess frequently interrupting. Time seemed to move quickly.

The cab ride to Meridian’s headquarters took twenty minutes through San Diego’s morning traffic.

The day unfolded with meetings upon meetings, each more urgent than the last. Tom moved from the conference room to the server room to individual offices, diagnosing issues, proposing solutions, reassuring stakeholders. It was the kind of intensive problem-solving he excelled at, and despite the distractions in his personal life, he found himself focusing on the work.

By late afternoon, he had identified several critical issues that had been overlooked in previous troubleshooting efforts. Working with Meridian’s technical team, he developed a plan to address them sequentially, starting with the most disruptive.

It was nearly seven when Tom finally returned to his hotel room, loosening his tie as the door closed behind him. His body ached from hours spent hunched over computers and diagrams. His mind, however, buzzed with the satisfaction of progress made.

He ordered room service, a burger and fries, the standard consultant’s dinner, and collapsed onto the bed while waiting for his food to arrive. Only then, with the professional demands of the day satisfied did he allow his thoughts to return to Austin, to Jess.

Tom pulled out his phone, checking the time. Jess would be home by now, perhaps working on her designs for the Savannah project, or relaxing with a glass of wine. The image was so clear in his mind, Jess curled up on their couch in those yoga pants she loved, laptop balanced on her knees, concentration furrowing her brow.

Tom dialed her number.

She answered on the second ring. “Hey stranger,” her voice came through.

“Hey yourself,” Tom replied. “How was your day?”

“Busy,” Jess said. “Margaret had me in meetings all morning discussing the Savannah project. Then I had lunch with Annie to go over some material selections for Skyline. Then I went to the gym after work.”

“Sounds productive,” Tom commented.

“It was. How about you?”

“Made some progress today, but it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

“You’ll get there,” Jess said with certainty. “You always do.”

“How’s the house?” Tom asked.

“Quiet,” Jess replied. “Too quiet, honestly. I keep expecting to hear you coming up the stairs or moving around in your office.”

“Seen Bob at all?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

“Not today,” Jess said. “But I thought I heard him working on something downstairs earlier.”

“Right. Okay.”

Another pause, this one stretching longer.

“Are you checking up on me, Tom?” Jess asked, her tone light but with an undercurrent of… something. Not quite accusation. Curiosity, maybe.

“No,” Tom said quickly. “Just… I don’t know. Making conversation.”

“Mmm,” Jess hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Well, if you’re wondering whether I’ve been flirting with our tenant in your absence, the answer is no. I’ve been busy most of the day.”

“I wasn’t…” Tom began, then stopped himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” Jess assured him, her voice softening. “I know this is new territory for both of us.”

Tom exhaled slowly. “Yeah. It is.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” Jess asked. “About what we discussed?”

Was he? The arousal he felt at the thought of Jess with other men remained potent, even stronger in some ways now that physical distance separated them. But along with it came a creeping unease, a sense that once certain doors were opened, they couldn’t easily be closed again.

“Not second thoughts,” Tom said. “More like… I’m still figuring out where my head is at with all this.”

“That’s fair,” Jess replied. “Me too.”

A knock at the hotel room door interrupted Tom’s response. “Hang on,” he told Jess. “Room service is here.”

He answered the door, accepting the covered tray from the server. He then returned to the phone.

“Sorry about that. Dinner just arrived.”

“Don’t let it get cold,” Jess said. “We can talk more tomorrow. You should eat and get some rest.”

“I wish you were here,” Tom said suddenly.

Jess’s reply was immediate and warm. “I wish I was too. But we’ve done this before, just last week.”

“I know,” Tom acknowledged. “It just feels different this time.”

“Because of everything we’ve talked about?”

“Partly,” Tom admitted. “And you have your dinner with Webb tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to cancel?” Jess asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s important for your career. And…” He hesitated, then decided to be completely honest. “And I want to know what happens. What he does, how you respond.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Jess promised. “Every detail. I’ll call you right after.”

“Please,” Tom responded.

“I should let you eat,” Jess said. “Call me tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” Tom assured her. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Jess replied. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Goodnight.”

The call ended, leaving Tom alone with his cooling burger and tumultuous thoughts. He ate quickly, barely tasting the food, his mind replaying fragments of their conversation.

Later, lying in the hotel bed, Tom stared at the ceiling and tried to make sense of the contradictory emotions battling within him. The intense arousal at the thought of Jess with other men, the fear of what might change between them if fantasy became reality, and also the deep, persistent guilt over what he’d seen and kept from her, of Bob jerking off to photos of her.

Tom’s dreams were a chaotic blend of conference rooms and bedrooms, of spreadsheets and naked bodies, of Bob’s face leering from behind half-closed blinds. He woke several times, disoriented in the unfamiliar room, reaching instinctively for Jess only to find empty space beside him.

Tom rolled onto his side, away from the empty space where Jess should have been and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges. For now, he needed rest.

—

The next morning, Jess adjusted her posture, feeling the ache in her back that appeared when she’d been sitting too long. She glanced at the wall clock, a housewarming gift from her parents, and realized with mild surprise that she’d been hunched over her laptop for more than three hours straight. Outside her window, the mid-morning light had shifted to the more direct rays of noon.

On her screen, dozens of browser tabs competed for attention. Historic mansions in Savannah, conservation guidelines, design magazines showcasing boutique hotel transformations, Pinterest boards featuring Southern architectural details, and at the center of it all, a rough mood board she’d been assembling.

The Savannah project was exactly the kind of challenge she’d dreamed of since design school. A century and a half old mansion with history seeping from its walls, waiting to be reimagined as a luxury boutique hotel while honoring its architectural legacy. The kind of project that made careers, that won awards, that ended up featured in Architectural Digest.

And tonight, she’d be discussing preliminary concepts with Chris Webb over dinner at Le Bernardin, an elite Michaelin star rated restaurant in downtown Auston.

Chris Webb, who she’d overheard crudely speculating about what her mouth would look like wrapped around his cock.

The complexity of her current situation wasn’t lost on her. On one hand, this project represented a significant professional opportunity. On the other, accepting Webb’s dinner invitation meant sitting across from a man she knew viewed her as a potential conquest as much as a design professional.

And then there was Tom, encouraging her to explore the boundaries of flirtation, getting aroused at the idea of other men desiring her. Her husband, who had told her to “do whatever excites you” when discussing how she might respond to Webb’s advances.

It was exhilarating and terrifying, empowering and confusing all at once. After years of carefully establishing professional boundaries, of mentioning “my husband” early in conversations with male clients, of choosing pantsuits over dresses for important meetings, she was now contemplating exactly how much flirtation she might allow herself tonight.

“Focus, Jess,” she muttered, closing several tabs of historic Savannah mansions. “Concepts first, existential crises later.”

She pulled up a blank document and began typing notes for her meeting with Webb, keeping them professional. Architectural features to preserve, questions about the target clientele, thoughts on balancing historic character with luxury amenities, whether the owners wanted to include any references to the mansion’s history in the design narrative.

Jess paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The professional notes were important, but she needed another strategy too, a plan for handling Webb himself. She opened a new document and started writing personal notes.

Redirect personal compliments to professional achievements, maintain physical space and body positioning to minimize contact opportunities, mention Tom naturally in conversation, have a clear exit strategy by scheduling her Uber for a specific time.

The preparation calmed her somewhat, anchoring her in the work she knew she excelled at. An hour later, she had a comprehensive outline of discussion points and an interaction plan with the man himself. She could handle Chris Webb.

Jess stretched, arching her back and extending her arms overhead. She’d promised herself a proper lunch break today. After yesterday’s frenzied schedule, she’d barely had time to eat a granola bar between meetings.

As she headed to the kitchen, her phone buzzed with a text.

Tom: 8 AM meeting with CEO done. Survived. How’s your day going? Thinking of you.

The simple message made her smile. Despite the evolving complexities of their relationship, or perhaps because of them, Tom’s steady presence in her life, even from hundreds of miles away, felt like a vital constant.

Jess: Working from home. Deep in Savannah research. Missing you.

She set her phone down and moved to the refrigerator, surveying its contents. The grocery supply was dwindling, another task she’d need to tackle soon. She assembled a simple salad with the remaining greens and topped it with leftover grilled chicken. As she drizzled olive oil over the creation, her thoughts drifted back to last night’s conversation with Tom.

“Are you having second thoughts?” she’d asked him directly when he’d called from San Diego.

His response had been thoughtful. “Not exactly second thoughts. More like… I’m still figuring out where my head is at with all this.”

Jess understood the sentiment perfectly. His admission that he fantasized about her with other men had been shocking. The revelation had opened a door neither of them had fully recognized existed in their relationship. Now, with that door ajar, they were both peering through it into unknown territory, trying to determine how far they were willing to step across the threshold.

Jess carried her salad and a glass of iced water to the sliding glass doors leading to their balcony. The day was pleasant, warm without being oppressively hot, a gentle breeze stirring the air. She pushed the door open and stepped outside, inhaling the fresh air.

Setting her lunch on a small wrought iron table, Jess leaned against the railing and gazed out at their backyard. The sight of a figure bent over one of the flower beds along the fence caught her by surprise. Bob was working in their yard, his broad back to her as he pulled weeds from around the base of the rose bushes. He wore a faded blue t-shirt, damp with sweat between the shoulder blades, and cargo shorts that had seen better days.

Jess watched him for a moment, observing the care with which he extracted each weed, ensuring he got the entire root system. Even from this distance, she could see the muscle memory of decades of manual labor in his movements.

“Bob?” she called, waving when he turned at the sound of her voice.

He straightened, one hand coming up to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked toward the balcony. Recognition dawned on his face, and he raised his hand in greeting.

“Afternoon,” he called back. “Hope I’m not disturbing your workday. Figured the roses needed some attention.”

“Not disturbing at all,” Jess replied. “I didn’t realize yard maintenance was part of your rental agreement.”

Bob chuckled. “It’s not. Just can’t stand seeing good plants struggling because of weeds. Occupational hazard. Spent too many years fixing things to ignore something that needs attention.”

Jess smiled, appreciating his candor. “Well, I’m not complaining. Those roses haven’t looked this good in years.”

“They just need a little care,” Bob replied, brushing soil from his hands. “Good bones, like you said about that Savannah mansion you’re working on.”

The casual reference to her work reminded Jess that she’d mentioned the Savannah project to Bob during his last visit, when he’d installed the smoke detectors. The day she’d hugged him and felt his unmistakable arousal.

“I was just about to have lunch,” she said, gesturing to the table behind her. “Would you like to join me? I could make you a sandwich or something.”

Bob seemed to consider the offer, glancing down at his dirt-covered hands and sweat-stained shirt. “Appreciate it, but I’m not exactly presentable. Maybe a rain check?”

“At least let me bring you some water,” Jess insisted. “It’s getting hot out there.”

“Wouldn’t say no to that,” Bob conceded.

“I’ll be right down,” she told him before disappearing back into the house.

In the kitchen, Jess grabbed a large glass and filled it with ice water. The casual lunch invitation was exactly the kind of spontaneous boundary testing that both excited and unnerved her. Was she flirting? Being neighborly? Testing her effect on him? She wasn’t entirely sure herself, and that ambiguity was part of the thrill.

She made her way down the stairs from their balcony. Bob had returned to the flower bed but straightened as she approached.

“Here,” Jess said, offering the glass. “Hydration is important.”

“Thanks,” Bob said, accepting it with soil-stained fingers. He drank deeply, Adam’s apple bobbing as he drained half the glass. “Hit the spot.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on his stubbled chin.

“You missed a spot,” Jess said, gesturing to her own chin.

“Occupational hazard,” Bob replied, but made no move to clean it off. “Dirt’s just part of the package when you work with your hands.”

Jess smiled. “So what inspired the sudden gardening impulse?” she asked, gesturing toward the roses.

“Nothing sudden about it,” Bob replied. “Been observing these roses since I moved in. They’re quality plants, good variety. Just needed someone to show them some attention.” He straightened fully, his height and breadth suddenly more apparent. “Ever had a garden yourself?”

“We tried a vegetable garden our first summer here,” Jess admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “Everything died except the zucchini, which took over the entire bed. We harvested so many we were practically begging neighbors to take them.”

Bob’s laughter was unexpectedly warm, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Zucchini will do that. Tenacious little bastards. You start with one plant thinking you’ll get a few, end up with enough to feed an army.”

“Exactly! Tom was researching zucchini recipes for weeks. Zucchini bread, zucchini pasta, zucchini fritters. I think I’m permanently traumatized.”

“Next time, try tomatoes,” Bob suggested. “Hard to mess up, good yield without overwhelming you, and nothing beats the taste of a homegrown tomato still warm from the sun.” His expression softened with what might have been nostalgia. “Had a garden in the backyard of our first house. Sarah used to can the tomatoes, make sauce for winter.”

“That sounds lovely,” Jess said softly.

“It was,” Bob acknowledged, the two simple words somehow containing volumes. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, these roses are coming along nice. Thinking of putting in some companion plants.”

“Well, they certainly look better for your efforts,” Jess acknowledged.

Bob nodded, seeming satisfied with her approval. “Planning to do a little landscaping along that back section too,” he said, pointing toward the far corner of the yard where a patch of ground remained bare. “Thinking some native plants would do well there. Low maintenance, drought resistant.”

“That sounds perfect,” Jess agreed. “Tom and I have been meaning to do something with that area, but we never seem to find the time.”

“Time’s the one thing I’ve got plenty of these days,” Bob replied, his tone neutral but carrying an undercurrent that Jess couldn’t quite identify. Resignation, perhaps. Or loneliness.

A pang of sympathy tugged at her heart. Bob Caldwell might present himself as a gruff, self-sufficient handyman, but beneath that exterior was a man adjusting to a significantly reduced life. From successful business owner with employees and substantial income to tenant in someone else’s home, tackling small projects to fill his days.

“It must be a big adjustment,” she ventured. “Going from running your own company to…” she gestured vaguely, not wanting to sound condescending.

“To being some folks’ tenant?” Bob finished for her, no bitterness in his tone. “Yeah, it’s an adjustment alright. But that’s life, isn’t it? You build something up, lose it, start again. New chapter.” He shrugged those broad shoulders. “Better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself.”

His straightforward resilience was admirable. No self-pity, no wallowing in what might have been. Just pragmatic acceptance and forward movement.

“Well, we appreciate you sharing some of it with our yard,” Jess said sincerely.

“Happy to help, princess,” Bob replied casually, already turning back toward the flower bed. “These bushes just needed someone who knows what they’re doing to give them some proper attention.”

Jess froze. Princess. The word Tom had started using during sex, seemingly out of nowhere.

And now here was Bob, using it casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“What did you call me?” she asked, working to keep her voice even.

Bob glanced up, seeming genuinely confused by her reaction. “Princess? Sorry if that bothered you. Old habit.” He chuckled, apparently misreading her surprised expression as annoyance. “When you work construction as long as I did, you pick up habits. Not all of them good ones.”

“No, it’s…” Jess struggled to find the right words. “It’s fine, Bob. I was just surprised.”

Bob’s face creased with a frown. “Shouldn’t have assumed,” he said, straightening again. “Always been too familiar for my own good. Karen, my second wife, used to say I didn’t have the right filters.”

Jess recognized the clumsy apology for what it was, an attempt by a man unaccustomed to nuanced social navigation to rectify a perceived misstep. She forced a reassuring smile.

“Really, it’s fine. Just caught me off guard,” she said. Then, curiosity overtaking caution, she added, “Is that what you called her? Karen?”

Bob’s expression changed subtly. “No,” he said. “That was…” he trailed off, then seemed to recalibrate. “Just something I picked up somewhere. Sticks in your head, you know? Some women like it.”

Jess stood there a moment longer, mind racing as she processed the implications of what had just happened. Princess. Such a specific term of endearment. Could it truly be coincidence that both Tom and Bob used the same word?

“Thanks again for taking care of the roses.” she said finally.

“Anytime,” Bob replied without looking up. “Oh, and if you want, I could take a look at that irrigation system this weekend. Noticed it’s not hitting that back corner properly.”

“That would be great,” Jess agreed automatically, her thoughts still tangled around that single word, princess.

“I’ll be here,” Bob said. “Not going anywhere.”

Jess nodded and made her way back inside, her mind churning with questions. By the time she returned to the balcony, her salad had wilted slightly in the warm air, but she barely noticed as she worked through it, her thoughts elsewhere.

Princess. Where had Tom heard it? Had Bob used it before, perhaps when she wasn’t around? That seemed unlikely. Tom and Bob hadn’t interacted much without her present. Could Tom have heard it from someone else entirely, and the similarity was pure coincidence? Or was there another explanation, one she hadn’t considered?

Her phone buzzed with a text.

Madi: So what are you wearing tonight? That navy pantsuit or something more fun?

The message jolted Jess back to the present moment. She’d been texting back and forth with Madi, told her about the pantsuit and Tom’s preference for the dress.

Jess: Still deciding. Leaning toward the pantsuit.

The response was immediate.

Madi: BORING. Wear something that will make him eat his heart out. You’ve got the body, might as well remind him what he’s NOT getting.

Jess laughed. Trust Madi to cut through the professional pretense and get straight to the underlying power dynamic.

Jess: Maybe. Talk later. Finishing work now.

Setting her phone aside, Jess tried to refocus on the Savannah project, but her mind kept circling back to that single word. Princess.

She shook her head, forcing herself to return to the design concepts on her screen. Whatever the explanation, she couldn’t unravel it right now. She had work to finish before preparing for tonight’s dinner.

For the next few hours, Jess immersed herself in research, sketching rough concept layouts for several of the boutique hotel’s signature suites. The work provided a welcome distraction from the questions buzzing at the edges of her consciousness.

By late afternoon, she had compiled a substantial portfolio of ideas to discuss with Webb. Satisfied with her preparation, she closed her laptop and headed to the bedroom to get ready for dinner.

Standing before her open closet, Jess surveyed her options with a critical eye. The navy pantsuit was her safe choice, elegant, professional, with a tailored silhouette that flattered her figure without being overtly sexy. It sent a clear message. I am here as a design professional, not as an object for your fantasies.

But Tom’s suggestion from their conversation remained in her mind. “What about that burgundy dress? The one with the wrap?”

Something in her rebelled against the safe choice tonight. Why should she downplay her appearance to make Webb see her as a professional? Couldn’t she be both beautiful and brilliant? Why accommodate his limited perspective by dressing to diminish her natural assets?

Madi’s text echoed in her mind. “Wear something that will make him eat his heart out.”

Decision made, Jess pulled the burgundy dress from its hanger. She laid it carefully on the bed before heading to the bathroom. A hot shower helped clear her mind, washing away the residual tension from the afternoon’s work and the lingering confusion over Bob’s casual “princess.” Under the spray, she shaved her legs with care, then left her public mount clean and bare. Afterward, she worked conditioner through her long blonde hair.

Post-shower, wrapped in her plush robe, Jess approached her beauty routine. She applied moisturizer to her still-damp skin, working it until it absorbed completely. Her makeup routine was similarly thorough.

Jess studied her reflection critically. The makeup enhanced her features without looking overdone, striking that delicate balance between professional polish and feminine allure.

Her hair came next and finally, she slipped into the burgundy dress, adjusting it carefully across her shoulders and securing the wrap at her waist. The material draped exactly as she remembered, highlighting her body without clinging too tightly. She stepped into nude four-inch heels, high enough to emphasize her legs but not so high she’d be uncomfortable by the end of dinner.

A delicate gold necklace with a small diamond pendant, Tom’s gift for their third anniversary, and matching earrings completed the ensemble.

Jess studied her reflection in the full-length mirror, assessing the overall effect. The woman who looked back at her was polished, confident, beautiful, and very clearly aware of her own attractiveness. She looked nothing like the stereotype of the serious professional woman trying to be taken seriously by downplaying her femininity.

“You want both the project and me,” she murmured to her reflection, thinking of Webb. “But you’re only getting one.”

She mentally rehearsed the phrases she’d prepared earlier. This wasn’t about playing games. It was about maintaining professional boundaries while still securing the project she deserved. Webb might think his position gave him power, but Jess had her own strengths. Her talent. Her confidence. Her intellect. And yes, even her beauty, which she would wield precisely on her own terms.

Satisfied with her appearance, Jess moved back to the vanity to select a perfume. Her fingers hovered over several bottles before selecting a scent that Tom had always particularly liked, applying it to her wrists and neck.

The doorbell chimed just as she was tucking her essentials into a small clutch purse. A glance at her phone confirmed it was the Uber she’d scheduled, arriving precisely on time.

Jess took one final look in the mirror, drawing a deep breath to center herself. Tonight would be a balancing act, professional opportunity and personal boundary-setting, career advancement and self-respect, the complex desires of her evolving relationship with Tom and her own sense of agency in navigating them.

“Let’s do this,” she told her reflection.

On her way out, she paused at the kitchen counter to send a quick text to Tom.

Jess: Heading to dinner with Webb. Wearing the burgundy dress. Will call you after.

She hesitated, then added another message.

Jess: Also, Bob called me princess today. Coincidence?

Whatever Tom’s response, or lack thereof, she’d deal with it after dinner. For now, Chris Webb and the Savannah project awaited.

Jess took one last grounding breath, mentally shifting into professional mode. Then she headed out the door, locking it carefully behind her.

—

Tom paced the hotel room, checking his phone for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. No missed calls. No new texts. Just the message he’d sent to Jess earlier still unanswered on his screen.

Tom: Thinking of you. Call me when you’re done?

It was 8:47 PM in San Diego, which meant 10:47 PM back in Austin. Dinner reservations had been for 7 PM Austin time. Even allowing for lengthy professional discussions, Jess should have been done by now. Unless…

He swallowed hard, his imagination filling in the blanks. Unless Webb had invited her somewhere after dinner. A nightcap at the hotel bar, perhaps. Or maybe they were still at the restaurant, conversation flowing easily between them. Maybe Webb’s hand had found its way to her knee beneath the table, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin through the burgundy dress, the one Tom had suggested she wear.

Tom moved to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain to stare at the San Diego skyline. Lights twinkled across the darkness, each one representing lives unfolding, stories being written. Somewhere in that sea of humanity, executives were closing deals, couples were falling in love, marriages were crumbling. And here he was, trapped in a hotel room while his wife dined with a man who openly desired her.

He dropped the curtain and moved to the minibar, contemplating the tiny bottles of liquor before selecting a whiskey. The amber liquid burned its way down his throat, a momentary distraction from the images his mind kept producing.

What would Webb’s approach be? Subtle compliments at first, veiled in professional admiration? Then perhaps a comment about the dress, how it complemented Jess’s figure? Would he maintain respectful eye contact, or would his gaze wander, taking in the curves Tom knew by heart?

Tom poured another drink, downing it quickly. He’d encouraged this, practically pushed Jess into Webb’s orbit. Suggested the provocative dress, given vague permission to “do whatever feels right.” And now he was alone with his imagination, his arousal, and the slowly intensifying fear that he’d set something in motion he couldn’t control.

He picked up his phone again. Still nothing. But a second later his phone vibrated in his hand, startling him. Jess’s name flashed on the screen. Tom’s thumb immediately jabbed at the answer button.

“Hey,” he said, unable to keep the anticipation from his voice.

“Hi,” Jess’s voice came through, sounding slightly tired but composed. “Just got home. Sorry it’s so late.”

Tom sank onto the edge of the hotel bed, relief washing over him. “No, it’s fine. I was just… wondering how it went.”

“It was…” Jess paused, and Tom could almost see her organizing her thoughts. “Interesting. Both professionally and… otherwise.”

“Tell me everything,” Tom urged, settling back against the pillows. “From the beginning.”

“Le Bernardin was gorgeous,” Jess began. “All dark wood, white tablecloths, waiters in formal uniforms. Very old-money. Webb was already there when I arrived, waiting at the table.”

“What was he wearing?” Tom asked.

Jess laughed softly. “Are you asking for fashion advice, or are you trying to picture the scene?”

“Both maybe,” Tom admitted. “Just trying to visualize.”

“Navy suit, light blue shirt, no tie. Very tailored, probably custom. Expensive Rolex watch.”

“And he saw you approach in the burgundy dress,” Tom prompted.

“Of course he did,” Jess replied. “He stood when I approached the table. Definitely checked me out, but subtly.”

Tom’s pulse quickened. “And then?”

“Then we ordered drinks. I had a gin and tonic. He had some fancy bourbon. We talked about the Savannah project while looking at the menus. He ordered the steak, medium rare. I had the salmon.”

The detailed recounting should have been mundane, but Tom found himself hanging on every word, his imagination constructing the scene. Jess in that burgundy dress, Webb’s eyes taking her in while pretending to focus on the menu.

“The first part of dinner was completely professional,” Jess continued. “Webb walked me through the property history, showed me photos on his iPad. We discussed the owner’s vision, budget constraints, timeline. All business.”

“And after the ‘first part’?” Tom asked, catching her phrasing.

“When the main course arrived, the conversation shifted. He started asking about my background, how I got into design, where I studied. Personal but still professional.”

“Did he mention your modeling?” Tom asked.

“He did, actually. Said he’d Googled me after our first meeting. Found some of the old campaigns online.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“A little uncomfortable at first,” Jess admitted. “Like he was letting me know he’d been looking into me. But he was respectful about it, said I could have had a career in that world if I’d wanted.”

“But he was establishing that he’d been researching you.”

“Exactly,” Jess agreed. “It was a power move, letting me know he had information. From there, he started asking about my personal life. How I liked Austin, how long we’d been married, that sort of thing.”

“And you mentioned me?” Tom asked.

“Of course I mentioned you,” Jess replied. “I made a point of it, actually. Kept my ring visible the entire time too.”

Tom nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “And how did he react?”

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Jess said. “He didn’t back off. If anything, he became more attentive after I mentioned you. Started complimenting me more directly. My eye for design, how I’d approached the Skyline project, but also some comments about how the dress ‘suited me perfectly’.”

Tom simultaneously felt jealousy, anxiety, arousal, all tangled together at the knowledge that Webb had openly admired his wife while knowing she was married.

“Did he…” Tom hesitated, uncertain how to phrase the question. “Did he try anything?”

“He didn’t touch me, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jess replied. “But his intent was clear. He held eye contact too long, leaned in when I was speaking, all those little signals men send.”

“And how did you respond?” Tom asked.

“I kept it professional but…” Jess paused, and Tom imagined her biting her lower lip the way she did when considering her words carefully. “I didn’t shut him down completely. I accepted the compliments, smiled, maintained eye contact. Let the conversation flow naturally without creating distance.”

“Like we discussed,” Tom murmured.

“Like we discussed,” Jess confirmed. “Nothing inappropriate, but I didn’t put up the usual walls either.”

Tom shifted on the bed, his body responding to the scenario she described. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked. “His attention?”

“Parts of it,” Jess admitted after a brief hesitation. “Not because it was him specifically, but because there’s something… I don’t know… powerful about knowing someone wants you and being in control of how far it goes.”

“What happened after dinner?” Tom asked.

“He paid, of course. Then we walked out together. The valet brought his car, some ridiculously expensive Mercedes, and he offered to drive me home.”

Tom’s heart rate accelerated. “Did you accept?”

“No,” Jess replied. “I told him I’d already arranged an Uber. He waited with me until it arrived.”

“And then?”

Jess paused for a long moment.

“And then something happened,” Jess said finally, her voice dropping.

Tom sat up straighter. “What? What happened?”

“He asked if I wanted to see the presidential suite at his hotel. Said they’d just completed renovations, thought I might appreciate the design elements as a professional.”

“Jesus,” Tom muttered. “And?”

“And I said yes.”

The room seemed to tilt around Tom. “You… you went to his hotel room?”

“Not exactly his room,” Jess corrected. “The presidential suite. He’s staying in an executive suite on a different floor.”

“But you went with him,” Tom pressed, his blood pounding in his ears. “Upstairs. Alone.”

“Yes,” Jess confirmed. “The suite was beautiful, by the way.”

Tom’s mind was racing, competing emotions battling for dominance. The image of Jess following Webb into a hotel suite made his gut twist but his cock stirred to life.

“What happened in the suite?” he asked.

“He offered me a drink from the minibar,” Jess continued. “I accepted. We sat on the sofa. He asked more about my vision for the Savannah project.”

“Just business talk?” Tom asked, disbelieving.

Jess paused. “At first. But then he moved closer. Said he’d been thinking about me since the Skyline launch. Said the dress was distracting him all through dinner.”

“And what did you say?” Tom’s hand moved to his hardening cock.

“I thanked him for the compliment but reminded him that I was married.”

“And?”

“And he said he knew that, but he also knew that sometimes people had… understandings.”

Tom almost forgot to breathe. “What did he mean by that?”

“He implied that many professional couples he knew had flexible boundaries,” Jess explained. “That in his experience, people often made accommodations for their busy lives.”

“He was suggesting an affair,” Tom translated, his cock now fully hard beneath his palm.

“More like a convenient arrangement,” Jess corrected. “Something discreet, professional on the outside, with… benefits.”

“And what did you say to that?” Tom asked.

“I told him I wasn’t that kind of wife.” Jess paused. “Initially.”

“Initially?” Tom echoed.

“Then he kissed me.”

Tom couldn’t respond. His mouth went dry, and his heart hammered in his chest.

“He kissed you,” he repeated, unable to keep the strain from his voice.

“Yes.”

“And you let him?”

“I did,” Jess replied simply.

“Tell me,” Tom demanded. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“He leaned in slowly,” Jess began. “Gave me time to pull back if I wanted to. But I didn’t. I was curious, I guess. Wondering what it would feel like.”

“What did it feel like?” Tom’s question came out ragged.

“Different,” Jess said after a moment’s consideration.

Tom pushed his pants down below his ass and wrapped his hand around his cock. “Did you kiss him back?”

“At first, I just let him kiss me,” Jess said. “But then… yes, I kissed him back. Just for a moment.”

“Fuck,” Tom breathed, stroking himself.

“Are you touching yourself?” Jess asked suddenly, her tone shifting.

Tom froze, caught. “I… yes,” he admitted after a beat of silence.

“You’re getting off on this,” Jess stated, not a question. “On hearing about me kissing another man.”

“Keep going,” Tom urged, ignoring her observation. “What happened next?”

“Did you imagine this might happen when you suggested I wear that dress?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” Tom stammered. “Please, Jess, just… what happened after the kiss?”

There was a pause, and Tom could almost see Jess weighing her options, deciding how to proceed.

“He put his hand on my thigh,” she continued finally. “He told me how beautiful I was, how much he’d wanted me since the first time he saw me.”

Tom’s hand moved faster now. “Did you let him touch you?”

“Yes,” Jess said. “I let his hand stay there. He started kissing my neck, whispering things in my ear.”

“What things?” Tom was fully committed now, cock fully exposed as he stroked himself.

“That he had a proposal for me. That we could help each other, professionally and personally.”

“What did he do next?” Tom asked, his voice urgent.

“He moved his hand higher,” Jess continued. “Asked if I was wearing underwear. I told him I was. He seemed disappointed.”

“Were you wet?” Tom asked boldly. “When he touched you, were you turned on?”

“A little,” Jess admitted. “Not because of him specifically, but because of the situation. The danger of it. The newness.”

“Did he touch you… there?” Tom couldn’t bring himself to be more explicit.

“No,” Jess said. “But he wanted to. He suggested we move to the bedroom.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tom muttered, his hand working faster. “And did you?”

“We stood up,” Jess continued. “He led me toward the master bedroom. The whole time I was thinking about you, wondering what you’d think if you could see me.”

“I wish I could have,” Tom confessed, losing himself in the fantasy.

“I thought about staying the night,” Jess said. “About what it would be like to let him undress me, to feel his hands on my body…”

Tom’s strokes became urgent. “God, Jess… and then what?”

“Tom,” Jess’s voice cut through his arousal, suddenly sharp and clear. “None of that happened.”

Tom’s hand stuttered to a halt. “What?”

“I made it up,” Jess stated flatly. “All of it. After dinner, I got in my Uber and came straight home.”

A stunned silence filled the line.

“You… made it up?” Tom repeated, disbelief coloring his tone.

“Yes,” Jess confirmed. “He never made that offer to see the presidential suite. We had a professional dinner, he was respectfully flirtatious but appropriate, and then I came home.”

Tom sat frozen on the edge of the bed, cock still in hand, mind struggling to process the whiplash of emotions. “Why would you do that?”

“Why would I do that?” Jess echoed, her voice rising slightly. “Are you seriously asking me that question while you’re sitting there with your dick in your hand?”

Tom flinched at the accusation, quickly removing his hand as if Jess could somehow see him. “What the fuck, Jess. You led me on with that story.”

“And you just begged me for more details while masturbating,” Jess countered. “We talked about me flirting with guys, maybe being more open to their attention. We didn’t talk about me having sex with them, but apparently that’s the part that gets you off.”

“That’s not-” Tom began.

“Yes, it is,” Jess interrupted. “I thought it was a fantasy, Tom. I thought it was something we were maybe exploring theoretically, but you’ve leapt right over the boundaries we discussed. You weren’t just interested in me flirting with Chris. You were practically begging for details about him touching me, kissing me.”

Tom fumbled to pull his pants back up, feeling uncomfortably exposed despite being hundreds of miles away. “You’re the one who made up that story.”

“To test a theory,” Jess replied. “And you confirmed it. This isn’t just about flirtation for you, is it? You want me to sleep with other men.”

The blunt statement was undeniable in its accuracy yet still somehow shocking to hear spoken aloud.

“I want you to do what you want,” Tom said, falling back on the answer he’d given before.

“Don’t,” Jess’s voice cut through the line. “Don’t give me that non-answer again. It’s not fair to put all this on me. Your words are confusing, Tom. You’re beating around the bush and making me make all the decisions, and that’s not fair.”

Tom ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to say, Jess? That I know exactly what our boundaries are? Because I don’t. I’m figuring this out as we go, just like you are.”

“Would you have been okay if I had slept with Chris Webb tonight?” Jess asked directly. “If everything I just described had actually happened, would that have been okay with you?”

Tom hesitated, the honest answer terrifying in its implications.

“Yes,” he admitted finally.

“Jesus, Tom,” Jess breathed.

“You asked for the truth,” Tom said defensively.

“I did,” Jess acknowledged. “But I didn’t expect… I don’t know what I expected, honestly.”

“I’m sorry if that upsets you,” Tom offered.

“I’m not upset that you have fantasies,” Jess clarified. “I’m upset because I feel like a performer in your fantasy. All the pressure is on me to make these huge decisions that will impact our relationship while you sit back and watch from a distance.”

Tom winced at the accuracy of her assessment.

“I feel pressured to explore boundaries I’m not sure I want to approach, much less cross,” Jess continued, her voice tight with emotion. “And I feel manipulated somehow, like I’m being nudged toward something without the whole picture. If something goes wrong, it’ll all be my fault even though it’s your fantasy, because I’ll be the one acting on it.”

“That’s not what I want,” Tom protested.

“Then what do you want?” Jess demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you want me to sleep around while you get to jerk off to the stories afterward.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about? Do you have some woman you want to sleep with? Is this about opening our relationship?”

“No,” Tom replied. “I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“Good,” Jess’s response was immediate. “Because I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else. Ever.”

“I wouldn’t,” Tom assured her.

“So you want to open up our relationship, but only on my side?” Jess pressed. “You want me dating other men?”

“No, not dating,” Tom corrected quickly. “We talked about this, Jess… I don’t want you having romantic relationships with anyone. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about, Tom? Tell me clearly, because I’m tired of guessing.”

Tom took a deep breath, forcing himself to articulate what he’d barely acknowledged to himself. “Part of it is… yes, the idea of you being with someone else, physically, and then coming back to me, telling me about it… that turns me on…”

“So you want me to sleep with random guys and tell you about it because it turns you on,” Jess summarized, her tone flat.

Tom took a deep breath. “It’s not random guys or strangers,” he said carefully. “It would be someone we both feel safe with. And the end goal isn’t sex… I mean there’s no actual end goal or anything. This is just about your comfort, exploring whatever you’re comfortable with, whether that’s flirting or… whatever”

“That’s still pretty vague, Tom,” Jess replied.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Tom ran his hand through his hair. “Look, if you don’t want to explore this at all, that’s completely fine. I accept that fully. We’ve talked about this before, and I meant what I said then. Your comfort comes first, always.”

“But you were just masturbating to the thought of me having sex with Chris Webb,” Jess pointed out, cutting through his reassurances. “When I made up that story, you didn’t pause for a second.”

Tom winced. “You’re right. I got caught up in it.”

“And you flat-out admitted you’d be okay if I had actually slept with him tonight,” Jess continued. “That’s a pretty big leap from the flirting.”

“I know,” Tom acknowledged. “In the moment, hearing your story… I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“That’s what scares me,” Jess said, her voice softening slightly. “If you can’t think clearly just talking about it over the phone, what happens when we’re actually in a real situation? Where are the boundaries, Tom?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Tom admitted. “That’s why I keep saying it’s about your comfort, because I’m still figuring out where my own boundaries are.”

“I see,” Jess said, her voice suddenly tired. “I need to think about this, Tom. This is a lot to process.”

“I understand,” Tom said, though the potential implications of her response frightened him. Neither spoke for a long moment.

Tom broke the silence. “How did the rest of the dinner go? Professionally, I mean.”

The obvious attempt to change the subject might have seemed abrupt, but Tom sensed they both needed a moment to step back from the emotional edge they’d been approaching.

“It went well,” Jess said after a pause, allowing the pivot. “Webb was impressed with my concepts. He wants me to be part of the design team, with creative control within the established budget.”

“That’s huge, Jess,” Tom said, genuine pride breaking through the tension. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she replied, some warmth returning to her voice. “It is a big opportunity. We’re meeting again when he’s back in Austin in a few weeks to finalize the approach.”

“I’m proud of you,” Tom said. “Really.”

“I know,” Jess acknowledged. “That’s one thing I’ve never doubted.”

A couple seconds ticked by without conversation, each lost in private thoughts.

“Oh,” Jess said suddenly, as if remembering something. “You never responded to my text about Bob.”

Tom’s stomach dropped. In the emotional chaos of their conversation, he’d completely forgotten about her earlier message.

“Bob called me ‘princess’ today,” Jess continued. “The same word you’ve started using during sex. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?”

Tom’s mind raced, calculating his options. The truth, that he’d heard Bob use the term while masturbating to photos of Jess, seemed impossible to explain now, especially after the conversation they’d just had. Yet another lie would only compound the problem.

“It is strange,” Tom agreed, attempting to sound casual. “Must be a weird coincidence.”

“Is it, though?” Jess pressed. “It’s such a specific term of endearment. Not honey or babe or something common. Princess.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Tom said, hearing the defensive note in his own voice. “Maybe I heard him use it around the house and it stuck in my subconscious.”

“When would that have happened?” Jess questioned. “He’s never called me that before today, at least not that I’ve heard.”

“I don’t know, Jess,” Tom’s response came out more irritably than he’d intended. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence. It’s not that unusual a term, is it?”

“It just feels strange,” Jess said, clearly not satisfied with his explanation. “Like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

The accuracy of her intuition was unnerving. “I’m not hiding anything,” Tom lied, hating himself for it even as the words left his mouth. “We can talk more about it when I get back, okay? Face to face.”

Jess was silent for a long moment. “Fine,” she agreed finally. “When you get back.”

“I land at 9 AM Saturday,” Tom reminded her. “Will you pick me up?”

“Of course,” Jess replied. “I said I would.”

“Right,” Tom nodded to himself. “Thanks.”

Another silence descended, this one distinctly uncomfortable.

“It’s late,” Jess said eventually. “I should get some sleep. Early meeting tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “Me too. Big day with the Meridian team.”

“Goodnight, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Jess. I love you.”

There was the briefest of pauses before she replied, “I love you too.”

The call ended, leaving Tom alone in his hotel room. He set his phone on the nightstand and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

What a fucking mess.

The evening had started with anticipation, peaked with arousal during Jess’s fabricated story, then crashed into something much more complicated. She’d exposed something raw and uncomfortable about his fantasy, forcing him to confront its implications more directly than he’d been prepared to do.

“You want me to sleep with random guys and tell you about it because it turns you on.”

The blunt assessment had been horrifying to hear spoken aloud, yet he couldn’t deny its fundamental truth. But there was more to it, wasn’t there? It wasn’t just about sex. It was about seeing Jess through others’ eyes, about the thrill of knowing she could have anyone but chose to come home to him, about the vulnerability and trust required to explore such forbidden territory together.

Or was that just how he justified it to himself?

And now there was the added complication of Bob’s “princess” comment, another secret threatening to unravel everything. He should have told her the truth from the beginning. Should have admitted what he’d seen. But how do you tell your wife that you watched your tenant masturbate to her photos and said nothing? That you overheard him murmuring “princess” as he climaxed, and then, in some perverse response, incorporated the very same word into your own bedroom talk?

It was too late now. The longer he waited, the worse the eventual revelation would be. Jess already suspected something. Her intuition was too sharp to fool for long. She’d felt the hesitation in his response, noted the defensiveness in his tone.

Tom groaned and rolled onto his side, pulling a pillow over his head as if he could physically block out the complications of his own making. He’d tell her everything on Saturday, face to face. He’d come clean about Bob, about his own confused feelings, about everything. And hope like hell it wouldn’t destroy them.

—

On Friday morning, Bob’s eyes snapped open three minutes before his cheap digital alarm was set to chime. Decades of construction work had programmed his internal clock. He reached over and disabled the alarm, the plastic buttons clicking under his thumb.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening. No footsteps upstairs. Jess wouldn’t be up for at least another two hours if her patterns held true.

Bob swung his legs over the side of the bed. His semi-hard cock jutted forward, morning wood as reliable as sunrise despite his fifty-five years. He cupped himself briefly, giving his shaft a squeeze before padding across the bedroom to the bathroom.

He relieved himself, a torrent of piss splashing loudly into the toilet bowl. He flushed and moved to the sink. As he brushed his teeth, he studied himself in the mirror. The face that looked back at him wasn’t the one that had charmed Sarah all those years ago. Not even the one that had convinced Karen that he was worth the risk after his first divorce. But it was a face that still held power, if used correctly.

Bob spat into the sink, rinsed his brush, and wiped his mouth on a towel. His mind leapt ahead to the laptop waiting on his desk, to the night’s recordings that might reveal glimpses into the increasingly complicated dynamic unfolding between the Marshalls.

He’d waited up last night, watching from behind his blinds as the Uber pulled into the driveway. Jess had emerged from the back seat in that gorgeous burgundy dress he’d heard Tom suggest. Bob had nearly broken his neck racing to the laptop, fingers clumsy with anticipation as he logged into the camera feed.

But the bedroom remained empty. He’d watched the still frame of the unoccupied room, the bottom corner of the perfectly made bed, the entrance to the walk-in closet, all bathed in darkness until finally, exhaustion had won out over voyeuristic determination. He’d gone to bed, dick half-hard and unsatisfied.

Bob moved to his bedroom. He pulled on a faded blue t-shirt and work jeans, not bothering with underwear. The rough denim against his cock was a constant reminder of what hung between his legs, the tool that those pretty college boys with their designer suits and corporate titles couldn’t match. Natural selection’s great equalizer.

The coffee maker gurgled to life at his touch, the familiar aroma filling his small kitchen as he retrieved a chipped mug from the cabinet. After it brewed, Bob moved to his desk and woke the laptop from sleep.

The camera feed loaded almost immediately. Bob leaned forward, eyes fixed on the screen. At the bottom of the frame, he could make out feet beneath covers on the bed. Jess was still asleep.

He clicked on the timeline, scrolling back to the previous night. The recording showed an empty room after Jess had arrived home. Nothing but stillness and shadow where he’d hoped to see her undressing with his electronic eye.

“Fucking waste,” he muttered, taking a gulp of black coffee.

He fast-forwarded, the timeline speeding up until Jess entered the frame. She was wearing the burgundy dress, her phone pressed to her ear, body language tense in a way that immediately piqued Bob’s interest.

The audio was low but clear enough. Bob increased the volume.

“Thanks,” Jess’s voice came through his speakers.

Bob watched as she walked toward the closet, her movements suggesting the kind of restless energy that came with difficult conversations.

“It is a big opportunity,” her voice continued. “We’re meeting again when he’s back in Austin in a few weeks to finalize the approach.”

A pause, then, “I know. That’s one thing I’ve never doubted.”

She seemed to be wrapping up a conversation, something about her work perhaps, but then her voice sharpened with sudden interest.

Then her voice sharpened with sudden interest. “Oh, you never responded to my text about Bob.”

Bob’s heart rate accelerated at the mention of his name. He reached for his notebook, pen hovering over a fresh page, ready to document whatever was coming next.

“Bob called me ‘princess’ today,” Jess continued, a note of suspicion evident in her tone. “The same word you’ve started using during sex. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?”

Bob’s pen froze midway to the paper. He stared at the screen, processing what he’d just heard. Tom had been using “princess” during sex?

A slow smile spread across Bob’s face as understanding dawned immediately. He’d given her that nickname in his head the moment he saw her, the gorgeous blonde princess living in her castle, the very same nickname he’d given Sarah. Must have been muttering it while jerking off to Jess’s photos the night he’d caught Tom watching him through the window.

Bob’s smile widened. Tom, that fucking voyeur, had heard him call Jess “princess” while stroking himself to completion and then, this was the delicious part, Tom had incorporated it into his own bedroom talk.

“Is it, though?” Jess pressed on. “It’s such a specific term of endearment. Not honey or babe or something common. Princess.”

Bob began writing rapidly, documenting every word of the one-sided conversation. This was valuable intelligence, the kind of information that created leverage. Jess was suspicious. She sensed something wasn’t right. And Tom, poor Tom, was fumbling through some explanation on the other end of the line.

“When would that have happened? He’s never called me that before today, at least not that I’ve heard.”

There was a longer pause as Tom presumably offered some weak justification, some attempt to explain away the coincidence.

“It just feels strange,” Jess continued. “Like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Christ, if she only knew. Bob suppressed a laugh, imagining the conversation upstairs, Tom stammering through explanations, caught between confession and lies. What could he possibly say? “Sorry honey, I was watching our tenant jerk off to your photos and heard him call you princess, and somehow that word just slipped into our bedroom talk”?

“Fine,” she said, voice clipped with frustration. “When you get back.”

In the recording, Jess disappeared from frame completely as she moved to the walk-in closet. When she reemerged minutes later, she had changed into a loose t-shirt and what looked like sleep shorts.

She moved around the room, preparing for bed. The rest of the conversation unfolded in fragments, each piece adding to the puzzle Bob was assembling.

The screen showed Jess climbing into bed, covers pulled up. Then stillness for the rest of the night.

Bob sat back in his chair, tapping his pen against the notebook, mind racing with possibilities. This new revelation about “princess” was the perfect complement to what he already knew about the Marshalls’ arrangement.

He flipped back through the pages of his notebook, reviewing his previous observations, particularly his notes from their conversation about Chris Webb’s dinner and Tom encouraging Jess to “do whatever excites her.” He’d already confirmed that Tom had voyeuristic tendencies, that he was aroused by other men wanting his wife. This “princess” connection added a crucial dimension.

Tom had been there that night, watching Bob masturbate to photos of Jess, and had never admitted it to her. That alone was powerful leverage. It was direct evidence of Tom’s deception, of secrets kept from his wife.

Bob reached for his phone, scrolling through contacts until he found Tom’s number. His thumb hovered over it, considering. Too direct. Too soon. Better to wait for the right moment, the perfect opportunity to drive the wedge between them.

Bob stared at his notes, considering. He flipped to a fresh page. At the top, he wrote “Saturday Strategy” in neat block letters. Below, he began outlining his plan.

He needed to engineer a situation where he could speak to Tom alone, even briefly, before the couple had time to resolve whatever tensions had been building between them.

Bob drummed his fingers on the desk, mind working through the problem. He needed a reason to intercept Tom immediately upon his return, something that would seem urgent enough to separate him from Jess for a few crucial minutes. Something plausible, something that wouldn’t raise suspicion. Then, in those few crucial minutes alone, he’d drop his bombshell.

Nothing explicit. Nothing that could be proven, nothing that would expose Bob’s own surveillance. He wouldn’t mention the “princess” term at all. Wouldn’t even hint at it. Instead, he’d focus entirely on what he knew Tom had seen that night, on the voyeurism Tom had never admitted to Jess. Just enough pressure to establish dominance, to let Tom know that Bob held power over him, without showing his full hand.

The psychological warfare would be devastating. Tom would return home, already anxious about facing Jess after their tense phone conversation, only to discover that Bob knew his secret. He’d be trapped between exposing himself to Jess or playing whatever game Bob was initiating.

Bob mapped out several potential paths, depending on whether Tom tried to bluff, plead, threaten, or negotiate. But regardless of which route things took, the dynamic between them would be forever altered. Bob would have established dominance. The rest would follow naturally.

He wouldn’t script exact phrases. That would sound rehearsed, unnatural. Better to internalize the key points, the pressure he wanted to apply, and let the specific wording emerge organically in the moment. The important thing was to convey that he knew what Tom had seen, that Tom’s secret was no longer safe, and that the consequences of exposure would be significant.

After two hours, Bob closed the notebook, satisfied. Saturday would be a turning point. Tom Marshall would return home, thinking he was escaping the pressures of San Diego only to find a more insidious pressure waiting for him.

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked. Jess would be getting up soon, preparing for her workday. Bob pictured her morning routine, imagined her stepping into the shower, water washing over naked skin, completely unaware of the machinations taking place below her feet.

The thought brought a smile to Bob’s face. Poor Jessica Marshall. So beautiful, so professional, so certain of her place in the world. So confident in her marriage, despite the recent explorations into territory she didn’t fully comprehend. She had no idea what was coming, how her life was about to be upended.

But first, Tom. The keystone that, once removed, would bring the entire structure crashing down.

Everything was falling into place. All he needed was patience, timing, and the right words at the right moment. By this time tomorrow, the first domino would have fallen.