Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,64

can just come out and say it and he’ll leave. Probably make some bullshit crack about our sex life on his way out.” He grinned and I considered the idea again, letting the possibility actually breathe.

I inhaled, a shiver of excitement tingling through me. “Walk me through everything, starting from how you’d bring it up to him.”

And then my scatterbrained husband, who could barely program our garage remote, laid out the guideposts for a situation that might actually work. I laid on my side and watched him speak, his voice lulling me into a gradual but deep sleep, my dreams filled with erotic half-whispers of time.

25

I sank into the hot water and closed my eyes, forcing my limbs to relax, trying to find a heartbeat that wasn’t pounding in my chest. My stomach flipped, tension pooling in my gut. Settling my head back on a rolled towel, I listened to the silence of the house and wondered where they were.

Wild Junction, listening to the band?

Twisted Mermaid, at the oceanfront bar, tipping back beers?

The Tavern, watching sports and eating wings?

What were they talking about? Did they have this same knot of apprehension or were they fine?

Wayland was at Chelsea’s, her repeated offers to babysit finally accepted. It would be both his first and last visit at her house. That, I was certain. I’d already seen evidence of that when he’d tore into her backyard, across a bed of delicate perennials, then rolled with absolute glee through a mud puddle.

For the first night in a long time our house would be dog-free. No distractions. No scratches at the door, or whines from his crate. One variable, gone.

I turned my head and eyed the black satin strip of fabric, hanging off the hook beside the makeup mirror, where one of our embroidered hand towels normally sat. I’d bought it at the local quilting store and took longer than I should have to pick it out. The first material, I’d finally decided, was too slick. I didn’t want the silky texture losing grip and falling loose from its knot. The second material, too scratchy. One felt hot. One was too thin. Or, I’d mused, holding it up to the light, should it be thin? Did I want to be able to see a little through the blindfold? I’d imagined the fuzzy outlines of them approaching, gripping their cocks, and had needed to sit down for a moment. My arousal had tanked when the salesperson had waddled around the counter and peered at me through eyeglasses with sunflower frames and asked me if I needed any help.

Oh sure, I thought. I’m looking for something to use as a blindfold while my husband and best friend take turns on me. Any suggestions for length and texture?

Though that would have been a wild exaggeration of the upcoming events. This was baby steps. Aaron would watch—same as he did in Vegas—just not from outside the window. From in here. In our bedroom. Close enough for me to hear him. Close enough, if I pulled off my blindfold—to see everything.

I looked through the open door, the edge of our bed visible. The corner of the dresser. The loveseat, which I had cleaned off in preparation for tonight. There were fresh sheets on the bed, the floors were mopped, and all of the junk on top of our dresser had been swept into the top drawers. Lit tea light candles flickered from the bedside tables and window sills.

Maybe I should blow out the candles. It was kind of a romantic vibe, and that certainly wasn’t the mood I was going for.

Though what mood did someone go for in this scenario?

And if I blew out the candles, then the room would be too dark. Lighting a bedside table would be way too much light, and while I was comfortable with my naked body, I didn’t want it to be seen under strong lighting by anyone other than E.

I studied the ceiling tiles. The house was too quiet. Even the air conditioner had shut up. This wouldn’t work. What if it was like this during the event? Should I put on music? My sleep machine? Would the sound of crickets and ocean waves be distracting?

I rolled right and reached for my phone, careful not to drop it into the water. Opening up my texts, I sent one to Easton.

Let’s cancel this. The house is too quiet. I can’t figure out the bedroom lighting. I can’t tell if I’m hungry or nauseous.

I saw