Member-only story
The Man at Our Door
He watched me at the bar. He found our room. My husband decided to make him part of the game.
If you crave voyeur heat, jealous husband energy, and that dangerous edge where desire meets confession, this is your next hotwife obsession.
I can’t stop staring.
He’s at the far end of the bar, all broad shoulders in a crisp white shirt, his clean, rough hands cupping a glass of whiskey. He’s just… magnetic.
My thighs press together under the table, a slow, guilty heat building between them.
My husband, Daniel, planned this entire weekend. He wants me to relax, to feel wanted. “Find something new to desire, Chloe,” he’d murmured just this morning, kissing my temple. “Then come back and tell me everything you’re craving.”
He meant a spa treatment.
He didn’t mean him.
The man at the bar looks up. Our eyes lock across the dim, expensive room. He doesn’t smile. He just holds my gaze, a flicker of something mossy green and assessing. He knows I’m looking. He takes a slow sip of his whiskey. I feel the burn of it slide down my own throat, pooling low in my belly.
“Everything alright over there, sweetheart?”
