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His Watching Eyes — part 2

A Cuckold Erotic Romance

Part 1:

[embed]His Watching Eyes — part 1 A Cuckold Erotic Romancemedium.com

The month leading up to the networking event passed in a blur of Google searches, online shopping, and increasingly intense conversations with Tom that left us both breathless and fumbling for each other in the dark like we were twenty again. It was like his confession had flipped a switch somewhere in our marriage’s circuit breaker, and suddenly all the lights were on. We were having sex again — real, hungry, sometimes giggly, sometimes intense sex — and it wasn’t just the frequency that changed. It was the flavor of it. Every time we touched, there was this new undercurrent humming between us, the knowledge of what we were planning, the shared secret. He’d whisper things to me in bed that would have made me blush to my toes a month ago, and I’d whisper back, finding words I didn’t even know I had.

But the countdown was also nerve-wracking. I changed my mind approximately four thousand times. One minute I was all in, the next I was convinced we were about to detonate our perfectly nice life for a fantasy that should probably stay in Tom’s spank bank where it belonged. I told my best friend, Sasha, over coffee — not the whole truth, but a heavily redacted version about how Tom and I were “spicing things up” and I was nervous about it. Sasha, who has been married three times and considers herself a relationship guru by virtue of sheer experience, just shrugged and said, “Honey, every marriage needs a hobby. Some people garden. Some people swing. As long as nobody gets hurt and everybody gets off, who cares?” I decided not to tell her the specifics. Some secrets are too weird even for Sasha.

The day of the event, I spent an embarrassing amount of time getting ready. I’d bought a dress that was a far cry from my usual sensible wardrobe — deep emerald green, silky material that draped over my curves like it was painted on, with a neckline that plunged just enough to be interesting without looking like I was trying too hard. I’d watched seventeen YouTube tutorials on smoky eye makeup and had settled on a look that I hoped said “effortlessly alluring” rather than “raccoon with a credit card.” My hair, which usually lived in a messy bun, was down and wavy, cascading over my shoulders in a way that felt almost theatrical. I kept catching glimpses of myself in the mirror and not quite recognizing the woman looking back.

Tom stood in the bathroom doorway, already dressed in his best navy suit, watching me with an expression that made my stomach flip. It wasn’t just desire, though there was plenty of that. It was awe. Like he was seeing me for the first time. “You’re stunning,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “I mean it, Kate. You’re the most beautiful woman in this city, and every man at that event is going to wish he were me.”

I turned from the mirror, smoothing the dress over my hips. “And are you still okay with one of them maybe getting more than a wish?”

He stepped closer, his hands finding my waist. “I’ve never been more okay with anything. But I need you to know — if we get there and you hate him, or you get a bad feeling, or you just change your mind for any reason, we leave. No guilt, no disappointment. This only works if you want it too. Not just for me. For you.”

I kissed him then, carefully, so as not to smear my carefully applied lipstick. “I love you, you strange, strange man. Let’s go do some reconnaissance.”

The hotel was one of those sleek, modern affairs downtown, all glass and steel and ambient lighting. The event was in the rooftop ballroom, and as we stepped out of the elevator, I was hit by a wave of chatter and clinking glasses and the kind of jazz music that exists solely to make people feel sophisticated. I scanned the room, my heart hammering, looking for a face I’d only ever seen in photos. Tom was doing the same beside me, and I felt his hand tighten on the small of my back.

And then I saw him.

Reid Brenner was standing near the bar, a glass of something amber in his hand, talking to a cluster of people in suits. He was taller than I’d expected, broader, and the photos I’d seen online had somehow failed to capture the way he commanded the space around him. It wasn’t just his looks, though those were certainly in working order — the silver-threaded dark hair, the sharp jaw, the shoulders that looked like they’d been carved out of marble by a sculptor with a grudge. It was the energy. He stood like a man who had never doubted his place in any room, and watching him laugh at something one of his companions said, I understood why Tom had felt so small next to him all those years ago. The guy was intimidating in a way that made my palms sweat.

“He looks exactly the same,” Tom murmured, his voice tight. “Just older. And bigger.”

“He looks like a Disney villain,” I whispered back, trying to lighten the mood. “Like if Gaston had a LinkedIn profile and a general contractor’s license. I keep expecting him to throw someone out a window.”

Tom let out a choked laugh, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “Should we go say hello? Rip off the bandaid?”

I nodded, my throat dry, and we made our way across the room. Reid spotted us before we were halfway there — or rather, he spotted Tom. His eyes narrowed for just a fraction of a second before his face broke into a wide, polished smile. It was the smile of a man who knew exactly the effect he had on people and enjoyed it thoroughly.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Reid said, excusing himself from his group and stepping forward. “Tommy Walsh. Haven’t seen you since graduation. You look good, man.” He clapped Tom on the shoulder with a hand that looked like it could crush a coconut, and I saw Tom flinch almost imperceptibly. But he held his ground, his spine straight.

“Reid. It’s been a long time. This is my wife, Kate.” Tom’s voice was steadier than I expected, and I felt a surge of pride.

Reid turned his attention to me, and the full force of those blue eyes was like a physical blow. He took my offered hand, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across my knuckles. Actual knuckle-kissing. In the twenty-first century. I would have rolled my eyes if my knees hadn’t gone slightly weak.

“Kate,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue like he was tasting a fine wine. “Tommy always did have more luck than he deserved. How a guy like him landed a woman like you is one of life’s great mysteries.”

There it was. The first little jab, wrapped in a compliment to me. I felt Tom stiffen beside me, but I just smiled, pulling my hand back with deliberate slowness. “Mysteries are my specialty,” I said, keeping my tone light. “And please, call him Tom. ‘Tommy’ makes him sound like a Dickensian orphan.”

Reid’s eyebrows lifted a fraction, and that smirk — the one I’d seen in a dozen photos — curled the corner of his mouth. “Feisty. I like that. So what brings you two to my humble little event? Slumming it with the construction crowd?”

“Admiring the architecture,” I said smoothly. “Tom tells me your company did the renovation. It’s impressive work.”

The conversation flowed from there, sliding into business talk and old college anecdotes that felt like a fencing match disguised as small talk. Reid would occasionally direct a comment at Tom that was just slightly condescending — “You still doing the accounting thing, Walsh? Crunching those little numbers?” — and Tom would respond with quiet dignity, never rising to the bait. I could feel the dynamic playing out between them, a ghost of their old hierarchy, but there was something else too. Reid’s eyes kept drifting to me. Lingering. And every time they did, I felt a flush creep up my neck that had nothing to do with the champagne I was nursing.

After about half an hour, Reid excused himself to make the rounds, but before he left, he pulled a business card from his jacket and pressed it into my hand. “If you two ever want a private tour of any of our projects, let me know,” he said, his gaze holding mine for a beat too long. “I’d be happy to show you around. Personally.”

We made it exactly to the elevator bank before Tom pulled me into an alcove, his breathing ragged. “Did you see the way he looked at you? The way he ignored me? It was exactly what I wanted, and it was terrifying, and I’m so turned on I can barely see straight.”

I grabbed his tie and pulled him down for a kiss, not caring about my lipstick anymore. “I saw. And I need to tell you something, and you’re not allowed to freak out.” He nodded, his eyes dark and eager. “When he kissed my hand, I felt it in places I’m not supposed to feel things for men who aren’t my husband. And when he was being a condescending prick to you, part of me wanted to slap him, but another part of me wanted to see how much further he’d go. What does that say about me?”

Tom’s hands were on my hips, gripping hard. “It says you’re human. And that maybe, just maybe, this could work.” He rested his forehead against mine. “So what do we do now? Do we call him? Do we wait?”

I pulled back, a slow smile spreading across my face as I held up the business card. “I think we go home, have a very long conversation, and then I compose the most carefully worded email of my entire life. Something that says ‘my husband wants to watch you rail me’ but in corporate-friendly language. Think you can help me draft that, Mr. CPA?”

The laugh he let out was half moan. “I’ll make a spreadsheet of proposed phrasing.”

“God, I love you.”

We practically ran to the car, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful for our boring, reliable sedan than I was in that moment, because it meant we were home in twenty minutes instead of forty. The email could wait until morning. Tonight, I had a husband to reclaim, and he had a wife to worship. The reconnaissance mission, I’d say, was a resounding success.

Part 3:

[embed]His Watching Eyes — part 3 A Cuckold Erotic Romancemedium.com