I'd just set down my fork, the last bite of my own birthday cake still sweet on my tongue, when the doorbell rang. I looked at the half-eaten slice on the counter — twenty-four years old and I'd spent the evening alone in my kitchen, eating something I'd bought myself because I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a real celebration. The frosting was going tacky at the edges, the candles I'd lit and blown out sitting in a little pile of wax on the plate.

The doorbell rang again. I pushed back from the counter, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and started for the door. I was still two steps away when Gina appeared from the hallway, naked as the day she was born, and walked straight past me like I wasn't even there.

"I'll get it," she said, and her voice had that lazy, satisfied drawl to it, the one that had been there ever since I'd come inside her on Derek's couch.

I stopped mid-stride. "Gina, you're not—"

She reached for the deadbolt. Her bare feet made soft sounds on the cold marble of my entryway. Cum was still visible on her, a thin shine on her inner thigh, a smear at the crease of her hip that she hadn't bothered to wipe away. She'd been in my bathroom, probably, but she hadn't touched the towel. She hadn't touched anything.

The door swung open.

Derek stood on my porch, a six-pack of beer in one hand and his phone in the other. His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes went wide, then narrow, then wide again, tracking down his wife's naked body like he was seeing her for the first time.

"Gina." His voice came out flat. "What the hell are you doing?"

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed under her breasts, completely unconcerned. "Xavier's doorbell rang. I answered it."

"You're naked."

"I know." She smiled at him, slow and easy. "You like it?"

Derek's jaw worked. He looked at me over her shoulder, and I saw the moment it hit him — the surprise melting into something else, something that looked a lot like a man doing the math on a joke he'd just realized was on him. His mouth twitched. Then it broke into a grin.

He laughed. A real one, big and loud, the kind that filled the porch and bounced off the siding of my house. He shook his head, stepped past Gina, and clapped a hand flat on my shoulder, hard enough to rock me back on my heels.

"You son of a bitch," he said, still laughing. "You actually did it."

"Did what?"

"Got her to come over here." He looked Gina up and down, slow, like he was appraising a horse he'd just won at auction. "And you got her to do it like this."

Gina closed the door behind him and sauntered back toward the kitchen. Derek watched her go, his eyes on the sway of her hips, the flex of her ass as she walked. He let out a low whistle.

"I gotta hand it to you, kid." He turned back to me, and his grin had an edge to it now. "You've got a gift."

"She came on her own," I said. "I didn't have to do anything."

"That's the gift." He set the six-pack on my counter, popped two bottles open with his thumb, and handed me one. "She doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. Never has. If she's here, in your kitchen, looking like that —" he gestured vaguely in the direction Gina had gone, "— then she's here because she wants to be."

Gina appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the frame. She'd found one of my t-shirts somewhere and pulled it on, but she'd only buttoned two of the buttons, and it hung off one shoulder, the hem riding high on her thighs. She was still barefoot. Still had that shine on her leg.

"You two gonna stand there talking about me like I'm not in the room?" she asked.

Derek took a long pull from his beer. "We're appreciating you. There's a difference."

"Appreciate me with your dick in your hand, then." She turned and walked back into the kitchen, and the sway of her hips under that t-shirt was its own kind of answer.

Derek looked at me. I looked at him. The air between us had changed, the way it always did when one of these moments tipped from possibility into fact.

"You know why I came over here," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I've got a guess."

"I want to watch you fuck her again." He said it flat, no shame, no hedging. "I've been thinking about it since that night. Every time I close my eyes, I see her on that couch, and I see you —" he shook his head, "— and I can't get it out of my head. I don't want to get it out of my head."

I took a sip of my beer. It was cold and bitter, and it gave me a second to think. "You want to watch."

"Yeah."

"That's it? Just watch?"

Derek's grin went crooked. "You offering more?"

"I'm asking what you're offering."

He laughed again, but it was shorter this time, more clipped. "I'm offering you my wife. You've already had her once. I'm saying you can have her again. Right here. Right now. And I get to watch." He held up his phone. "And I get to record it."

I looked at the phone. Then I looked past him, into the kitchen, where Gina had pulled herself up onto my counter and was sitting there with her legs crossed, swinging one bare foot, watching us through the doorway like she was at the movies.

"Fine," I said. "But I've got conditions."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Name them."

"I fuck her the way I want to fuck her. Not the way you want to watch. You don't get to direct."

"Deal."

"And when I'm done," I said, "she stays the night."

Derek's eyebrow climbed higher. "She stays the night."

"In my bed. With me. And you go home alone." I watched his face, looking for the flinch, the crack, the moment where the joke stopped being funny. "That's the price of the show."

He held my gaze for a long moment. Then he laughed, and this time it was the real one, the big one, the one that shook his whole body. "You've got balls, kid. I'll give you that." He clapped my shoulder again, harder this time. "Fine. She stays. I go home alone. Deal."

He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and held it up. The red dot was already blinking.

"Then let's not waste any more time."

We walked into the kitchen together. Gina was still on the counter, her legs crossed, that t-shirt hanging off her shoulder. She looked at Derek's phone, then at me, and her smile went slow and wide.

"Recording already?" she asked. "Don't you want to get comfortable first?"

Derek settled into my armchair in the corner of the kitchen, the one I'd bought at a thrift store and never gotten around to replacing. He leaned back, phone propped in his hand, and gestured at us with his free hand like a director calling action.

"Don't mind me," he said. "Pretend I'm not here."

Gina laughed. "That's going to be hard with you pointing that thing at us."

"You'll manage."

I stepped between her legs, my hands finding her thighs, pushing them apart. The t-shirt rode up, and I saw that she still hadn't wiped herself clean. The evidence of earlier was still there, dried now, flaking at the edges. I ran a thumb along the inside of her thigh, and she shivered.

"You came over here like this," I said. "Walking around my house with my cum still on you."

"I thought you'd like it."

"I do." I hooked my fingers into the waistband of the t-shirt and pulled it up, over her head, off. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. She hadn't been wearing anything underneath the whole time. "But I'm going to put more on you now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I lifted her off the counter, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. Her mouth found mine, and she tasted like the beer she'd stolen from Derek's six-pack, and underneath that, something else. Something that was just her. I carried her to the table and bent her over it, her palms flat on the surface, her ass in the air.

The table creaked under her weight. She braced herself, looking back at me over her shoulder, and her eyes were bright and hungry.

"You gonna talk about how absurd this is," she said, "or are you gonna fuck me?"

"Both." I ran a hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, and she arched into my touch. "You know your husband's watching, right?"

"I know."

"And he's recording."

"I know that too."

"And you don't care?"

She laughed, low and dirty. "Honey, I came over here with your cum dripping down my leg. You think I care about a camera?"

I couldn't argue with that. I lined myself up behind her, my cock hard and leaking, and pushed into her in one slow, thick stroke.

She moaned, long and low, her fingers curling against the table's surface. "Fuck, Xavier. That's —"

"That's what?"

"That's exactly what I wanted."

I pulled out almost all the way, then pushed back in, deeper this time. The table creaked. Gina's breath caught. I set a rhythm, hard and fast, the way she'd asked for it, the way she'd taken it that night on Derek's couch. Her ass bounced against my hips, and the sound of it filled the kitchen, wet and sharp.

"You hear that, Derek?" I called over my shoulder. "You hear how wet she is?"

Derek didn't answer. I glanced back and saw him in the armchair, phone still up, his other hand working his belt. His eyes were fixed on us, wide and hungry, and the red dot on his phone was steady.

"He's watching, Gina. He's got his phone out and everything."

"Let him watch." She pushed back against me, taking me deeper. "Let him watch his wife get fucked."

I grabbed her hips and drove into her, hard enough that the table jumped, and the half-eaten cake slid an inch toward the edge. The fork clattered to the floor. Neither of us reached for it.

"This is so fucked up," I said, and I was laughing as I said it, because it was, it was so fucked up, and it was also the hottest thing I'd ever done.

"I know," she gasped. "I know. Don't stop."

"Your husband is sitting in my chair, recording us."

"I know."

"And you're going to stay in my bed tonight."

"Yes." She moaned, and the sound went straight to my cock. "Yes, I'm staying. I'm staying, I'm not going anywhere."

I fucked her harder. The table creaked and groaned under us, and I could feel the cake sliding again, could hear the plate scraping against the wood. I didn't care. I was lost in her, lost in the heat of her, the way her cunt gripped me every time I pushed in, the way she moaned my name like it was the only word she knew.

"You're so tight," I said. "Every time. Like you've never been fucked before."

"Maybe I haven't." She looked back at me, and her eyes were wild. "Maybe you're the only one who's ever done it right."

I slammed into her, and she cried out, her hands clawing at the table. I could hear Derek's breathing from the armchair, quick and ragged, and I knew he was close. I could hear the wet sound of his hand on his cock, and I knew he was stroking himself to the sight of his wife taking me.

"You gonna come?" I asked Gina. "You gonna come on my cock while your husband watches?"

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, yes, I'm so close—"

"Come on, then." I reached around and found her clit, rubbed it in tight circles, and she bucked against me, her whole body shuddering. "Come on, Gina. Let him hear you."

She came with a cry that was half my name and half something I couldn't understand, her cunt clenching around me, pulling me deeper. I kept thrusting through it, kept driving into her, and I could feel my own orgasm building, hot and urgent, at the base of my spine.

"Where?" I asked. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," she said, and her voice was wrecked. "Inside, Xavier, I want it inside me."

I pushed in as deep as I could go, buried to the hilt, and came. It was like a wave breaking, hot and thick, and I emptied into her, my cock pulsing, my hands gripping her hips so hard I knew I'd leave bruises. She moaned my name, long and low, and I felt her clench around me again, milking me dry.

Behind me, Derek came too. I heard the wet, desperate sound of it, the grunt he couldn't hold back, and then his voice, rough and wrecked:

"Jesus Christ."

I stayed inside Gina for a long moment, breathing hard, my forehead pressed against her shoulder blade. Her hands found mine on her hips, and she held them there, her fingers lacing through mine.

"Well," she said, and her voice was soft and satisfied. "That was worth the walk."

I pulled out slowly, and my cum followed, a thick line of it breaking loose and sliding down her inner thigh. She shivered, and I watched it drip onto the kitchen floor, a small white pool on the marble.

The red dot on Derek's phone was still steady. He was still recording.

"So," he said, from the armchair, his voice still rough, "what the hell am I supposed to do with this video?"