The whiskey was doing its work, and I let it. The bottle had been mine since the game broke up, and I'd been nursing it with the kind of devotion that said the night wasn't over yet, even if the cards were. The front door had clicked shut behind the last of them an hour ago—Tommy with his haunted eyes, Hal with his booming laugh still echoing off the walls—and now it was just us three, the wreckage of the night spread across the table like a battlefield.

Gina was curled on the far end of the couch, her bare feet tucked under her, one shoe kicked off and the other dangling from her toes. She'd been watching me watch the door for the better part of twenty minutes, and the smile on her face was the one she got when she was about to say something she knew would get a rise out of me.

"You lost the hand," she said, not for the first time.

"I know I lost the hand."

"Lost it bad."

"Gina."

"Worst hand at the table." She was enjoying this. "And you call yourself competitive."

I took a long pull of whiskey, let it burn down my throat, and set the glass down on the oak table with more force than I needed. The ring it left on the wood was already sweating. "I was distracted."

"By what?"

I didn't have an answer for that. The night had been a blur of cards and smoke and the wet sound of bodies finding each other on furniture that wasn't theirs. My hand had been shaky on the last deal, and I'd folded a pair of jacks because I couldn't stop thinking about the way Ellie's dress had ridden up, the way Kara's mouth had gone slack, the way Rachel had looked at Tommy with that silent question he never answered.

Xavier was still at the table, shuffling the deck with the kind of idle, practiced ease that made me want to take it from him. He'd been quiet for a while, watching the two of us with that half-smile he wore when he was calculating something. The kid was always calculating something.

"You know," he said, not looking up from the cards, "I think it's sweet."

"What is?"

"This." He gestured vaguely between Gina and me. "The way you two go at each other. It's like foreplay."

Gina laughed, that sharp, bright sound that could cut glass. "Is that what you call it?"

"I call it what it is." Xavier fanned the deck in his hands, then snapped it shut. "She's got you wrapped around her finger, Derek. Everyone can see it."

I scoffed, but the sound came out weaker than I meant it to. "She's got me nothing."

"No?" He finally looked up, and there was something in his eyes I didn't like. Something that said he'd already won this hand too. "Then you wouldn't mind if I put it to the test."

The room went quiet. The lamp on the side table cast long shadows across the Persian rug, and I could hear the faint tick of the clock on the mantel, counting out the seconds while I tried to figure out what game he was playing.

"What test?" I said.

Xavier set the deck down on the table, slow and deliberate, the sound of it landing like a challenge. "I bet Gina wouldn't dare prove you wrong."

"Prove me wrong about what?"

"Anything." He spread his hands. "Just that she's as loyal as you think she is."

"That's a stupid bet."

"Is it?" He leaned forward, elbows on the table, that boyish grin spreading across his face. "Then let her show me. Right here, right now."

I opened my mouth to tell him where to stick his bet, but before I could get the words out, Gina's hand was on my arm. Her fingers closed around my bicep, warm and sure, and when I looked at her, her eyes were bright with something I knew all too well.

She'd caught the trap before I did. Or maybe she'd been the trap all along.

"Derek," she said, and her voice was soft, almost gentle, which was the most dangerous thing she'd said all night. "He's right."

"He's not right."

"He is." She squeezed my arm. "You think I'm loyal. You've always thought that. And you'd be right." Her eyes flicked to Xavier, then back to me. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to prove it."

The words sat in the air between us, heavy and charged. I could feel my pulse picking up, the slow, thick throb of blood moving south. My cock was already stirring, pressing against the fly of my jeans, and I hated how fast my body betrayed me.

"Gina—"

"Don't." She was already standing, her hand trailing down my arm as she moved past me. "Don't pretend you don't want to watch."

Xavier was on his feet too, crossing the room with that easy, loping stride that made him look like he owned every inch of space he moved through. He caught Gina's hand before she reached the couch, turning her to face him, and I watched his fingers find the hem of her top, lifting it just enough to show a strip of pale skin.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, and his voice was low, meant for her ears, but I heard it anyway.

"I'm sure." She reached up and pulled his head down to hers, kissing him hard, her hand fisting in his hair. I watched her tongue slide into his mouth, watched him pull her closer, and my hand went to my cock before I even knew what I was doing.

I was rooted to the spot, my glass forgotten on the oak table, the whiskey going warm and flat. The couch was right there, the same couch where I'd sat a hundred nights with Gina curled against my side, and now she was on her knees on it, pulling Xavier down with her, her mouth never leaving his.

The lamp cast their shadows long across the rug, two shapes moving together like they'd been doing it for years. Xavier's hands found the hem of her top again, and this time he pulled it over her head, tossing it aside. Her breasts spilled out of the low-cut bra she'd worn for the game, pale and full, and I watched him lower his mouth to them, watched her head fall back, watched her lips part on a sound I knew by heart.

"Derek," she breathed, and my name on her lips like that, in that voice, sent a jolt through me. "Come here."

I didn't move. I couldn't. My feet were nailed to the floor, my hand frozen on my cock, watching my wife—my wife—arch into the mouth of a kid half my age.

Xavier looked up, and there was that grin again. "She wants you to watch," he said. "Don't disappoint her."

He reached down and unzipped his jeans, slow and deliberate, the sound of the zipper loud in the close, warm air of the living room. I heard Gina's breath catch as he freed his cock, heard her moan as he pressed her back against the couch cushions, spreading her thighs with his knees.

She was already wet. I could see it, the dark stain on her underwear, the way her hips tilted up to meet him. Xavier hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down her legs, and she lifted her hips to help him, impatient, hungry.

"Look at her," he said, and his voice was thick, strained. "Look at how ready she is for me."

I looked. I couldn't have stopped looking if I'd wanted to. Her cunt was slick and swollen, glistening in the lamplight, and I watched him run a finger through the wetness, watched her shudder, watched him bring that finger to his mouth and taste her.

"Fuck," he said. "She tastes like honey."

Gina laughed, breathless. "You gonna talk or you gonna fuck me?"

Xavier grinned and positioned himself at her entrance, and I saw the moment he pushed inside—saw her eyes roll back, saw her mouth drop open, saw the way her body took him like it had been waiting for this all night. He bottomed out in one long, slow thrust, and the sound she made was something I'd never heard from her before. Something raw. Something new.

It was different, watching it this close. With Ellie, with Kara, with Rachel, I'd been part of the crowd, one more pair of eyes in a room full of them. But this was my living room. My couch. My wife. And I was the only one watching.

Xavier set a rhythm, slow and deep, his hands on her hips, his eyes on her face. "You feel that?" he asked. "Feel how tight you are around me?"

Gina nodded, her hands fisting in the couch cushions. "Yes."

"Tell Derek."

She turned her head, and her eyes found mine. They were dark, pupils blown, and there was a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "He feels so good, Derek. So deep."

I couldn't speak. My hand was working my cock, slow and slick, and I could feel the heat building in my gut, the pressure behind my eyes. I was close already, closer than I had any right to be, and I hadn't even touched her.

Xavier shifted, angling his hips, and Gina gasped. "Oh—right there—"

"Yeah?" He did it again, and her whole body jerked. "You like that?"

"Yes. God, yes."

He leaned down and kissed her, swallowing her moans, and I watched his hand slide between their bodies, watched his fingers find her clit, watched her come apart under his touch. Her hips bucked, her thighs trembled, and I heard her cry out against his mouth, muffled and desperate.

I came first. I couldn't help it. My hand was moving too fast, my cock too hard, and I spilled over my fingers with a groan that I couldn't hold back. Gina's eyes found mine across the room, and she smiled, slow and satisfied, and I knew she'd felt it too.

Xavier pulled out, and I saw his cock, slick with her, and he turned her over, pushing her face-down into the couch cushions. She went willingly, arching her back, presenting herself to him, and he pushed back inside her with a groan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, Gina."

She was moaning into the cushion, her fingers gripping the leather, and I watched him take her from behind, watched his balls slap against her clit with every thrust, watched the sweat gather on his back and slide down his spine. He was relentless, driving into her with a rhythm that had her crying out with every stroke, and I was hard again, my hand moving on my cock, the first come still drying on my fingers.

"Derek," she gasped, and her voice was wrecked, broken. "Derek, I'm gonna—"

"Do it," I said, and my voice was hoarse, foreign to my own ears. "Come for him, Gina."

She did. She came with a sound that was almost a scream, her whole body shuddering, her cunt clenching around him so hard that Xavier had to stop, had to grip her hips and hold on. I watched him fight for control, watched him close his eyes and grit his teeth, and I knew he was close too.

"Where?" he asked, and his voice was strained. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside." She didn't hesitate. "Come inside me."

He did. I watched him bury himself to the hilt and hold, watched his body go rigid, watched the pulse in his throat as he emptied himself into her. I watched my wife take another man's come, watched her milk him dry, watched the look of pure, animal satisfaction on her face as he collapsed on top of her.

I came again, a weaker echo of the first, spilling over my hand and onto the rug. I didn't care. The room smelled like sex and sweat, and the lamp was still casting its long shadows across the Persian rug, and the deck of cards was still sitting on the oak table where Xavier had left it.

Xavier pulled out, slow and careful, and I saw the come leaking out of her, glistening in the lamplight. He flopped back against the couch cushions, spent, and Gina rolled over, her chest heaving, her eyes finding mine.

There was a smile on her face. Not the sharp, teasing one she wore when she was about to make a joke. Something softer. Something satisfied.

"Well," she said, her voice rough. "That was a hell of a bet."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. It came out of me like something I'd been holding in all night, and I crossed the room, ignoring the mess on my hand, and leaned down to kiss her. She tasted like him, like salt and sex, and I didn't mind.

I looked at Xavier, sprawled on my couch, his cock softening against his thigh, and I shook my head.

"Alright, kid," I said. "You got me."

He grinned, that boyish, insufferable grin. "Told you I was playing a longer game."

I looked down at my wife, at the come still leaking out of her, at the flush on her chest, at the satisfied curve of her mouth. She reached up and pulled me down for another kiss, and I let her.

I wasn't done watching yet. And neither, it seemed, was she.