I’d thought about it and planned it for weeks.

I studied his back, my head light with wine, until he turned and said, “Call them.”

*   *   *

So much for my eye of the storm.

As soon as I heard a knock on the door, my Zen turned to panic.

Was I out of my mind?

“Stay put,” Matt said.

I did, gladly. My limited store of courage had gone into sharing Mission Exhibition with Matt and risking his wrath. This was his rodeo now. I sank into the corner of the couch.

He greeted Rachel and Nicole at the door.

They smelled of floral perfume and looked … surprisingly classy, given the occasion. Nicole wore white linen shorts and a beaded sweater. She’d straightened her thick, black hair. Bronzing powder gleamed on her chocolate skin. Rachel, whom I’d seen previously in stilettoes, a thong, and gold-star pasties, wore a simple black dress and carried a clutch.

“Come,” Matt said. He led them into the bedroom, where he’d arranged two chairs near the foot of the bed. From the living room, I heard his low, calm voice, and their voices. I couldn’t make out what was said, but everyone sounded pleasant, as if we were getting together for tea.

God help me …

You can leave!

The thought obtruded sharply. Yes, I could leave. I could dart out the door while Matt and the women were in the bedroom. He would understand … wouldn’t he?

He strolled into the living room and I sucked in a breath.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Sweet thing.” He took my hand and I stood, fighting the urge to fall against him. If I showed my anxiety, he might call off everything, and I’d worked so hard to accomplish this … for both of us. He pulled me close and stroked my face and hair. “You all right?”

“Yes.”

“Truly?” He chuckled. “Because I think you’re nervous, which would be appropriate.”

“Maybe … a little. Aren’t you?”

He cocked his head and shrugged, as if normal criteria didn’t apply to him. Fuck, he was cute. I laughed and leaned against his chest, drawing comfort from him.

“I want this,” he said. “You know how much I want it. I can’t believe you … arranged it, that you’re even willing to try. Am I dreaming?”

“You’re not dreaming.” I kissed his throat.

“Be just like this. Like we’re alone. Ignore them. I’ll take care of you.” He led me into the bedroom. Rachel and Nicole gazed placidly at us, their legs folded, wineglasses in their hands. I was instantly aware of them.

Ignore them.

How?

Matt knew how, apparently. He dimmed the bedside lamp—the only light—to a soft amber glow. I had interfaced so boldly with Rachel and Nicole in the past few weeks, but now I could barely lift my eyes. They became indistinct shapes on the edge of the room.

He tugged me into his arms and kissed me. As if we were alone, his hands went straight for my ass, squeezing and pulling.

My short, elastic dress rode up.

Cool air hit the skin of my bottom, which peeked out. Matt turned us so that my back faced our audience. Oh God … they could see …

The first small tongues of desire licked at me.

He broke the kiss and panted in my ear. His fingers gathered my dress higher, up over my ass. Nothing covered me but the strip of a thong.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

I gasped. I knew they could see and were looking, and that Matt’s growing hardness owed to that knowledge. He parted my cheeks, lifted my ass, slapped it. In front of them. I buried my face against his chest, burning with arousal and embarrassment.

Again, he turned us, leading our dance.

His back to them, my body hidden behind his tall frame.

“Go on.” His husky voice hit my ear. “Do it to me. Show them.”

I froze, my wine-soaked mind churning. Huh?

I peered up at Matt. He moved my hands to his fly and nodded. Oh. A wave of heat rolled over me as I understood.

I held his gaze as I undid his jeans and shimmied them off his hips.

“Boxers, too,” he said calmly.

I licked my lips. My God. This moment. It had everything to do with us, and nothing to do with the onlookers. What Matt must have felt when he bared my bottom to them, I felt as I pushed down his boxers. My nails grazed his exposed ass. Pride, not jealousy, lanced through me. He was mine to touch. Mine to undress.

His breath came faster. I squeezed his ass and he groaned.

“You see?” he gasped. He pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it. I knelt, dragging his boxers and jeans down his thighs, my hands devouring him. He kicked away the garments.

Fuck. Matt said he would take care of me, and he was. He shielded my body with his. He let me reveal him completely.

When I stood, he turned to face our silent audience. I hugged him from behind, my cheek pressed against his back. He inclined his head toward me. Smiled.

“Show them all the little things you do … that drive me mad.”

I envisioned us through Rachel and Nicole’s eyes: Matt’s nude, stunning body, and my hands devouring him. I stroked his stiff cock and massaged his balls. I caressed his abdomen. Mine. All mine. I laid a hand over his racing heart.

“Close your eyes,” he said before we traded places. “I’m steady behind you.”

I closed my eyes, and I kept them closed as he undressed me and touched me. He showed me off wordlessly—bending me over, sitting me down on the bed and spreading my legs, then spreading my sex and putting his fingers inside.