I'm drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions, watching my wife perched on our neighbor's lap.
Her body language screams excitement, but there's something else there, too. A subtle shift in her energy, a loosening of inhibitions that makes my blood run cold and hot all at once.
The age difference between them is jarring, like she's a sitting on her favorite uncle's knee. But there's no mistaking the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips part slightly as she breathes harder.
She's into this.
I can see it plain as day.
The thought lodges in my brain, a thorn I can't dislodge.
When the game cuts to a commercial break, Emma turns to me with a bright smile. "Hey honey, could you grab me another beer?"
"Sure thing," I reply automatically, rising to fetch it from the kitchen. Anything to escape the charged atmosphere for a moment, to try and clear my head.
In the kitchen, I grab a beer from the fridge, the cold glass a shock against my sweaty palm. I take a long swig, the bitter liquid doing nothing to quench the fire in my veins.
But when I return, I find them huddled together over Emma's phone, heads bent close. She's showing him pictures from our honeymoon, eagerly describing the quaint little boutiques we discovered in Switzerland.
"And this little shop? They had the most amazing chocolate..." Her voice is animated, laced with a girlish enthusiasm.
Marcus nods and smiles, making all the right noises of interest as his hand now rests possessively on her hip.
How the hell did they even get on this topic?
I wonder dazedly, handing Emma her drink.
"Thanks, honey," she murmurs, her eyes still glued to the phone.
As I sink back into my seat, I can't help but notice how much more at ease Emma seems now. Like she's settled fully into his embrace, molding herself to his larger frame.
As they continue to scroll through the photos, Marcus's hand slides from her hip to her waist, his fingers splaying across her ribcage. Dangerously close to the swell of her breasts.
She doesn't stop him. Doesn't even seem to register the escalating intimacy, lost in her beer-soaked haze of nostalgia and flirtation.
"And this... this is where we had some of the best food..." She says dreamily, her voice hitching a little as Marcus' thumb grazes the underside of her breast. It could almost be accidental. Almost.
"Sounds like an incredible trip," Marcus rumbles, his deep baritone sending a visible shiver through my wife.
Emma turns to beam at me, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "It was amazing, wasn't it, baby? Just the best time."
I make a vague sound of agreement, my throat too tight for words.
The flush on her cheeks and the faraway look in her eyes told me she'd reached that blissful state of tipsy contentment. She's glowing. Radiant.
The game starts up again, but I barely register it. I'm too focused on the way Emma leans back against Marcus' chest, giggling at his whispered commentary. She made no move to push him away, her body seemingly molded to his.
I'm hyper-aware of every movement between them, every subtle shift and playful touch. The way her hips rock slightly as she adjusts on his lap. The way her fingers trail along his muscular arms, almost absentmindedly.
It's impossible not to notice, not to fixate on each small intimacy. My head swims with a potent mix of alcohol and arousal, jealousy and something else. I can't tell anymore if it's the beer making me dizzy or the scene unfolding before me.
Needing a moment to clear my head, I push to my feet. "I'm going to make some coffee. Anyone want a cup?"
Emma glances over at me. "Mm, sure. Thanks, babe."
As I walked towards the kitchen, I heard Emma suggest, "Maybe I should get off now."
"If you like," came Marcus's smooth reply.
But I didn't turn to check if she followed through. Instead, a mix of relief and disappointment surged through me, and I cursed myself for feeling either.
Shaking my head, I busy myself making the coffee. It takes longer than it should, my addled brain struggling to remember where Marcus keeps everything. I'm tempted to go back out and ask, but something holds me back.
Finally, with everything assembled, I started brewing a pot of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air.
But as I lean against the counter, waiting for it to finish, a pressing need makes itself known. Too many beers, too much tension. I need to piss.
Resigned, I head back out to use the bathroom. And stop dead in my tracks.
Emma hasn't moved from his lap. But she's no longer facing the television. She's turned, her body pivoted, her legs straddling his thighs, her skirt riding up her thighs, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, pale skin.
And the way she's looking at him... I've never seen that expression on her face before. Rapt attention, a flush on her cheeks, her lips parted slightly. She's hanging on his every word, though I can't make out what he's saying.
A kaleidoscope of emotions plays across her features as Marcus speaks. Surprise, shock, a flicker of something that looked almost like fear. She doesn't even glance my way, lost in his words.
Moving robotically, I continue to the bathroom, my mind awhirl. At the entance, I pause, glancing back at them over my shoulder.
From this angle, I could see Emma's back, her long hair cascading down like a silken waterfall. Marcus continued speaking, his hand now resting on her lower back, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin above her skirt, his expression earnest.
The picture they make is both beautiful and obscene. Intimate in a way that makes my throat tighten, my heart pound against my ribs.
What was he saying that held her so captivated? I made a mental note to ask her later, a knot of curiosity tightening in my gut.
I relieve myself quickly. I splashed cold water on my face, the shock of it momentarily clearing the fog in my mind. Staring into the mirror, I barely recognized the man looking back.
"Get a grip, Mike," I mutter, trying to collect myself.
Maybe... maybe it's time to leave.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I was once again greeted by familiar sight of Emma on Marcus's lap.
I make it three steps into the room before I falter to a halt, my breath seized in my lungs.
I watch with bated breath as Marcus crooks a finger under Emma's chin, drawing her closer. She tilts her head back, leaning into his touch.
My heart pounds in my ears, my feet rooted to the spot.
They're not kissing. Not yet. Marcus is still talking, his voice a low rumble I can't quite make out. Emma nods hesitantly at something he says.
From this angle, I can only see a slice of her face. Just enough to glimpse the flutter of her lashes, the way her lips part on a sigh. The naked hunger in her expression.
Then, slowly, inexorably, he pulls her in. Their lips meet in a whisper of a touch, barely there. For a moment, I think that's all it will be. A chaste peck.
But Marcus isn't done. He surges forward, capturing Emma's mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss.
And to my shock, horror, my disgust, my wild, unbidden arousal...she responds.
Melts into him like she's been waiting for this moment, her arms snaking around his neck, pulling him closer.
