Raising the Stakes (All In #2)
Chapter 1
Three days since I let Tony bend me over his desk.
Three days of my husband finding excuses to touch my throat, his fingers brushing my collarbone where the hickey Tony gave me is fading.
Robert’s been watching me across rooms with a new kind of hunger.
Not the comfortable desire of fifteen years of marriage—this is something rawer.
When I reach for my coffee mug at breakfast, his gaze locks on my hand and I know he’s picturing them gripping the edge of Tony’s desk.
When I turn my back to him in the kitchen, I feel his stare drag down my spine like he’s visualizing exactly what Tony did to me.
At dinner last night, I was mid-sentence about the Wellington Foundation’s spring fundraiser when I caught him staring at my mouth. He was watching my lips move, and I knew exactly what he was imagining. Me on my knees… begging.
The clawing need deep in my belly hasn’t quieted since that night at the casino. I want more, but I don’t want this to ruin our marriage.
The hickey’s almost gone. The yellow-green shadow isn’t visible unless you knew it was there. But Robert knows where to look.
I’m lying against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my cheek. It’s after midnight and we should be sleeping, but his thumb keeps stroking the fading bruise. The touch is soothing and hypnotic. My thoughts drift, softening at the edges.
“Shannon.”
I press my cheek harder into his chest. “Mmm?”
“The casino.”
Just two words, but they land like stones. I’m immediately awake and my shoulders tense. I’ve been waiting for this. Dreading it. Craving it so badly I can barely breathe.
“What about it?” I attempt nonchalance and fail.
His thumb stops.
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah. I know. That’s the problem. We’ve been pretending everything was normal for three days.
We drank our coffee in the morning while he scrolled through emails and I took a charity committee call for the Wellington Foundation that I don’t remember agreeing to.
We had dinners at our usual spots, both pretending nothing had changed.
Totally normal.
Except Robert kept staring at my neck. And every night he fucked me harder than usual and asked me filthy questions.
Did it feel like this?
Was he rough with you?
Tell me. Tell me what he did. Tell me again.
I told him. Over and over. And every time, something settled into his expression. Not jealousy. Not anger.
Lust.
He caresses my neck again, thumb brushing my collarbone. We can’t avoid the conversation any longer.
He speaks before I do. “I want you to go back.”
Holy shit. He said it.
“Robert—“
“I haven’t thought about anything else. Three days straight.” His laugh is short and surprised. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
I push up on my elbow so I can see him. His silver hair is mussed and stubble shadows his jaw. But even though it’s late, he looks energized in a way I haven’t seen in years.
Even though his meaning is clear, I need him to spell it out. “You’re sure you want me to go back?”
“Yes.”
“And do what?”
He brushes his finger along my bottom lip. “Whatever you want to do.”
My stomach flips. Part of me hoped he’d say this, but another part hoped he’d come to his senses these last few days and forbid it. It would have been easier if he told me I was only his.
I know how to be told no. I’ve been told no my whole life—by my mother, by society, by the good-girl voice in my head.
If he’d forbidden it, I could blame him. Be the good wife who craved something she couldn’t have.
But permission? This means it’s my choice.
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Then don’t.”
“You wouldn’t be disappointed?”
“I’d be disappointed if you did something just for me and lied to me.” He caresses my cheek. “So don’t lie. What do you actually want?”
Silence.
I could make a joke about being too old for this. Too tired. Too whatever. But Robert’s patient eyes are unraveling me.
Fuck it. I’m tired of hiding.
“I want to go back.” The truth tumbles out. “I want... what I had in that office. Someone looking at me like—“ I stop. Try again. “Like I’m actually there. Not just... an ornament at another fucking charity gala.”
My throat tightens. I swallow hard.
“I want to be more than... than this house and those fucking committees and—“ I can’t finish. I didn’t mean to say that much.
“What else?”
“I don’t know.” Snuggling closer, I tuck my head against his shoulder. “I want to know if that woman at the casino was really me or just—I don’t know…”
I’ve thought about this, but I’m not sure how to explain it.
“Say it.” His voice is quiet but firm.
God.
I search for the words. “I want to feel powerful. But also—I don’t know—not powerful? At the same time. Does that sound insane?”
Silence.
But I’m not done. “I want to choose it. When I give in. Who I give in to.” The words come out quieter. “And I don’t know if that’s fucked up or—“
Jesus. Listen to me. Who even says that out loud?
“I want it so much it scares me.”
Robert strokes my back for a long moment before speaking. “You want to know what I was thinking? That whole night you were gone?”
“What?”
“I was thinking about you walking into that casino in your gala dress. All those men watching you. Wanting you.” His voice goes rough. “I was thinking about what you’d do with them.”
My thighs press together, slick heat building from nothing but his words.
“Robert—“
“When you texted me to tell me that you were stopping at the casino...” He groans. “I got so damn hard.” His lips brush my ear. “And when you came home with his cum inside you... fuck, I almost lost my mind.”
“In a good way?”
When he speaks, his voice drops lower. “In the way that makes me want to hear you say his name while I’m fucking you.”
Holy shit, that’s filthy.
His gaze is dark. Intense. “Watching you come while you told me about him was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. I still want what I said originally. You have permission to have fun and then come home and tell me everything.”
Oh thank god. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that until he said it.
“What if it changes things?”
“It already has.” Robert cups my jaw. “I want you to be the woman you were in that office.”
“She might be a lot.”
“I’m counting on it.” His thumb drags along my lower lip, and something raw flashes in his eyes. “I want to see what she does.”
Something breaks open in my chest, relief or arousal or maybe both—I can’t tell anymore.
“Saturday,” I whisper. I slide my hand up his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under my palm. “I’ll go back Saturday.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll go back and see what trouble I can get into.”
His kiss is bruising. Possessive. When he breaks away, we’re both breathing hard.
“I want every detail,” he says. “Every dirty thing you do.”
Lust spreads low in my body, but underneath it, I’m apprehensive. I just hope this doesn’t fuck everything up and ruin what we’ve built over fifteen years.