I feel her fingertips across my collarbone in a featherlight touch that moves just under the robe. She traces the curves of my shoulders and then back again and then down my chest, around the curve of my breasts.

I gasp when she cups them in her palms, her thumbs brushing my nipples.

“Tell me,” Darren breathes, desperation dripping from each word.

Jourdan leans forward.

I hold my breath as her mouth gets closer and closer to my left breast.

“You heard the man,” she says, her breath tickling my nipple, making it harden.

I moan in a loud exhalation when her tongue grazes the tip. “She’s licking my nipple,” I groan.

I hear the sound of Darren unbuckling his belt. I’d know it anywhere. Jourdan’s lips cover my nipple. Her thumb teases the other. She watches me watch her as I tell my husband how she licks my areola and then teases the hard bud. How much I like it when she pinches the other nipple. How I shudder when he tells her that I like it rough, and she listens.

Jourdan and I listen to Darren’s labored breaths as he strokes himself in the small bathroom attached to his office.

I tell him when she moves from one breast to another. They both groan when I tell them I’m leaking down my legs. The world stops spinning for a second when he tells Jourdan — begs her, really — to touch my pussy.

“Is that what you want?” she asks me.

I nod so violently that my robe falls over my shoulders and down my arms. My fingers are digging into my thighs. I want to touch her, but the way I feel as they talk about me, as Darren tells Jourdan how to touch me — as if I have no say in the matter, as if I’m their plaything — well, I think we all get off on that.

The first time Jourdan’s fingertips touch my clit, my hips jut forward, my head falls back, and a shocked gasp falls from my lips even though I knew this was coming, even though I’ve spent the past few weeks desperate for exactly this.

Her acrylic nails scrape at my sensitive lips in a way Darren’s neatly trimmed short nails never would. Her braids fall over my leg. Her perfume surrounds me. I think I’m marking the differences between Jourdan and Darren only so I don’t let myself fly apart. And of course, Darren notices.

“Push your fingers inside of her,” he groans.

I feel her smile against the fat of my breasts, and the suction of her mouth increases. Her teeth graze my nipple.

And then her fingertips circle my opening. They’re coated in my moisture. And then the delicious pressure of her fingers invades me slowly.

Darren grunts when I let out a keening cry.