Chapter 2
By the time Saturday rolls around, I’m a wet mess from daydreaming about fucking Tony again.
Robert and I are having our morning coffee at the glass kitchen table when he pauses and then sets his mug down. I can tell he means business.
“Okay. If we’re doing this, we need parameters. Clear ones. For both of us.”
I laugh nervously and side-eye him. “Parameters? Really?” God, he’s being so thoughtful about this while all I can think about is Tony’s hands on me.
“I need to know you’re safe.”
I take his hand and squeeze it. “Fine. What parameters?”
“You text me when you leave.”
“Okay.”
“You tell me everything afterward. Every detail.” His voice drops. “I want to know what he does to you. How he touches you. What he says. I want to hear all of it.”
Heat crawls up my chest. I shift on the chair. The seam of my robe drags against sensitive skin.
“You sure?”
“Everything.” His eyes lock on mine. “I want to hear how much of a slut my wife is when I’m not around.”
The word slut makes my nipples tighten. I want him to say it again.
“What else?”
His voice softens. “No feelings. This is just physical. And at the end of the night, at the end of every night—“
“I come home to you.”
“Always.” The word is fierce. “You can fuck whomever you want. Let them do whatever you want. But you’re always mine.”
I lift his fingers to my lips. Press a kiss to his knuckles.
“Always.”
His smile is wolfish, and I glance at the bulge in his sweatpants.
“Robert.” I laugh. “Wait—are you seriously hard right now?”
“Are you seriously asking? We just spent twenty minutes talking about you fucking other men while I sit at home thinking about it. And you’re surprised?”
“I guess I—“ I lose the thought as he stands and pulls me out of my chair. His erection presses into my hip. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” He kisses my neck. “Every time I think about another man’s hands on you—“ He bites down. Not too rough, but enough to make me gasp. “I want to fuck you until you forget your own name and then send you out to let someone else try the same thing.”
“That’s a little twisted.”
He slides a hand under my robe and cups my breast. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” I moan as he plays with my nipple. “Not a problem.”
He skims his hand down my body and between my legs. His groan vibrates through me. “You’re drenched. My filthy wife.”
“Robert—“
Two fingers push inside me and I clench around them, craving more.
“Look at me,” he commands.
His face is inches from mine, gray eyes burning. I struggle to focus as he finger fucks me.
“When you’re there”—he drives deep—“I want you to think”—another hard thrust—”about how hard I’m going to fuck you”—he slams into me—”after he’s done with you.”
“Yes.” I can barely get the word out. “Yes.”
The orgasm is building, coiling tight. But right before I explode, he withdraws his fingers.
I whimper, “Wait.”
“Gotta keep your pussy needy until later.”
Ugh. I press my forehead to his shoulder and try to catch my breath.
“You suck,” I manage, but there’s no malice in the words.
He laughs, low and satisfied. “No, but maybe you will tonight.”
I give him a dirty look as he helps me off the counter. I like this new side to my husband, even if it didn’t get me an orgasm. Hopefully “later” will be worth the wait.
I’m standing in my walk-in closet, staring at the green dress laid across the ottoman. It’s tight and short, the kind of thing I’d never wear to a charity function. It’s perfect for the casino.
This time, I’m not improvising in a parking lot with makeup and shaking hands. This time, I’m picking out my dress in advance and hopefully going to get good and well fucked tonight.
The dress clings as I put it on, and the neckline dips lower than I’d normally risk. I pair it with spiked black heels. My calves will hate me later. I don’t care.
Smoky eyes, dark red lips. The woman in the mirror looks like a stranger.
Last time I looked like this, I didn’t know what was about to happen.
Tonight I do.
“You look sinful.”
I turn. Robert’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with a possessive gleam.
“That’s the idea.” I reach for my clutch. It’s just big enough for my phone, cash, and the wedding ring I’ll take off before I walk into the casino.
“Come here.”
I cross to him. He pulls me close, one hand sliding into my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to remind me who I belong to.
“Have fun.” He kisses me—deep and claiming, the kind that wrecks my lipstick and makes me forget I’m supposed to leave. “Come back broke.”
I blink at him, then can’t help the delighted laugh that escapes. “You’re insane.”
His lips brush my ear. “Penniless and needy. That’s how I want you tonight.”
“Okay.” I laugh again and pull away. If I have my way, I’ll come back thoroughly fucked and anything but needy.
The Goldpoint Casino glows red and gold against the dark sky. Neon sign blinking JACKPOT JACKPOT JACKPOT.
I park and sit in the car. Count my heartbeats.
One... two... three...
Holy fuck. Am I really doing this again?
Twelve... thirteen... fourteen...
Last time I was here, I was reckless and craving a thrill I couldn’t name.
Twenty-two...
Tonight is different.
Tonight, I’m walking in with my eyes wide open.
When I count fifty, I grab my clutch and twist off my wedding ring.
I haven’t even gotten into the casino yet and there are already so many numbers.
Fifty heartbeats, three carats, fifteen years.
At our wedding, I’m not sure whose hands shook more—Robert’s when he slipped it on, or mine when I felt the weight. They’re steady now.
As I tuck the ring into my clutch, my phone buzzes.
ROBERT: I’m already thinking about later. Tell me everything.
I smile as I type.
SHANNON: I will. I promise.
ROBERT: Go get what you want.
I send him a kiss emoji and put my phone in my clutch.
Should I feel guilty? I used to believe good wives didn’t do things like this. That version of me is quiet tonight.
When I get out of the car, the cool night air slides over my bare legs. Goosebumps dot my thighs and exposed shoulders. I smooth my dress and check my reflection in the car window. The woman staring back at me looks ready for anything.
I chose this.
My heels click against the pavement. The glass doors slide open and the noise hits me first.
Laughter from somewhere near the craps tables. Cards shuffling, chips clicking together. A hundred conversations blending into one low roar.
I feel powerful and sexy as I stroll in. The heels add four inches to my height and a dangerous angle to my walk. A man at a table does a double take. A security guard’s attention snags on my legs and lingers there.
Good.
I bypass the poker room and head to the bar for a drink instead. I need to think. How do I get Tony’s attention? Is he even working tonight? Shit, I didn’t consider that. But it’s Saturday—the manager should be here.
The bar is tucked into a corner near the main floor. I slide onto a stool.
“You’re back.” The bartender is in her late thirties with a sleeve tattoo on her forearm—roses and thorns. Her dark hair is pulled back.
I don’t remember seeing her last time, and I would have. My pulse jumps. “You know me?”
“I remember faces.” She picks up a clean glass and polishes it anyway. “Especially faces Tony asks about.”
Heat floods through me. “Tony asked about me?”
“The brunette in the red dress who couldn’t pay her tab.” A knowing smile. “I’m supposed to tell him if you come back in. He doesn’t usually ask about anyone.”
My hands are shaking and I don’t know what to do with them, so I press them flat against my thighs.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Depends.” She sets down the glass and leans forward on her elbows. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
She’s looking at me with an assessing gaze, and I’m suddenly curious what happens to people in trouble.
“I’m here because I want to be.”
“Good.” She straightens up. “What’re you drinking?”
“Whiskey. Neat.”
Not my usual. Mrs. Robert Matthews drinks Chardonnay at charity galas and martinis at dinner parties.
But whoever this Shannon is becoming? She drinks whiskey in bars while powerful men ask about her.
The bartender pours generously and she pushes it toward me.
“I’m Diana.”
“Shannon.”
“I know.” She grins. “Like I said. Tony asked.”
I wrap my fingers around the glass, but before I take a sip, a hand touches my elbow.
It’s a young guy in a casino security vest who hardly looks old enough to work here. There’s a nervous energy surrounding him like he’s delivering a message he doesn’t fully understand.
“Ma’am? Mr. Ricci would like to see you.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
Diana’s watching me, amusement in her eyes. “Go on.” She tips her chin toward the rear of the casino. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
I leave the whiskey untouched on the bar.