An Interesting Encounter

Emma and I begin cleaning up as the evening winds down, gathering dishes and empty wine glasses.

"Well, that was lovely. I'm so glad we had him over," she comments, stacking plates.

"Me too," I agree. "He's a good guy. Crazy accomplished, but so down to earth."

She nods, then looks over at me with wide eyes. "And can you believe his age? I mean, he is forty-five and looks like THAT. It's unreal."

I chuckle, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Should I be worried? You two seemed to hit it off pretty well. All that blushing and giggling."

She swats my chest with a dishtowel, rolling her eyes. "Oh please. I was simply being polite Laughing at his jokes, keeping the conversation flowing. It's called being good hostess!!"

"Uh huh. Is throwing your head back and batting your lashes part of the hostess handbook too? Because I must have missed that chapter."

"Mark!" Emma huffs, flushing. "Seriously, are you jealous? Because I complimented the man a little? That's ridiculous."

I raise my hands in playful surrender. "Hey, not jealous at all. Just calling it like I see it. My wife has a little crush, no shame in that."

Emma scoffs, turning back to the dishes. "You're being absurd. He is old enough to be my father. I was just being friendly."

I sidle up behind her, slipping my arms around her waist and propping my chin on her shoulder. "Mmhmm. Except I distinctly remember you saying on multiple occasions how you find some older guys sexy."

She squirms in my hold. "Some older guys, sure. That doesn't mean every single one." She pauses, then adds almost as an afterthought, "Plus, you know... he's black."

I lean back to look at her, one brow raised. "And? Since when does race come into it?"

"I'm just saying he's not my usual type, that's all."

"Em. Come on." I turn her to face me fully, ticking off on my fingers. "You've always said how handsome Idris Elba and Michael B. Jordan are. What's different now?"

If possible, her face goes even redder. She pushes at my chest halfheartedly. "Damn it, Mike. FINE. Yes, he's an attractive man and I enjoyed his company. He's charming and sweet and easy to talk to. That doesn't mean I was flirting!"

I'm momentarily taken aback by her admitting it so readily. I'd mostly been teasing, enjoying her flustered denials. But she seems genuinely bothered and I immediately feel like an ass.

"Hey, whoa," I soothe, rubbing her arms. "I'm not mad, Emma. Not at all. I was just messing with you because it was cute seeing you get all giggly over him. I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

She bites her lip, finally glancing up at me. "Was I? I wasn't trying to be inappropriate..."

"Hardly," I assure. "If anything, I'm pretty sure Marcus was just as taken with you. I caught him checking out your ass at least a half dozen times."

"What? No way." Emma looks at me skeptically as she goes back to cleaning table. "You're so full of it."

"Scout's honor!" I insist. "He couldn't keep his eyes off you. Especially this badonkadonk back here..." I said as I give her backside an appreciative ogle as she bends over table.

"Oh, you mean like how you're staring right now?"

I glance down and... shit. She's not wrong. The way her jeans are hugging the curve of her backside as she leans against the counter...

"Ah. Well. Busted." I give a sheepish shrug. "What can I say? Your ass is a work of art. Can't blame a man for admiring the masterpiece."

"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe not accuse his wife of flirting with the neighbor while drooling over her ass?" Emma suggests wryly.

"Fair enough." Mike cocks his head, a gleam in his eye. "You're right, what was I thinking? We should call Marcus back over here so he can ogle you properly. It's only fair."

"Oh my god. Mike, you are being so weird tonight! What has gotten into you?"

"What? I'm just saying, you obviously made quite the impression..." I steps closer. "I bet he would be all too happy to get a better look at the goods."

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head at me. "You're ridiculous. And shameless. I should call Marcus myself and tell him to come back and ogle me properly if that's how you're going to be."

Something about the idea makes my stomach clench. And not in an entirely unpleasant way.

"Maybe you should," I find myself saying before I can think better of it. "I'm sure he'd love to see what he was missing out on."

Emma raises a brow at my tone. "Oh yeah? You want our neighbor to check out your wife?"

"Just appreciating what I've got. But seriously, if Marcus got a second round of your hospitality, I bet he wouldn't want to leave."

She gives me a light push, shaking her head with a smile. "Enough, you're being absurd. Let's focus on cleaning up, not on my supposedly magnetic allure to our neighbors."

"Alright, alright," I concede, still chuckling as I pick up a stack of plates. "Back to being responsible adults, then."

Emma nods, her smile lingering as she grabs more dishes. "Yes, please. And for the record, the only person I want ogling me is you, even if your methods are questionable tonight."

I laugh, helping her load the dishwasher. "Duly noted. And for the record, I think you're absolutely stunning--Marcus or no Marcus."

"Good answer," she replies, her tone light and teasing. "But are you sure you're not the one with a little crush here?"

"Oh, absolutely," I play along, winking at her. "Can't help but admire a guy who keeps himself in such great shape. But, I'm more interested in keeping my beautiful wife entertained."

Emma shakes her head, still smiling. "You're ridiculous, you know that? Anyway, let's get back to cleaning up. We've made enough of a mess tonight."

"Yes, dear," I reply dutifully, smiling dopily.

***

Weeks fly by in a blur as Emma and I settle into our new apartment and routines. Before I know it, months have passed and we're fully entrenched in this fresh chapter of our lives. My company is thriving, but the long hours and endless demands have made it tough to prioritize my own fitness the way I used to.

On the flip side, our friendship with Marcus has blossomed into something real and rewarding. He's become a fixture in our social circle, coming over for dinner or to catch a game at least a couple times a week. Sometimes we'll mix it up and hang at his place, but I definitely prefer hosting.

It's not that I don't enjoy Marcus' company. Quite the opposite - the dude has become a great friend, despite our age gap. We just click, him and me. Similar senses of humor, shared interests, an easy rapport that makes hanging out a genuine pleasure.

No, my preference for having Marcus over to ours is entirely thanks to my gorgeous wife and her newfound fondness for casual flirting. It's like Emma's made it her personal mission to charm the pants off our neighbor - metaphorically speaking, of course. But damn if it isn't entertaining to watch.

Oh, it's all very innocent. Playful touches, coy smiles. Emma is a born coquette, but she'd never cross a line. This is just her way of making Marcus feel welcome, showing him how much she enjoys his company. And yeah, I've caught Marcus giving her the occasional appreciative once-over when he thinks no one's looking. But it's all in good fun.

What red-blooded man wouldn't sneak a discrete peek at a woman as beautiful as my wife? I certainly can't cast stones there.

I trust my girl completely. A bit of lighthearted flirting is just par for the course when you're as witty and gorgeous as she is. And Marcus, stand-up guy that he is, never pushes the envelope or makes it weird. They're buds.

She's taken a real shine to Marcus herself, bonding with him over a shared passion for cheesy movies and swapping stories about their respective "kids" - her third graders and the troubled teens he mentors at the youth center.

Dude's a wealth of fascinating stories and surprisingly good advice, especially when it comes to business stuff.

Last week he came over to watch the Pats game and we got to talking shop during halftime. I mentioned some issues I've been having scaling my sales funnel and he jumped right in with a bunch of hard-won wisdom from his own entrepreneurial days.

"It's all about creating systems," he'd said, gesturing with his beer bottle for emphasis. "Standardized processes you can hand off to your team so you're not stuck micromanaging every little thing. Build the machine, then let it run itself while you focus on steering the ship, you know?"

I've got mad respect for the guy and everything he's accomplished. He's been places and done things I can only imagine, and I'm not too proud to soak up any knowledge he feels like laying down.

Grunting with exertion, I finish my last set on the bench press and rack the barbell with a satisfying clang. Sitting up, I grab my towel and wipe the sweat from my face, catching my breath.

It feels good to be back in the gym, even if my strength isn't quite what it used to be. I can already see small changes in my body after a few inconsistent weeks of training. I know if I keep at it, I'll be back in shape before too long.

As I'm mentally mapping out the rest of my workout, something triggers my memory. I glance around the weight room until I spot Marcus's unmistakable bulk by the cable machines.

Crossing over to him, I wait until he finishes his set of tricep push-downs before tapping him on the shoulder. "Hey, man. You got a minute?"

Marcus turns, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Mike! Sure, what's up?"

"This might seem out of the blue, but do you remember a while back, Emma mentioned wanting to set up a training plan with you?"

He pauses, thinking, then nods. "Oh, right. She was interested in starting to lift but wasn't sure how to start, correct?"

"Exactly," I confirm. "Well, funny enough, she's actually planning to come by the gym today to get started. I was thinking, if you have some time when you're done here, maybe you could show her a few basics? It'd help her feel more at ease."

"I'd be happy to! I'm pretty much done with my own workout anyway."

Just on cue, I notice a flash of brown by the front desk. I turn to see Emma signing in, gym bag slung over one shoulder.

She looks great, as always - hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, makeup tastefully understated but still polished. Emma's not really one for the typical athleisure look, even at the gym. She tends to favor more conservative pieces in muted colors. Classic and chic.

As if sensing my gaze, she glances up and spots me. Her face breaks into a sunny smile and she heads our way, ponytail bouncing cheerfully.

After giving me a quick peck, she turns to Marcus with a bright grin. "Hello, trainer," she says playfully.

Marcus chuckles, glancing around before responding with a hushed voice, "Don't say it out loud; we'll get in trouble with the actual trainers."

"Oh, right, sorry about that."

Shifting to a more professional demeanor, Marcus asks, "Have you done much training in a gym before?"

"Not really," she replies. "Mostly just running and yoga for me."

"No problem, let's see where you're at," Marcus says encouragingly.

Emma blows me a kiss as they walk away, already peppering Marcus with questions.

I watch them for a minute, grinning to myself at the animated way she gesticulates and the patient, focused way Marcus listens and responds.

Emma's charm in action is always a sight to behold. I watch Marcus guide her to the dumbbell rack, one big hand hovering solicitously at the small of her back as he explains the different weights.

Emma nods along, ponytail bobbing as she hefts one experimentally.

The attentiveness on Marcus' face, contrasted with Emma's bright-eyed focus... it pings something in my lizard brain. A weird little shiver of electricity zings down my spine.

Shaking it off, I pop in my earbuds and throw myself into my own workout with a new intensity. Probably just a blood sugar crash coming on or something.

However, curiosity got the better of me, and I find myself stealing glances at them. He's patiently instructing her, and she's clearly into the session, blushing occasionally at his praise. I note to myself how playful Emma can be around Marcus, planning to tease her about it later.

I'm a few songs deep into my playlist, happily lost in the familiar burn and strain of a back, when I surface for water. Dabbing my face with the hem of my shirt, I scan the floor until I locate them again.

They've migrated to the weight rack, Emma settling in under the bar while Marcus hovers attentively nearby. Even from a distance, I can see the fierce look of determination on my wife's face as she listens to his murmured coaching.

A few reps in, Marcus starts clapping and calling out encouragements, just loud enough for me to catch as I wind my way closer.

"There you go! Nice! Keep that core braced, drive through your heels. Great job, Emma! Give me three more, you got this!"

I can't help but grin at his enthusiastic cheer leading. Dude really throws himself into whatever he's doing, full throttle. And it seems to be working - Emma nods tightly, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple as she pushes through the last few rounds.

Smiling at their interaction, I take a long drink and then plunge back into my workout, pushing through the remaining exercises with renewed vigor. Time seems to warp around me as I lose myself in the physicality of it all.

After some time, I remove my earphones and wipe the sweat off with a towel. Glancing around, I spotted Emma squatting while Marcus spots her. He encourages her, pushing for more reps, and she was visibly trying her best. As I made my way over to them, I see Emma's eyes widen before she abruptly stops and sets the weights back on the rack.

"Let's stop here," she insists, catching her breath.

"Come on, just a few more," he urges.

"No, really, I'm done for today," Emma stands firm, and Marcus finally nods, respecting her limits.

"Since it's your first day, I'll let it slide, but next time, I won't be this lenient," he says with mock sternness.

Emma giggles breathlessly, pushing sticky strands of hair off her forehead. I notice a becoming flush across her chest and shoulders, the slight sheen of perspiration glistening at her throat. It's a good look on her.

"Everything good here?" I ask, greeting them both with a tired grin.

"Yeah, just getting some expert advice," Emma replies, rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension.

"We were just wrapping up," Marcus adds. "She did great for a first timer."

Emma blushes. "No need to be modest on my account."

"No, I meant what I said - you did great today." Marcus grins, pointing a finger in my direction. "Keep up with it, and you'll be outpunching Mikey here in no time."

"Hey now," I object. "Let's not get crazy. I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Emma beams at me, still flushed and glowing from her efforts. "We'll see about that, mister. I'm coming for your crown."

"By all means, my queen," I grin back, dropping a quick kiss on her damp temple. "Dethrone me."

We both startle as Marcus clears his throat pointedly. He's watching us with amused tolerance, one brow cocked.

"Alright, if you two are done being nauseatingly adorable, I've gotta jet. Oh, before I forget - we still on for the game next week? I was thinking we could hit Sullivan's beforehand, grab some wings and catch the first half there."

"Sounds like a plan," I agree with a nod. "But this time, try not to hog all the good wings, alright?"

Marcus flips me off good-naturedly, already heading toward the locker room. "Later, you two," he calls over his shoulder. "Emma, just flag me down whenever you're ready for round two, yeah?"

"Count on it," she calls after him, smiling.

As we head towards the elevator, Emma has this goofy, conspiratorial grin on her face that immediately piques my interest.

"Okay, spill," I prod, nudging her shoulder gently as we walk. "What's with that look?"

Emma blushes, biting her lip around a giggle. "It's just... I guess what they say about black guys is true after all."

I nearly trip over my own feet, head whipping around to gape at her. "Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?"

Still grinning, Emma hits the button for the elevator and glances around furtively before leaning in close. "Okay, so you know how Marcus was spotting me on squats just now?"

"Yeah..." I reply, drawing out the word as I try to gauge where this is heading. "I mean, I was right there. You were doing great, by the way."

She swats at me, cheeks pinking further. "Oh hush, I was all over the place. But that's not the point!"

The elevator dings and we step inside, Emma shifting from foot to foot with barely suppressed glee. There are a few other people already in the car, so I hold my tongue, but I can't help eyeing my wife sidelong.

What on earth has her so riled up?

We ride up to our floor in charged silence, Emma practically vibrating out of her skin. As soon as the doors open, she's dragging me down the hall by the hand, fumbling with her key card in her haste.

"Easy, tiger," I laugh, steadying her hands with my own. "What's the rush? It's not like-"

But then we're inside and Emma is whirling to face me, words tumbling out in an excited rush.

"Oh my god, Mike, I can't believe that just happened! Okay, so we're squatting, right? And at first I just feel Marcus' thigh kind of brush against my butt and I'm like 'whatever', I mean it happens, he's spotting me..."

She pauses to catch her breath and I guide us over to the couch, head spinning. I'm not sure I like where this is going, but I can't deny the little curl of heat in my belly at the mental image.

Emma flops down next to me, turning to tuck her feet under her as she continues. "But then, after a few more reps, I feel something else."

She cuts her eyes to me, face flaming. "Something... bigger."

"Bigger?"

Emma nods, hands flailing. "Like, way bigger! Mike, it was practically spanning my entire thigh!"

Oh fuck. I shift uncomfortably as my dick starts to plump in my gym shorts. This is so wrong. I should be pissed, defensive. But instead I'm just getting... turned on?

"I didn't know what to do!" Emma barrels on, oblivious to my internal crisis. "So I'm trying to just focus and finish the set but it keeps-," she makes an expansive gesture and mouths 'growing', "-with every rep! And then finally, on this one squat, I feel the whole thing just shove right up against my butt and that's when I made him stop."

She collapses back into the cushions, chest heaving and cheeks scarlet. My own throat feels tight, skin buzzing with a strange mix of arousal and anxiety.

"So..." I croak after a beat. "That's, uh. Quite a story."

Emma's eyes fly to mine, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "Are you... mad? I swear I didn't do anything to encourage it, I would never-"

"No!" I cut her off quickly, my hand landing on her knee. "No, I'm not- of course you didn't- I know you wouldn't..."

I trail off, at an utter loss. How do I explain the tangled mess of feelings clawing at my insides right now? The electric thrill racing down my spine at the thought of Marcus' huge cock nestled against my wife's perfect peach ass?

Emma is still watching me, lower lip caught between her teeth. "Mike? What are you thinking right now?"

I open my mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. Because at that exact moment, Emma's gaze drops to my lap... and the rather substantial bulge tenting my shorts.

"Oh," she breathes, eyes going hooded. "I see."

My face floods with heat, embarrassment and guilt and a startling bolt of excitement warring in my chest. "Emma, I-"

But she's already rising up onto her knees, pivoting to throw one leg over my thighs and settle into my lap. My hands fly to her waist on pure instinct, fingers flexing into the giving flesh.