Peter sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, staring at Claudia as she stood in front of the full-length mirror.

She was adjusting the thin strap of her heels, shifting her weight slightly, testing how the height changed the way she stood.

The heels Richard had told her to wear.

A sharp tension pulled in Peter’s chest as he watched her. She looked stunning. Almost untouchable.

His grip on the phone tightened.

"Take a picture before you leave. Send it to me."

Richard’s words rang in his head, undeniable. A command, not a request.

Claudia met his gaze in the mirror, her expression unreadable. "Well?" she asked, adjusting the hem of her dress. "What do you think?"

Peter swallowed. "You look…" His voice came out rough, lower than he intended. "Beautiful."

She smiled softly, tilting her head. "Then take the picture."

For a moment, Peter didn’t move.

This felt… different.

Taking a picture of Claudia wasn’t unusual. But this wasn’t for him. It was for Richard.

The realization sent a pulse of heat through him—jealousy, frustration, arousal, all tangled together.

His thumb hovered over the camera button.

"One more thing," Claudia said, her voice smooth.

She stepped forward, slowly, deliberately… and unfastened the thin clasp of her necklace.

The delicate chain fell away, baring the soft skin of her collarbone.

Peter sucked in a breath.

She hadn’t needed to do that.

But she knew Richard would notice.

His hands felt clammy as he raised the phone. "Look at me," he murmured.

Claudia met his gaze through the lens.

And Peter took the picture.

The soft click of the camera felt deafening.

He lowered the phone, his pulse hammering.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Claudia took a step forward, closing the space between them. She reached for the phone, her fingers brushing his as she took it from his hand.

Peter watched as she swiped to the photo, tilting the screen slightly, examining herself the same way Richard would.

His stomach twisted.

She tapped the screen, pulling up the message thread.

Richard’s last words still sat there, waiting.

Peter watched as Claudia attached the photo.

Sent.

His chest felt tight.

There it was. No hesitation this time.

Claudia let out a slow breath, handing the phone back to him.

The reply came sooner than expected.

Peter’s phone buzzed in his hand, the message lighting up the screen just minutes after Claudia had sent the photo.

Neither of them spoke as Peter hesitated before unlocking it.

Richard: "Much better. Stunning. You’re getting the hang of this, Claudia."

Peter swallowed hard.

Another message followed.

Richard: "And Peter… you took a good picture. You’re learning too."

A dull, heated pressure curled in Peter’s chest. He hated how much those words got to him.

Claudia smirked, shifting beside him. She had seen the message too.

Peter locked the phone, shoving it into his pocket.

"Let’s go," he muttered.

The party was waiting.

The estate was even more breathtaking than Peter had imagined.

A long, tree-lined driveway led them toward the grand entrance. Beyond the house, glimpses of water shimmered through the gaps in the garden hedges. The pool.

Peter tightened his grip on the steering wheel as they pulled up, his stomach knotting.

Claudia shifted beside him, adjusting the hem of her dress. "It’s beautiful," she murmured, gazing out the window.

Before Peter could respond, the front doors opened.

Richard stepped outside.

He was dressed just as effortlessly refined as before—a crisp, open-collared shirt, tailored slacks, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Beside him stood Evelyn. Claudia and Peter already met her in the boutique when they bought that dress.

"You made it," Richard said simply. "Good."

Not we’re glad you came.

Just Good.

As if it had been inevitable.

Peter exhaled, forcing a tight smile. "Thanks for the invite."

Richard’s lips quirked. "Of course. I’m glad you both accepted."

A quiet pause stretched between them before Richard stepped aside, gesturing toward the entrance.

"Come in," he said smoothly. "There’s a lot I want to show you."

Claudia went first.

Peter followed.

The doors shut behind them.

And there was no turning back.

Peter felt the weight of the evening pressing against his chest.

The party was more than just an event—it was an experience, a world unto itself.

The estate’s outdoor lounge stretched around the shimmering pool, where guests mingled with glasses of champagne in hand. Soft golden lights illuminated the sleek marble floors, casting long reflections over the water’s surface. Elegant music played in the background with the quiet hum of conversation and laughter.

Peter and Claudia moved through the space, drinks in hand, stopping occasionally as new guests introduced themselves.

Everyone here seemed polished, refined—comfortable in a world of indulgence. The men were composed, good looking and in a good mood. The women carried themselves with an air of effortless confidence, their dresses hugging their figures just enough to hint. Some of the ladies were already wearing their swimsuits, ready for the pool.

But Peter wasn’t focused on any of that.

He was focused on Claudia standing beside Richard.

They had remained together as a group so far, but Peter could feel the subtle shifts in control. Richard led the conversation effortlessly, his presence so assured, so dominant, that it was impossible to ignore.

And Claudia… she was responding.

She wasn’t just standing there. She was engaged, intrigued.

Peter could see it in the way she leaned in slightly when Richard spoke. In the way her body remained open to him, the same way it had been at the boutique.

He gripped his drink a little tighter.

Richard turned toward Claudia, a smooth smile playing on his lips. “Claudia, I have a question for you.”

She glanced up, arching a brow. “Yes?”

Richard let the moment stretch, sipping his drink before continuing. He enjoyed Claudia's attention.

“The boutique is hosting a little fashion presentation tonight,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “Only a few select women are invited to take part.”

Peter’s stomach clenched.

Claudia tilted her head, curious. “And?”

Richard smiled. “I’d like you to be one of them.”

Silence pressed between them.

Peter’s pulse thundered in his ears.

Claudia blinked, lips parting slightly. “Me?”

“Yes,” Richard confirmed. “You would be… perfect for it.”

Evelyn let out a quiet hum of agreement, her gaze sweeping over Claudia like an artist assessing a canvas. “I think so, too.”

Peter felt his breath catch.

They weren’t asking.

They were expecting.

Claudia hesitated—not out of reluctance, but because she was processing the invitation.

Peter could see it all over her face. The consideration. The curiosity.

She was thinking about it.

And that alone made his chest feel too tight.

“You don’t have to,” Richard added lightly, though his eyes said something else. “But I think you’d enjoy it.”

Peter clenched his jaw.

Because Claudia was going to say yes.

And they all knew it.

Finally, she exhaled, her lips curving slightly.

“Alright,” she said.

Richard’s smile deepened. “Good.”

Peter swallowed hard.

The night had only just begun.

And it was already getting away from him.

A subtle shift in energy rippled through the party as guests gradually began moving toward an open-air pavilion near the pool. Low golden lighting bathed the space, a raised platform at the center serving as an understated runway. Plush seating lined either side, where guests would soon gather to watch the evening’s private fashion presentation.

Peter and Claudia remained near the bar, but something about the night felt different now—like an invisible current was pulling them toward an inevitable moment.

Claudia had already agreed to take part. There was no undoing it.

A woman approached—a poised, well-dressed stylist in a fitted black jumpsuit. She smiled at Claudia, gesturing toward the entrance to the main house.

"It’s time for preparations," she said smoothly. "Come with me please."

Claudia hesitated for a brief second, then turned toward Peter.

He searched her face, looking for something—uncertainty, doubt, hesitation.

But there was none.

Instead, there was excitement.

"Enjoy the show," she murmured before following the stylist inside.

Peter watched as she disappeared into the house, his stomach tightening.

A soft hum of approval drew his attention.

Evelyn.

She had appeared beside him, watching him with an expression that was both amused and knowing. She swirled the wine in her glass before taking a slow sip.

"She’s remarkable, isn’t she?" Evelyn mused.

Peter exhaled, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral. "She is."

Evelyn glanced toward the pavilion, where guests were beginning to take their seats. "This is a special kind of night," she said. "For you. For her."

Peter frowned. "What do you mean?"

Evelyn smiled, tilting her head slightly. "A woman doesn’t enter this world by accident, Peter. She chooses it. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s making a choice tonight."

Peter swallowed.

Evelyn set her glass down on the bar. "You’re wondering why I’m so comfortable with all of this," she continued, her voice low, intimate. "With Richard. With the way he looks at Claudia. His Flirting."

Peter didn’t respond, but the sharp glint in her eyes told him she already knew his thoughts.

Evelyn’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Because I enjoy it, Peter."

His pulse quickened.

"I love my husband," she continued, her voice smooth, controlled. "But Richard is a man who was never meant for just one woman. And I—" she paused, tracing her fingertip along the rim of her glass—"I like to watch him guide young ladies, and couples, into his world."

Peter inhaled sharply, his mind reeling.

"I know what it’s like to see your partner be wanted by someone else," Evelyn said, tilting her head. "To see them desire another man’s attention. To feel the pull of jealousy, of arousal, of… helplessness."

She let the word linger between them.

Peter’s jaw tightened.

Evelyn smiled, satisfied. "And you, Peter… I think you’re beginning to understand it too."

Peter didn’t respond. Because there was nothing to say. She was right.

The preparation room was elegantly lit, mirrors lining the walls, the soft scent of perfume and makeup powder filling the air. Several women were already there, standing before stylists as they adjusted gowns, fastened delicate jewelry, and perfected the finishing touches of hair and makeup.

Claudia stood before a mirror as a stylist carefully fastened the final button on an elegant silk dress, cinching it at her waist.

"You wear it well," the stylist murmured, stepping back.

Claudia took in her reflection. The dress was effortless, luxurious, skimming her frame in all the right ways without feeling overtly revealing.

She exhaled slowly, pressing her palms against the vanity.

For a brief moment, she thought about Peter.

Was he watching the entrance? Was he imagining how she looked right now?

Did it excite him?

A thrill ran down her spine.

"Time to begin," someone announced.

Claudia lifted her chin, smoothed her hands down the silk fabric, and turned toward the door.

She was ready.

The area buzzed with a quiet anticipation as the first model stepped onto the platform.

Soft music hummed through the speakers, a smooth, rhythmic melody that matched the slow, elegant movements of the women walking down the runway.

The outfits were exquisite—long, flowing dresses with daring slits, delicate skirts that moved effortlessly, homewear that draped in all the right ways. Nothing felt cheap or excessive.

Even the lingerie—when it appeared—wasn’t vulgar. It was refined, expensive. Silk, lace, sheer elegance.

Peter watched as Claudia stepped onto the platform.

Her first outfit—a deep emerald dress that hugged her body perfectly—was both modest and devastating all at once. It shimmered under the lights, catching every small movement, every shift of her frame.

And Peter wasn’t the only one who noticed.

He could feel it. The subtle shift in attention.

Other guests were watching her. Men and women alike.

And then, finally—

Richard was watching her.

Peter felt it before he even turned his head.

Richard sat a few seats away, elbow resting against the armrest, fingers pressed lightly to his lips as he studied Claudia.

Not just watching.

Assessing.

Appreciating.

And Claudia—she felt it, too.

Peter could tell by the way her posture shifted slightly. The way she held her chin a little higher.

The way she soaked it in.

His stomach tightened.

This wasn’t just a show anymore.

This was Richard seeing Claudia exactly as she was meant to be seen.

And Claudia knowing it.

Peter exhaled shakily, his fingers gripping the armrest.

The night was far from over.

And Peter wasn’t sure if he was ready for what came next.

The applause had barely faded when the music shifted.

A subtle change in rhythm, a deeper hum that sent a quiet murmur through the crowd.

Peter sat frozen as the models stepped out one last time—not in gowns, not in homewear, but in matching swimsuits.

His stomach tightened.

The suits were sleek, elegant, minimalistic yet refined—a deep, gleaming black that caught the light with every movement.

They fit perfectly.

High-cut legs. Brazilian cut in the back. No padding. 

Just like Richard had mentioned in his message to Claudia.

And Claudia—

She looked stunning.

Peter swallowed hard, gripping his glass tighter as she moved onto the patio, her posture straight, poised, entirely composed.

A soft chuckle drifted beside him.

Evelyn.

"Exquisite, isn’t it?" she murmured, sipping her wine.

Peter forced himself to exhale. "It’s… unexpected."

Evelyn smirked. "Yes, I imagine it is."

She let the moment stretch, watching the scene unfold before glancing at him again, amusement flickering in her eyes.

"You seem tense, Peter."

He clenched his jaw slightly. "It’s a lot to take in."

Evelyn hummed. "I suppose so. Though I find it fascinating…" She swirled the wine in her glass. "Watching you watch her."

Peter stiffened.

Evelyn smiled knowingly. "You haven’t asked about the swimsuits."

Peter’s throat felt dry. "Should I?"

"You should," she said smoothly. "They’re gifts."

Peter turned toward her, confused.

Evelyn took her time, watching the models with a lazy kind of appreciation. "Richard designed them himself," she explained. "Each one cut to fit them just right. A personal present… for the women who participated tonight."

Peter exhaled slowly.

A gift.

From Richard.

For Claudia.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

Evelyn leaned in slightly, her voice just for him now. "You see, Peter… Richard believes in rewarding the women who please him."

Peter inhaled sharply, tension coiling in his stomach.

Evelyn smirked, clearly satisfied with his reaction.

"Don’t you think it looks perfect on her?" she asked lightly, tilting her head toward Claudia.

Peter looked.

He couldn’t not look.

Claudia stood just at the edge of the pool now, poised beneath the glow of soft golden lights, her body wrapped in Richard’s design.

Richard himself sat a few seats away, glass in hand, watching.

And when Claudia’s eyes flicked toward him—just for a second—

Peter swore he saw something shift.

Something dangerous.

Something irresistible.

The final applause rippled through the air, fading beneath the low hum of conversation. And then, as if on cue, the models moved—heels slipping off, laughter spilling into the night as they stepped toward the pool’s edge before diving in.

Evelyn chuckled beside him, finishing her drink.

"Enjoy the rest of the night, Peter," she murmured.

Peter couldn’t look away.

He was still gripping his drink, though he hadn’t taken a sip in minutes.

His pulse was erratic. His thoughts tangled.

Watching Claudia take part in the show had been one thing.

Watching her in that swimsuit—Richard’s swimsuit—had been worse.

Richard moved to the seat beside Peter, settling in with the same effortless poise as ever. He exhaled lightly, taking a sip from his glass before casting Peter a glance.

"She’s remarkable," Richard mused, his voice low but certain. "Not just her beauty. The way she carries herself. The way she adapts."

Still damp from the water, Claudia reached them, brushing back her wet hair. Her skin was cool from the pool, but there was heat beneath her surface.

A quiet, lingering thrill that hadn’t yet faded.

Richard leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting across the models still lingering at the poolside and finally landed back at Claudia. He swirled his drink lazily in his hand, his voice smooth, unhurried.

"You know, swimsuits are deceptively complex garments," he mused, his tone almost casual. "People assume it's just about minimal fabric, a simple cut—but the true challenge is in the structure. The way the material clings, the way it moves when wet, how it enhances rather than hides."

Peter swallowed, shifting slightly. He wasn't sure if Richard was speaking to him directly or merely thinking aloud, but the weight of his words felt deliberate, like something carefully laid out piece by piece.

"Take the fabric, for example," Richard continued, his fingertips grazing the rim of his glass. "A fine blend—lightweight yet strong. It molds to the skin, adapting with heat and moisture, emphasizing shape rather than merely covering it. It’s all about precision. About knowing exactly what should be revealed… and what should remain hinted at."

His eyes flicked between Claudia and Peter, slow, measured.

"And, of course, the fit is everything."

Peter felt his chest tighten.

Richard gestured subtly toward Claudia, his voice carrying just the faintest edge of amusement.

"Look how it clings to her, Peter," he murmured. "What do you notice?"

There it was. The shift. The turn.

Peter had been so caught in the conversation, in Richard’s easy confidence, in the sheer elegance of how he spoke about the craftsmanship, that he hadn't realized how effortlessly Richard had led him to this moment.

His throat went dry.

Richard’s gaze settled on Claudia’s chest, and Peter—helplessly, inevitably—followed.

"I—uh…" He hesitated, shifting awkwardly. He had never really thought about the details of swimsuit construction before, certainly not in the way Richard was implying. He wasn’t even sure what Richard wanted him to say.

Richard gave him an indulgent smile, then turned back to Claudia, lifting a single brow as if waiting for Peter to catch up.

"There’s no additional lining in the bust of this piece," Richard explained, his voice smooth, almost instructional. "The beautiful fabric, and your wife’s even more alluring body, should be displayed without such interference."

Peter exhaled shakily, his hands tightening into loose fists. He had noticed—of course, he had. It was impossible not to. The moment Claudia had emerged from the pool, his eyes had betrayed him, drawn to the way the cold water had stiffened her nipples, leaving them clearly outlined beneath the thin, clinging material. Now, with Richard calling attention to it so directly, the knowledge became unbearable.

"I… yes, I see that," Peter admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Claudia’s breath caught. Her skin was still damp, but a different kind of heat spread beneath the surface. She wanted to retreat, to ignore the way Richard’s words sent a pulse of awareness straight between her legs. She had felt Peter’s eyes on her the moment she stepped out of the pool—just as she had felt the eyes of others.

And now, Richard had voiced what none of them would dare say aloud.

She should have felt mortified. And at first, she did.

But the longer the moment stretched, the more impossible it became to ignore something else—something darker, something she couldn’t quite name.

Richard’s approval.

"And only the barest lining in the bottom, too," Richard continued smoothly, as if leading Peter through an observation exercise. "We wouldn’t want to obscure even the smallest curve or line of the wearer. And Claudia… well, she’s wearing the hell out of this, don’t you agree?"

Claudia inhaled sharply, her body betraying her before her mind could process what was happening.

She had never been spoken about like this before.

Not in public.

Not in front of Peter.

Not in a way that left her completely powerless to deny it.

The words were clinical, detached, yet they seeped into her skin like heat from an open flame, spreading, unraveling, laying her bare in a way that had nothing to do with nudity. Richard wasn’t praising her. He wasn’t flattering her. He was simply stating the truth.

A truth that she could no longer pretend didn’t exist.

Her body felt different now, as if his words alone had altered it, made her more aware of every contour, every curve, every place the swimsuit hugged too tightly.

She felt exposed in ways that had nothing to do with how much skin was visible.

Richard’s gaze dipped lower, slow and deliberate. Not crude. Not obvious. Just intentional.

Peter followed.

And only now did Peter see.

The swimsuit was minimal, yes, but it wasn’t vulgar.

And yet, it was everything.

The smooth, damp fabric clung to the soft swell of Claudia’s hips, the generous curve of her pubic mound. The thin material accentuated rather than concealed, highlighting the plush fullness, the way the shape of her body swayed gently with each movement. It was elegant, refined—yet devastatingly intimate.

Peter’s stomach twisted into knots.

He hadn’t noticed at first, not beyond the general sleekness of the design. But now—now that Richard had forced his attention to it— Peter couldn’t unsee it.

Claudia felt the realization settle over her like a slow-moving tide.

She had never felt this aware of herself before.

The fabric hugging the softest, roundest parts of her. The way it followed the natural slope of her hips, the way it emphasized the gentle rise of her sex without revealing anything at all. She could feel it between her thighs, the barely-there friction, the heat of her own body trapped beneath the thin layer of fabric.

She had never felt so present inside her own skin.

And Richard knew it.

The knowledge flickered in his expression, a barely-there smirk that didn’t fully form—but she felt it.

Claudia’s chest rose and fell in a slow, measured breath, but the air wasn’t steady in her lungs.

This was wrong. She knew it was wrong.

And yet…

She didn’t step away.

Didn’t retreat.

She lifted her chin just slightly, her body betraying her yet again.

Richard’s smirk deepened.

Peter’s mouth opened slightly, his breath shallow, his mind grasping for words that wouldn’t come. He should say something. He should break this spell, pull Claudia aside, remind her—remind himself—that this wasn’t normal. That Richard shouldn’t be speaking about her like this. That he shouldn’t be letting this happen.

But he didn’t.

Because the worst part?

The part he couldn’t ignore, couldn’t push away no matter how much he wanted to?

He was hard.

His cock throbbed in his slacks, and the realization sent a fresh wave of shame crashing over him. He had spent the entire evening trying to tell himself that this wasn’t happening, that Claudia was still his, that Richard was only playing his games.

But now? Now, with Claudia standing here—her body barely covered by wet, clinging fabric, her arousal betraying her in the subtlest of ways—Peter couldn’t deny it anymore.

He wasn’t just letting this happen.

He was watching it happen.

Richard had known this would happen. He had orchestrated it from the moment Claudia stepped onto that runway, from the moment she emerged from the pool wearing his design.

He had been waiting for Peter to reach this breaking point.

And now he had him exactly where he wanted.

A delicate laugh broke through Peter’s spiraling thoughts. Evelyn.

She had appeared beside him again, a knowing smirk tugging at the edges of her lips as she swirled the wine in her glass.

"You’re struggling with it, aren’t you?"

Peter’s jaw tightened. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Evelyn hummed, unconvinced.

"Oh, you do," she murmured. She took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving his. "You don’t know if you want to stop it or let it keep going. And that’s what’s truly exciting, isn’t it?"

Peter exhaled sharply, his pulse pounding.

Evelyn tilted her head, watching him like a cat observing a cornered mouse. "It’s thrilling, isn’t it?" she mused. "Seeing her like this? Watching the way she responds to him?"

Peter didn’t answer. Because he couldn’t.

Because yes.

It was thrilling.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

"Come here, Claudia."

Richard’s voice was smooth, effortless—more an expectation than a request.

Claudia turned, her breath catching slightly.

Peter felt it—that moment of hesitation. The smallest pause before she moved. But then, without a word, she obeyed.

She stepped forward.

Richard reached out, slow and deliberate, his fingers grazing along the damp strap of her swimsuit.

Peter stiffened.

"This strap has shifted," Richard murmured, adjusting the delicate black band at her shoulder. His fingertips barely brushed her skin, but the touch felt deliberate—possessive.

Claudia exhaled softly, her body responding before her mind could catch up. The movement was so small, so subtle, but Peter saw it—the way her breathing deepened, the way her lips parted just slightly.

She was reacting.

And Richard knew it.

"That’s better," Richard mused, his eyes lingering on her exposed collarbone before meeting her gaze. His fingers lingered for a second too long before he finally pulled away.

The moment stretched unbearably.

Peter’s pulse pounded in his ears.

He should have said something. Should have stopped this.

But his mouth stayed dry.

Richard turned back to him, his expression unreadable. Then, with the faintest of smirks—so small Peter almost thought he imagined it—he spoke.

"You don’t mind me fixing that, do you, Peter?"

The air between them cracked with tension.

Peter’s stomach twisted, but his voice failed him. He could feel Evelyn watching, her gaze sharp with amusement.

He couldn’t say no.

And Richard knew it.

So instead, Peter swallowed thickly and did what Richard had been conditioning him to do all night.

He nodded.

Richard’s smirk deepened.

Claudia watched Peter, her pulse thrumming. She could feel Richard’s presence beside her—calm, composed, entirely in control.

And Peter?

Peter was unraveling.

For the first time that evening, she was fully aware of her power.

And God help her, she liked it.

Richard’s gaze lingered on Claudia for a moment longer before he turned back to Peter.

"I have a small favor to ask," Richard said smoothly, taking a sip from his glass.

Peter exhaled shakily, barely trusting himself to respond. "What is it?"

Richard gestured toward Claudia with an easy flick of his wrist.

"Take a picture of her for me."

The words landed like a blow.

Peter’s breath stalled. His fingers twitched. His stomach clenched.

"A picture?" he repeated, the question barely escaping his throat.

Richard’s smirk was unreadable. "Yes." He glanced at Claudia, who stood still between them, her lips parted slightly. "I’d like to capture the way it fits."

Peter’s pulse pounded in his ears.

He looked at Claudia—waiting, watching, unsure.

And then Richard handed him the phone.

Not his own phone. Richard’s.

The weight of it in Peter’s hand felt heavier than it should.

A simple request. But they all knew what it meant.

This wasn’t just about the swimsuit anymore.

This was about control.

Peter swallowed thickly. His hand felt clammy as he lifted the phone, angling the camera toward Claudia.

She hesitated for the briefest moment.

Then—slowly, deliberately—she posed.

Her shoulders pulled back. One leg shifted slightly forward, accentuating the elegant lines of her body. Her damp skin glowed under the soft lighting.

Peter’s mouth went dry.

His hands trembled slightly as he focused the shot. His mind screamed at him to stop, to hand the phone back, to not do this.

But his body obeyed.

The soft click of the camera felt deafening.

One photo.

Then another.

Richard exhaled softly, taking a slow sip of his drink, his gaze flicking toward the screen in Peter’s hand. There was something indulgent in the way he tilted his head, something amused.

"Mmm. That’s nice," he murmured, as if he were admiring a work of art. Then, his smirk deepening, his voice took on a more thoughtful edge. "But I can’t help but feel we’re missing something."

Peter stiffened.

"Let’s get one more." A beat. Then, lower, smoother, with quiet satisfaction: "Turn around for us, Claudia."

Peter’s stomach plummeted.

Claudia hesitated—just a second. Then, with elegant, unhurried ease, she obeyed.

Peter clenched the phone tighter, his pulse hammering.

The wet fabric hugged every curve, the delicate fabric, accentuating the soft swell beneath. From this angle, she looked even more devastating.

Richard hummed low in his throat, dragging his eyes over her like he was savoring something.

Claudia let herself be photographed.

By Peter.

For Richard.

When he was finished, Peter lowered the phone, his breath uneven.

Richard took it back without a word, glancing down at the screen.

A slow, satisfied smile curled at the corner of his lips. "Perfect."

Peter clenched his jaw, heat crawling up his neck.

Richard looked back at Claudia, holding her gaze.

"You’re getting used to this, aren’t you?"

Claudia’s breath hitched.

She didn’t respond immediately.

But then, she nodded.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to protest.

But all he could feel was arousal.

Richard’s approval.

Claudia’s quiet acceptance.

And his own surrender.

As the night wound down, the guests slowly began to drift away from the poolside lounge, retreating into more private conversations or making their way toward the exit.

Peter and Claudia approached Richard and Evelyn, who stood near the patio bar, their own glasses still half-full.

Richard’s gaze flickered to Claudia first. Always first.

“You carried yourself well tonight,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying that same composed weight.

Claudia held his gaze, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Peter noticed something unsettling in the exchange.

It wasn’t a guest thanking a host.

It was a student accepting her teacher’s approval.

Evelyn smiled, reaching out to touch Claudia’s arm lightly. “We’ll see you both again soon, won’t we?”

Peter hesitated.

Claudia didn’t.

“Yes,” she said softly.

Peter felt the answer land in his chest like a stone.

The drive back was quiet.

Not uncomfortable. But charged.

Peter kept his hands on the wheel, his mind running over every moment of the night.

Beside him, Claudia sat with her legs crossed, arms relaxed against her lap. The glow of passing streetlights caught the sheen of her skin, her damp hair curling slightly at the ends.

She hadn’t changed out of the swimsuit.

She had just put her dress over it before they got into the car.

Peter swallowed. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Claudia turned her head slightly, watching him. A beat of silence stretched between them before she spoke.

“I did.”

Peter exhaled slowly. “You looked… amazing.”

She smiled softly. “Thank you.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the sheets. The scent of chlorine and Claudia’s perfume still lingered, a reminder of everything that had happened tonight.

Peter sat at the edge of the bed, his body still wired, still pulsing with the weight of the evening.

Peter exhaled sharply as she stepped out of her dress, standing before him in nothing but that black, gleaming fabric.

It hugged her body the way Richard had promised it would.

It accentuated everything. Highlighted her shape.

And it was undeniable now—she wasn’t wearing it for Peter alone.

She was wearing it because Richard had chosen it.

She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and climbed onto his lap.

Peter’s breath caught as she straddled him, her thighs warm against his hips, the cool fabric of the swimsuit pressing against his skin.

“You were quiet tonight,” she murmured, dragging her fingers along the back of his neck.

Peter swallowed hard. “I was just… taking it all in.”

Claudia smirked. “And what exactly were you taking in?”

Peter exhaled shakily, his hands finding her waist, gripping just enough to steady himself.

“You,” he admitted.

Her smile deepened. “And Richard?”

Peter tensed beneath her.

Claudia tilted her head, pressing her body closer. “You watched him, didn’t you?”

Peter couldn’t deny it.

“You watched how he looked at me. How I…” she dragged her nails lightly along his scalp, making him shudder, “let him.”

Peter groaned, his grip on her tightening.

Claudia leaned in, lips brushing against his ear.

“You liked it.”

Peter let out a sharp breath. “Claudia…”

Her hand slid lower.

She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him through his boxers, slow and teasing.

“You’re hard just thinking about it,” she whispered.

Peter was unraveling.

And then, as she stroked him, she spoke the words he wasn’t ready to hear.

“I really enjoy this adventure. And I want him to guide us further into this.”

Peter’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing beneath her.

Her fingers kept moving. Slow. Soft. Relentless.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his mind clouded with jealousy, arousal, and something darker—something he didn’t want to name.

And then, just as he reached the edge—just as he lost control—

Richard’s words echoed in his mind.

"The beautiful fabric, and your wife’s even more alluring body, should be displayed without such interference."

The thought struck him at the exact moment he came.

A sharp, overwhelming release tore through him, pleasure mixing with the unbearable weight of Richard’s voice in his head.

He let out a shuddering breath, his body trembling beneath Claudia’s touch.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then Claudia smiled, slow and satisfied.

Peter couldn’t speak.

Because even now, in the lingering aftershocks, Richard was still there.

And Peter wasn’t sure he wanted him to leave.