From Across the Room: CH. 3

CHAPTER THREE: TERMS OF EXCHANGE

WE ALL CAME IN TANDEM—first Andrea, then Sergio, then me—as if the timing had been negotiated long before any of us admitted it. I’d never felt release hit that hard, never felt it tear through me with that kind of force. And I’d never been so turned on—especially watching another man fuck, let alone my wife. It wasn’t just physical. It was seismic. The single most erotic moment I could point to in recent memory, because it rearranged something inside me.

Andrea shuddered beneath him, the tremor starting low and rippling outward, her leg jerking as if her body had forgotten how to hold itself together. Her breath fractured into short, helpless sounds; her back arched and then collapsed, shoulders pressing into the mattress as sensation climbed faster than she could follow. Whatever composure she’d brought into the room dissolved in waves—heat cresting, breaking, cresting again—until pleasure overwhelmed posture, thought, even language, leaving only the aftershock written across her face. Sergio drove into her twice more, each thrust deeper and more deliberate than the last, until the control finally broke. He snapped his head back, one hand locked around her waist to keep her exactly where he wanted her, the other closing around her breast with a grip that was possessive without being careless. The sound that tore out of him was low and guttural, the kind of moan that seems to rattle the walls by the sheer force of it. I watched the muscles in his thighs bunch and release, tendons standing out as his body betrayed him—proof of him losing himself even as he stubbornly held the rhythm, riding the edge between command and surrender.

And then there was me—breath uneven, skin flushed, every nerve lit and ringing. The release hit in a hard, spilling rush that left my hands shaking and my vision briefly white at the edges, like my body had surged ahead of my thoughts and dragged them with it. I don’t know if I’ve ever come that hard.

The release spilled out of me in heavy pulses—thick hot ropes of cum, streaking my thighs and slicking the back of my hand, more than I was prepared for, more than I could ignore. I was spent and still straining, pulse hammering in my throat, heat lingering where it had broken loose. Not softened by release. Not calmed by it. If anything, the orgasm sharpened the moment, stripped it down to what remained once sensation cleared. I wasn’t just aroused.

I was implicated.

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