Page 78 of Forged

“I’ll keep this simple,” he says, leaning toward me. “If I ever step out of line, you need to tell me. I want us all to enjoy the evening. Be honest, and I stop…or keep going. Clear?”

I nod once. “Clear. Same goes for you.”

His smile deepens. “Good. Respect’s the only thing that keeps this from turning messy. Everything else is fair game.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve played before. Women, men, I find them both intriguing. But Neomi is my wife and this is her first time with this sort of experience, so everything hinges on her comfort.”

His gaze holds mine.

“I’ll be gentle,” he says with a grin.

I nod, then clear my throat. “So, our goal is to explore tonight. But if you cross a line, I’ll stop you.”

Gabriel leans back, his grin sharpening. “That’s all I need.” He raises his glass toward me in a quiet toast.

Our eyes lock, and something unspoken passes between us. There’s respect, agreement, and the kind of tension that feels like a fuse waiting to be lit.

Beside me, Neomi laughs again at something the dancer whispers, oblivious to the fire that just sparked between the two men next to her.

And then the dancer moves, reclaiming the moment. She slides closer to Neomi, her hand trailing down her arm before curving across her thigh. Neomi tilts toward her, lips parting when the redhead leans in. Neomi’s shoulders ease back against the couch, her body opening to the touch without hesitation.

Her dress pulls taut as the dancer presses in, red hair spilling forward, lips grazing the skin at the base of her throat. Seeing her submit to the moment while Gabriel watches it all has me hard as stone. I’ve had nights like this before, men, women, a combination. But I’ve never experienced it with someone I cared for.

Those other nights were filled with chaotic energy and boundaries being pushed. But tonight, I want to please my wife. I want this to be an experience we can share and explore within. She needs to feel safe and cared for every step of the way.

I plan on giving her everything she asks for.

Christy drapesherself over me like she owns me, bare skin hot against my dress, hair brushing my shoulder as she moves. To my right, Lars is tense but turned on, every exhale sharper than the last. His hand is still clasped with mine, his thumb pressing into my skin like he needs the anchor as badly as I do. His eyes track every movement of the dancer’s body against me, and when I glance at him, he looks hungry.

And then there’s Gabriel.

Lounging in his chair with a champagne flute in hand, his attention never strays. His gaze is heavy and unashamed, following every arch of my back, every sound that slips past my lips. He doesn’t hide the bulge straining against his tailored pants. He wants me to see it. He wants me to know what this does to him.

My voice comes out rough. “Give him some attention.”

The dancer pauses before following my gaze to Gabriel. Her lips curve, and without hesitation, she rises from my lap and crosses to his chair.

I watch her climb onto him the way she climbed onto me, herbare thighs bracketing his suit pants in his chair, her hands gliding across his chest. Gabriel’s grin widens, his eyes flicking to mine as if to sayyou wanted this—now watch.

And God, I do want to watch.

Lars’ hand tightens on mine. Together we watch the redhead drag her body against Gabriel, her breasts pressing into his face. He doesn’t break eye contact with me as she moves, as her hands roam down his torso, while his cock strains visibly beneath her grind.

The sight burns through me, my thighs clench, my chest rising faster.

I want to touch Gabriel. I want to kiss him. And what’s crazier is I want Lars to kiss him too. I want to drag him onto this couch and make the three of us lose ourselves to the tension and want.

Instead, I grip Lars’ hand harder, swallowing a moan, as the dancer grinds against Gabriel. His head tilts back, lashes low, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as she writhes against him. And then his gaze drifts, sliding past the red curtain of her hair, past her arching back. Though now, he’s no longer watching me, he’s looking somewhere else.

He’s looking at Lars.

It hits me all at once, the intensity in Gabriel’s stare. He isn’t idly glancing. He’s locked on my husband, gaze steady, like the woman in his lap is nothing more than a bridge between them.

His eyes meet Gabriel’s across the table and holds there. The dancer keeps moving, oblivious to the tension that’s shifted the room, that she’s no longer the center of gravity.

The two men are.

When the song is over, the dancer pulls back from Gabriel’s lap, sits beside me, and she pats the couch as she speaks to Gabriel.