I grab a bottle of massage oil from the hall closet and return to the living room. The soft jazz music seems to float in the air, creating a pleasant buzz in the atmosphere.

Olivia’s eyes widen when I rejoin her on the couch, but she doesn’t question me.

“I’ll give you a massage,” I suggest. “Take off your sweatshirt.”

Olivia flinches, chewing on her lip while she watches me. “But I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

That’s the idea. “I promise not to look.”

She hesitates for another second, then turns her back to me and pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor. The creamy canvas in front of me is one to be admired. The twin dimples in her lower back near the band of her leggings would make lesser men weep.

I warm a few drops of oil between my palms and rest my hands on her stiff shoulders.

“Relax. Okay?”

She gives me a swift nod.

I work my fingers into the knots I can feel under her skin, and when I press my thumbs in next to her spine, she moans.

“Dear God, that feels good.”

“Been a while?” I ask, just a hint of mischief in my voice.

“Since I had a massage? Yeah.”

I meant to ask if it had been a while since she enjoyed a man’s touch, but at the last second, I decide not to clarify my question. The last thing I want to hear about is my wife’s past conquests. No fucking thank you.

I continue caressing her tense muscles and feel her slowly begin to relax. Knowing her breasts are bare and just out of my reach is practically a cardinal sin. Trying to figure out a way to entice Olivia for more, I say, “If you turn around, I can reach the front of your shoulders better.”

Total lie. I’m hoping she can’t read my mind.

When she hesitates for a few seconds, I lean in and kiss the back of her neck. “You’re my wife, sweetheart. It’s no big deal.”

Those words hang between us, blossoming into something more than I think either of us ever dreamed.

She swallows, then slowly begins to turn toward me.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes glossy with desire, Olivia faces me on the couch.

Without saying a word, I drizzle a few more drops of oil into my palms before rubbing them together. I massage the front of her shoulders, her upper arms, and fight off the erection pressing against my zipper.

Olivia’s breathing has changed—the entire mood surrounding us has changed. My gaze dips down briefly, and I watch as her nipples harden into little pebbled knots.

Unable to resist the temptation she’s placed before me, I cup the weight of her breasts in my palms and rub my thumbs across her nipples.

Olivia draws a shuddering breath, her lips parting in surprise.

My fingers, slick from the fragrant oil, glide easily over her skin as I rub her nipples in small, circular movements.

A tiny groan—just barely audible—slips past her lips, and I dive in for a kiss, knowing she’s silently aching for more. My tongue pushes past her lips and she kisses me back, hard and passionate. I’ve got her right where I want her. Wet. And ready for me.

As we kiss, I move my body over hers until she’s lying on the couch and I’m balanced over her. Her thighs part, inviting me even closer, and I nestle in until my steely shaft finds her warm center. Olivia gasps, breaking apart from the kiss. The contact is deliciously frustrating—so close and yet so far, separated only by a few layers of clothes. But if I have my way, they’ll be gone soon enough. My mouth moves to her neck as I continue circling my hips, bumping against her clit with each movement.

“Is this okay?” I murmur and wait in agony as she pauses, her eyes searching mine.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, her hips lifting to find that friction once again.

I lean down and take one ripe nipple in my mouth, rolling my tongue over it and sucking on the firm tip.

Olivia cries out in pleasure. “Noah . . .”

My name on her lips, in that sweet, gravelly voice laden with desire, snaps the last thread of my restraint. I kneel and grab the sides of her yoga pants, peeling them and her panties down her legs until she’s bare to me.

Christ. My cock surges, leaking pre-cum in my boxers. Olivia’s body is perfection. Soft milky curves, full breasts, and a bare pussy with a pink clit peeking at me from between her juicy lips. I want to wrap my lips around it and suck until she screams. I won’t—not yet, anyway, but I can’t help reaching down to touch her. Running a fingertip down the length of her cleft, I stroke the soft, swollen bud lightly. Olivia lets out a tiny, pleading whimper.

I’m trying to go slow, I swear I am, but with Olivia naked and writhing on the couch, looking up at me with those huge blue eyes of hers, it’s nearly impossible. Fighting with myself to slow down and remember my manners, I stroke her clit with one careful fingertip, while my other hand caresses her breasts, thumbing her nipples.

Is there a polite way to say, Ride my face until you come all over my tongue?

“Everything okay, princess?” I ask instead, my voice husky with desire.

“It feels so good.”

She watches my hand as I continue my slow, torturous movements, lightly rubbing her clit, wanting to draw out her pleasure. I can feel how wet she is for me, and use the moisture to sweep across her swollen bud, back and forth, back and forth.

A whimper of frustration rises up her throat, and I know I have her right where I want her. There’s no way she’s walking away from this—from us—until I’ve given her what she needs.