7. Casper

Chapter 7

Casper

Henry has done a good job of maintaining his position as her best friend all these years, never overstepping boundaries or blurring lines. My wife never looked at another man in all the years we were together. She was mine until she wasn’t, but I have always known there was unfinished business between them.

“I know everything there is to know about this woman, Henry.”

He looks back at Saskia, and even in the dim light, I see her eyes sparkling. His palm settles on her cheek and she nuzzles into his touch, cupping his hand with her own.

“We shared our pasts, but he knows we’re just friends,” she says. Henry’s throat rumbles at her poor choice of words and she grabs his arm with both hands. “ Were just friends. Not now. He knows this is… we are…”

I roll my eyes as she stumbles over her words. I’m not here to witness their declarations of love, though I expect I interrupted them before they had the chance to really get into it.

“She loved it, you know? The way you fucked her. ‘Tender and special’ , she called it.”

I remember the night we spent together in our old apartment, bonding over whisky and our sexual experiences. She had an innocence back then, one I quickly stripped away.

“I got hard just from the way she described it, you know? Thinking about her straddling you in your dorm room. Thinking about you stretching her open for the first time. You were a lucky man to be her chosen one.”

She tips her face up towards him, and I can practically feel how much she aches for him from the other side of the room. Henry regards her with a reverence that truly is beautiful to witness. She is angelic, gripping his shoulders while her body sways towards him.

“I was lucky,” he breathes. “I am lucky.”

Needing no further encouragement, Saskia inches forward, eyes squeezing shut when their lips press together.

They hold each other like that for a few seconds, then Henry pulls back, tucks her hair behind her ear, and searches her expression for approval. I appreciate the show of respect, but he already has her permission. Little is off limits with Saskia. I know she’d let him take anything he wanted from her right now.

She moans, sinking further into his hold when his tongue strokes into her mouth. They kiss with a hunger that has my cock swelling, even more when his hands land on her waist and slide up underneath her top.

“Doesn’t she feel incredible?”

“She does,” he says softly, angling his face to suck her lip between his teeth.

“What a shame you didn’t get to see the lingerie she chose for you. It was very pretty.”

My wife’s hands stroke up and down his arms. It’s exciting to see her in this state of need from a different perspective, with a different man.

My pleasure has always been heightened by witnessing hers. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve walked into a room, clocked the desire written all over her face, and gotten instantly hard. Nothing pushes me over the edge like that moment where her mouth falls open on a silent scream, and her body tightens and trembles beneath me.

For a long time, I believed I should be the only one to make her feel that way, but my fantasies have often turned to the vision I see before me now. Her lost in pleasure derived from elsewhere.

Saskia has always loved to play games, and has quite the exhibitionist kink.

My cock throbs at the memory of nights in our London apartment. The many occasions when I returned from my studio to find her laid out on our marital bed in nothing but lingerie and a blindfold. Even without words, her message was clear.

‘Watch me.’

In silence, I’d take a front-row seat for the most spectacular show on earth, and hold back while she stroked and teased herself. Sometimes she’d come fast, others she’d edge herself, begging for permission that I, nothing more than a witness, would never give.

Some nights I’d keep my distance. On others I’d circle the bed, or lean in to ghost her skin with the warmth of my breath. But I’d never touch her, and once she was done, I’d slip away and close the door without uttering a single word.

We never, ever talked about it, not in advance, or afterwards. She’d come find me cooking dinner and pretend she’d been napping, or in the shower. There’s no thrill like keeping secrets from your own wife, when you know full well she knows what you’ve just done.

Fuck, she’s brilliant.

It was Saskia’s game, and she was in charge, but I knew, for her, the thrill was in thinking I could be anyone. I’ve often wondered what it would have been like to bring another man home with me. Would she be able to tell if we pulled two seats to the bedside? And how would she react knowing there were two sets of eyes on her, like there are right now?

I’m sure I could sit here with my mouth shut and watch the scene before me unfold, but I also love the idea of being in charge, even if I’m not involved in a physical sense.

“Do you know it was always my dream to watch her get fucked by another man?”

Saskia whimpers, her slender fingers clinging to the front of his top as they devour each other.

“Take off his shirt,” I tell her. She shifts onto her knees, lifting it up and over his head. They pull apart for the briefest second before kissing harder.

“If you’re going to fuck my wife, then I’m going to teach you how she likes to be pleasured.”

Henry groans when Saskia drags her nails down his bare chest, hooking them inside the waistband of his pants. His hands dig into her hair and any nerves he might have previously had disappear as he loses himself to her touch.

She slips her hands inside, looping them around his waist to squeeze his ass.

“Uh-huh,” I scold. “Get her naked first.”

Henry hauls the blankets away, and they work together to strip her out of her top and bottoms.

She is as heavenly as ever, and I admire her wide hips, the fullness of her belly, breasts that hang heavy with need.

“I’ve never seen more perfect tits, have you, Henry?”

“No,” he moans, breaking their kiss to look down and take both in his hands. He squeezes gently and Saskia’s head tips back, her long hair tickling her spine.

“Her nipples are sensitive. You have to start soft and slow. Show me so I know you understand.”

Henry dips his head to kiss the slope of her shoulder, out to the tip and then back along the collarbone. His thumbs roll over her nipples and though my view is obstructed, I know the feeling of them pebbling to stiff peaks well. Saskia’s hands rake into his hair, pulling his mouth down as she arches up to meet him.

“Greedy girl,” I tease. She twists her head and her eyes lock on mine, then roll back when he closes his lips around one nipple and sucks hard.

Oh, it is so fucking on.