Chapter 1

The room was dim, shadows dancing along the walls as I lay there, my legs hooked over Ben’s broad shoulders. The cool air brushed against my skin, making me shiver—or maybe that was just him, thrusting into me with all the desperation of someone who didn’t know how to hold back.

“Oh fuck, yes! Fuck me harder!” The words spilled out, loud, raw, like I couldn’t keep them in. His hips stuttered for a second—God, I knew that would happen—but then he adjusted, gripping my tits like they were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“You can be rougher! Harder!” I snapped, not even sure if I was egging him on or trying to rile him up. His rhythm picked up, his cock hitting just the right spot for half a second, and I could feel it—heat building low, so close. So fucking close.

But then it happened. His head tipped back, his mouth falling open in that telltale grunt. The deep, guttural sound of him coming sent vibrations through me—his whole body trembled as I felt the first hot pulse spill inside me.

“Fuck,” he groaned, slowing down as he worked himself through it. “God, I love it when you say that.”

I rolled my eyes, panting. “It’s not the first time I’ve said it,” I shot back, my breath catching in my chest. “You should be used to it by now.”

It was unfair—mean even—but I couldn’t help it. He pulled out, collapsing onto the bed next to me, all spent and satisfied, while I lay there, thighs still twitching with unrealized need. The frustration hit hard, but I swallowed it down.

“Did you come?” His voice was soft, apologetic even, as he turned his head to look at me.

I shook my head, biting my lip. “Not yet.”

“I’ll get you there, don’t worry.” And he did—at least he always tried. Before I could protest, he was already between my legs, his breath hot against my inner thighs.

His tongue flicked out, slow and deliberate, tracing the mess he’d left inside me. Fuck, if nothing else, he was thorough. He didn’t care about taste or texture—hell, maybe he even liked it. His lips closed around my clit, sucking just hard enough to make my back arch.

“Shit—Ben...” My voice cracked as his thumb joined in, rubbing slick, firm circles that made my head spin. He wasn’t just good at this—he was relentless. Every soft moan, every twitch, only pushed him harder. His tongue worked over me, deep strokes that sent jolts of electricity through my body until I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Oh—oh my God, don’t stop—” My words turned into a strangled cry as the orgasm hit, crashing over me like a fucking tidal wave. My thighs clenched around his head as I rode it out, his tongue still moving, drawing out every last second of bliss until I couldn’t take it anymore.

When I finally collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving, he crawled up beside me. “Told you I’d get you there,” he said with a sheepish grin.

I didn’t reply right away. It was our routine—me faking enthusiasm, him pretending this was enough. The truth sat heavy between us, unspoken but undeniable.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a long silence. “I ... I know it’s not the same.”

It wasn’t. And he could tell—no matter how hard I tried to keep the disappointment off my face, he always saw it. I gave him a tight smile, hoping it looked convincing.

“It’s fine,” I said, too quickly. “You came, I came. We both came.”

He frowned, turning onto his side to face me. “But it’s gotta be different, right? When you come and I’m still inside you?”

I stared at the ceiling, searching for the right words. “It ... it is,” I admitted finally. “A little different.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll work on it,” he said, and I could see the determination in his eyes. I wanted to believe him, but as he pulled me close, the frustration lingered, settling in like a third presence in the room.

Ben held me close, his arm draped over my stomach as his fingertips traced absent patterns on my skin. It was one of those things he did—like maybe if he touched me softly enough, it’d distract me from what was hanging between us. I wanted to let it go. I really did. But the air in the room felt heavy, thick with words we weren’t saying.

“I hate that I disappoint you,” he said finally, voice low and a little broken.

I turned my head to look at him, his face so earnest it made my chest ache. He always blamed himself, even for things I tried to tell him weren’t his fault. Tried and failed, obviously. “You don’t,” I lied, smoothing my hand over his arm. “You’re great, Ben. It’s not a big deal.”

He scoffed softly, his blue eyes narrowing. “Tiff, come on. I’m not an idiot. I can see it all over your face, every time.” He paused, pressing his lips together like he was steeling himself for the next part. “It’s not just physical, is it? It’s us.”

His words hit harder than I expected, sharp and unrelenting. I sat up instinctively, dragging the sheet with me like it could shield me from what he’d just said. “That’s not fair,” I started, but he interrupted.

“Isn’t it? I mean, fuck, we’ve been doing this for years—this whole thing where I try and make it work, and you pretend you’re not disappointed. How long can we keep pretending it’s enough?”

I blinked, caught between wanting to lash out and wanting to cry. The worst part? He wasn’t wrong. I felt the knot in my chest tighten as I looked at him, his face so open, so vulnerable. “It’s not you,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “It’s not. I just ... I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect, Tiff. I mean it. I just ... I don’t know if I’m what you really want anymore.”

My stomach twisted, and I felt the words bubbling up before I could stop them. “What are you saying? That we’re broken? That we should just give up?”

“No!” he said quickly, sitting up and reaching for me. His hands found my shoulders, grounding me even as my thoughts spiraled. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I love you, okay? I fucking love you. But something’s gotta change, because this...” He gestured vaguely between us. “This can’t be it. Not for either of us.”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. My mind was racing, spinning through all the ways I could deflect, could downplay, could pretend this was just a passing moment. But deep down, I knew he was right. I’d been ignoring the cracks for so long, hoping they’d somehow seal themselves. Now they felt more like chasms, and I didn’t know how to fix them.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admitted softly, my throat tightening as the words slipped out. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Ben’s hands slid down to mine, his grip warm and steady. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty in his eyes. “Together. But we’ve gotta stop pretending everything’s fine. We owe each other that much.”

I nodded, swallowing hard as tears threatened to spill. He pulled me into his chest, his chin resting on the top of my head. For the first time in a long time, we just stayed like that—no words, no pretending. Just the weight of everything we were carrying, pressing against us like gravity.

It wasn’t a resolution, not really. But maybe it was a start.

A few nights later, we were tangled up in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp throwing warm light across the sheets. Ben’s hands were on my hips, his mouth tracing lazy kisses up my neck. The familiar rhythm of our bodies moving together was soothing, comforting, but something about the way his fingers tightened told me he had something on his mind.

He pulled back slightly, his lips red and swollen, his breath warm against my face. “Hey, uh, there’s something I want to show you,” he murmured, a little hesitant.

I raised an eyebrow, my fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. “Show me what?”

Instead of answering, he reached over to the nightstand and pulled something out of the drawer. When I saw it, I blinked. A silicone dildo—no, not quite. It was hollowed out, like a sheath, about seven inches long and noticeably thicker than his cock. It looked ... realistic. Too realistic.

“It’s a cock sleeve,” he explained, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been reading about it. You know, how it can help me, uh, last longer. It’s supposed to reduce the sensation for me.”

I stared at it, my mind spinning as I tried to process what he was saying. “Okay,” I said slowly, my eyes flicking between him and the toy. “And you ... wear it?”

He nodded, clearly trying to gauge my reaction. “Yeah. I thought—maybe—it could help. And, I mean...” He trailed off, his cheeks flushing as he gestured vaguely at the size of the thing.

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing—not in a mean way, but the whole situation was so surreal. “Ben, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve never been much for toys.” I ran my fingers over the silicone, the material feeling cold and unnervingly smooth. “I’ve never liked how they feel.”

“I know,” he said quickly, almost defensively. “But I figured ... I don’t know, we could try? Just once? If you hate it, we’ll stop.”

I sighed, the memory of the last time we’d had this kind of conversation flashing in my mind. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to try. It’s just—this wasn’t us. Or at least, it hadn’t been. “Alright,” I said finally, my voice softer. “Let’s see how it goes.”

Ben’s face lit up with a mix of relief and excitement, and I watched as he slipped the sleeve over his cock. It fit snugly, transforming him in a way that was, frankly, a little unsettling. His cock had always been the only one I’d ever seen, let alone felt. And now this—this bigger, bulkier version of him—felt foreign. Alien, almost.

“It looks ... different,” I said, not sure what else to say.

“It’s realistic, right?” he offered, clearly trying to keep the mood light. “It’s supposed to be.”

“Yeah, maybe a little too realistic,” I muttered under my breath. He was already hard, though, the fake cock standing proud as he climbed back onto the bed.

We started kissing again, his hands finding my breasts, his weight pressing me into the mattress. The silicone cock nudged between my thighs, sliding against my folds in a way that felt ... off. Colder than I expected. Less alive. But I didn’t stop him, letting myself get lost in the way his mouth moved against mine, how his fingers teased and tugged at my nipples.

When he finally positioned himself at my entrance, he paused, searching my face for permission. I nodded, my legs spreading wider as I braced myself. He pushed in slowly, the head stretching me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as he slid deeper. The stretch was intense—almost too much—but there was something about the fullness, the way it filled every inch of me, that made me gasp again. “God, Ben...”

He stopped halfway in, his breathing ragged. “You okay?” he asked, his voice tight.

“Yeah,” I breathed, my body adjusting to the size. “Just ... give me a second.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it yet. It was new, overwhelming, but not necessarily bad. I closed my eyes, focusing on the weight of him above me, the way his hands gripped my thighs like he was trying to hold himself back.

I took a deep breath and nodded for him to move, needing more, wanting more. He pushed in deeper, inch by inch, and the stretch burned in the best possible way. “Oh my God, Ben,” I groaned, my back arching as he filled me completely. The sleeve was so much bigger than I was used to, but fuck, it felt good—so good I could barely think straight.

He started thrusting, slow and tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure if I could handle it. But every time his hips met mine, every time that thick, unyielding cock stretched me just a little further, I moaned—louder than I usually did, my voice high and desperate.

“Fuck, Tiff,” he muttered, his eyes wide as he looked down at me. “You’re so into it tonight.”

I was. More than I wanted to admit. My fingers clawed at the sheets, my body arching to meet his every thrust. The weight of him, the sheer size of him, was driving me insane. I could feel the pressure building low in my stomach, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke. “Don’t stop,” I gasped, my hips bucking against his. “God, don’t fucking stop.”

Ben grunted in response, his movements getting faster, more frantic. I could tell he was trying to keep control, trying to hold back, but it wasn’t working. His hands gripped my hips so hard I was sure there’d be bruises tomorrow, and his breathing turned rough, uneven.

I was right there, teetering on the edge, my body trembling with the need to tip over. My moans turned into cries, sharp and desperate, and I could feel him getting closer too. “Ben—fuck, don’t stop, I’m almost there—”

But then his hips jerked, his head falling back as that telltale groan escaped his lips. “Fuck, Tiff—fuck!” His thrusts faltered, his cock twitching inside me as he came, filling the sleeve between us.

I froze, my body clenching around him as I waited—waited for him to move, to keep going, to get me there. But he didn’t. He collapsed on top of me, his breathing heavy and uneven, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

I stared at the ceiling, the tension in my body quickly dissolving into frustration. My thighs trembled, my body screaming for release, but it was too late. The moment had passed.

“Shit,” he panted, lifting himself up slightly to look at me. His face was flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead, and he gave me a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I thought I could hold out longer.”

I didn’t say anything at first, biting my lip to keep the disappointment off my face. “It’s fine,” I said eventually, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “Really. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t. And we both knew it.

Ben rolled off me, the bed creaking as he settled on his back beside me. I stayed where I was, legs still spread, my body still buzzing and unfulfilled. I didn’t look at him right away, focusing instead on the ceiling fan spinning lazily above us. My skin felt hot, flushed from what had almost been incredible.

“I’ll fix it,” he said softly, turning his head to look at me. His voice was heavy with guilt, like it always was after something like this. “Just give me a minute.”

I shook my head, sitting up and pulling the sheet over my chest. “It’s fine, Ben. You don’t have to.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, and his expression tightened.

“I want to,” he said, his hand brushing my thigh. “I hate leaving you like this.”

I exhaled through my nose, trying to rein in the irritation bubbling under my skin. “It’s not like you do it on purpose.” I regretted the words the second they left my mouth. His hand stilled, and the room went quiet except for the hum of the fan.

“Tiff...” He sounded unsure, like he didn’t know whether to defend himself or let it slide.

I turned to him, forcing a softer tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just ... frustrated. It felt so good, and then...” I gestured vaguely, not wanting to say the rest. He didn’t need me to spell it out. He already knew.

Ben sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. “I’ll get you there,” he said again, his hand moving to my knee, squeezing it gently. “Lie back. Please.”

I hesitated, my body warring with my brain. I wanted to feel good—needed to feel good—but I hated this cycle. Him apologizing, me pretending it was okay, both of us trying to patch over cracks that felt deeper every time. But the ache between my legs wouldn’t be ignored, so I sighed and leaned back, letting my legs fall open.

His lips found the inside of my thigh first, soft and warm against my skin. He worked his way up slowly, his tongue leaving a wet trail that sent shivers up my spine. I didn’t want to enjoy it—I didn’t want to let go of the irritation still simmering in my chest—but fuck, he was good at this.

When his mouth reached my pussy, I couldn’t help the sharp gasp that escaped me. His tongue was hot, insistent, flicking against my clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Oh, fuck,” I breathed, my hips lifting instinctively as he sucked, his lips forming a seal that sent jolts of pleasure through me.

Ben didn’t let up, his hands gripping my thighs as he worked me over with an intensity that made my head spin. He used his tongue, his lips, his thumb, all in perfect rhythm, and I could feel the tension rebuilding—coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like I might snap.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, my voice shaking. “Ben, please, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down, his tongue moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against my clit. My thighs clenched around his head as the orgasm slammed into me, sharp and overwhelming, tearing a cry from my throat. I rode the waves as long as I could, my body trembling under his touch until I finally had to push him away.

Ben sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his blue eyes watching me carefully. “Better?” he asked, his voice low, tentative.

I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. “Yeah,” I said after a moment, my voice soft. “Thanks.”

But as he lay back down beside me, pulling me into his arms, I couldn’t shake the lingering frustration. It wasn’t about the orgasm—not really. It was about how hard we had to work to feel connected these days, how much effort it took to make something that used to come so naturally.

I wanted to say something, to tell him what I was feeling, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I closed my eyes and let him hold me, the weight of unspoken truths pressing against us like a second blanket.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of Ben shuffling around the apartment. He always got up before me on weekends, leaving me sprawled across the bed like a starfish. It wasn’t unusual, but something about the way he’d avoided eye contact last night, even after he’d gotten me off, stuck in my mind. Like he was keeping something from me.

He’d left his laptop open on the desk in the corner of our room, a rarity for him. Normally, he was obsessive about closing it—privacy, he always said. But today, there it was, glowing faintly in the soft morning light. I almost ignored it, but the nagging sense of unease wouldn’t let me. I told myself I was just being paranoid, that I wasn’t really going to snoop. I just wanted to ... check something.

Sitting down, I jiggled the mouse to wake the screen, and the first thing that popped up was his browser. The tabs at the top caught my eye immediately—names I didn’t recognize, words I barely understood. “Rough amateurs.” “Hotwife takes huge cock.” “Cuckold humiliation compilation.” The blood drained from my face as I clicked one of the tabs, my curiosity outweighing my nerves. The video started instantly, no preamble. A woman, petite and blonde—fuck, she even looked a little like me—was pinned against a bedpost, her wrists tied with something that looked rougher than it should’ve been. A man behind her, big and muscular, was pounding into her while someone else, smaller, just watched. Not participated. Watched.

I froze, my stomach twisting as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. My gaze flicked to the sidebar, full of more titles I didn’t understand: “Cuckolding for beginners.” “She gets filled while hubby watches.”

“What the fuck...” I whispered to myself, my fingers trembling as I closed the video and opened another. Same theme. And another. And another. The pattern was unavoidable—rough sex, dominant strangers, men who were not the woman’s partner. Sometimes the other guy was just watching, other times he was begging. I had no idea what “cuckolding” was, so I Googled it, my heart hammering in my chest as the definition popped up.

Watching your partner have sex with someone else.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I leaned back in the chair, staring at the screen in disbelief. Was this what Ben wanted? For me to fuck someone else? To watch? To be humiliated like the men in those videos? My mind reeled with the implications, and a wave of anger surged through me.

Why hadn’t he told me? Why was this something I had to discover instead of him being honest? And why, after all our conversations about struggling in bed, hadn’t he brought this up as part of the problem? Was I not enough? Or worse—was he secretly wishing I wasn’t there at all?

I slammed the laptop shut, my hands shaking as I stood up. I felt like I’d just stumbled into a side of him I wasn’t meant to see, a part of him that had been hiding in plain sight for God knows how long. My thoughts raced, questions piling up faster than I could answer them.

I paced the bedroom, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of those videos—Ben’s browser history burned into my mind. Rough. Humiliation. Cuckold.

I couldn’t sit with this alone. Not now. Not after seeing that.

Ben was in the kitchen when I stormed out of the bedroom, his back to me as he stood at the counter making coffee. He turned when he heard my footsteps, smiling faintly. “Morning,” he said, but his face fell the second he saw mine. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t bother easing into it. “What’s all the porn, Ben?” My voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet morning air like a knife. “All the rough stuff. The cuckolding. What the fuck is that about?”

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face before he quickly tried to cover it. “You went through my laptop?” he asked, defensive.

“Don’t,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “Don’t make this about me looking. I wasn’t even trying to snoop—it was just there. So explain. What is all that?”

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders slumping. “Tiff ... it’s just porn. It’s not—it’s not real. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Bullshit,” I shot back, my voice rising. “You’ve got hours of that stuff saved. And I looked it up, Ben. I know what it means. Is that what you want? You want me to fuck some other guy while you watch?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. That silence spoke louder than anything else. I took a step closer, my heart pounding. “Say something,” I demanded. “Do you actually want that, or is this just some fantasy you can’t even admit to?”

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice small. He wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t know what I want.” The words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I stared at him, my chest tightening as I realized I didn’t know what to say next. How do you even respond to that?

Ben finally met my eyes, and there was something raw there—something that made my anger falter, replaced by a dull ache in my chest. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping like the weight of everything was finally too much to hold.

“I just...” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “I feel like I’m failing you, Tiff. Like I can’t give you what you really want. What you need.”

I stared at him, my arms still crossed over my chest, but the fire in me had started to cool. He wasn’t defensive anymore—wasn’t trying to deflect or excuse what I’d found. He looked wrecked, like the words were cutting him as much as they were me.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me that?” I asked, my voice quieter now. “Why keep it all bottled up like this? I thought we were supposed to talk about this kind of stuff.”

He gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Because what the fuck was I supposed to say, huh? ‘Hey, Tiff, sorry I can’t make you come the way you want. Maybe some other guy could do it better?’ How the hell do you even start that conversation?”

I flinched at his words, the sharpness of them cutting a little too close to the truth. “It’s not about other guys, Ben,” I said, though my voice wavered. “It’s about us. And yeah, sometimes it’s frustrating, but that doesn’t mean I—” I stopped, swallowing hard. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you. But you shutting me out like this? It’s making everything worse.”

Ben stepped closer, his expression full of regret. “I know. I know I’ve fucked this up, Tiff. I’ve been in my head so much about ... everything. And I thought maybe those videos would ... I don’t know, give me ideas, or make me feel less like I’m fucking useless in bed. But the more I watched, the more I just felt like shit. Like I’d never measure up.”

The honesty in his voice hit me like a gut punch. I wanted to argue, to tell him he wasn’t useless, that he wasn’t failing me, but the words stuck in my throat. Because part of me did feel let down. Part of me did wonder what it would be like to feel completely satisfied without him needing to stop halfway through, or to finish me off some other way. And that part of me hated that he was right.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I just ... I didn’t know what else to do. I see how frustrated you are. I see how hard you try to pretend it’s okay, but it’s not. And it’s killing me, Tiff. It’s fucking killing me.”

I sank onto one of the kitchen chairs, my legs suddenly feeling too weak to hold me up. “You’re not killing me, Ben,” I said softly. “But yeah, it’s been ... hard. For both of us.”

He crouched in front of me, his hands resting on my knees as he looked up at me. “So what do we do? How do we fix this? Because I can’t keep going like this—hurting you, disappointing you. I love you too much to just ignore this anymore.”

I looked down at him, his blue eyes wide and pleading, and felt my heart crack open just a little. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to give up on us. So we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Ben nodded, his grip on my knees tightening like he was anchoring himself to me. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said, his voice steady now. “Anything to make this work.”

I believed him—or at least, I wanted to. But as I looked at him, so earnest and full of regret, I couldn’t help but wonder if love alone would be enough to fix the cracks that had been forming between us for so long.

The days that followed were ... weird. Awkward, even. We weren’t exactly avoiding each other, but everything felt off. The easy rhythm we’d always had—the little jokes, the playful teasing—it was all gone, replaced by this uncomfortable silence neither of us seemed willing to break.

I’d catch him watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking, his face full of guilt and something else I couldn’t quite place. Maybe fear. Maybe hope. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

By the third night, I couldn’t take it anymore. We were sitting on the couch, a half-finished bowl of popcorn between us and some mindless sitcom playing in the background. Ben was staring at the TV, but I could tell he wasn’t paying attention. His foot bounced nervously against the floor, a dead giveaway that his mind was somewhere else.

I turned the TV off, and the sudden quiet made him flinch.

“Tiff?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

I shifted to face him, tucking one leg under the other. “What did you mean?” I asked, my voice cutting through the silence. “When you said you’d do anything to make this work—what did you mean by that?”

Ben froze, his eyes flicking between mine like he was trying to figure out what I wanted him to say. “I—I just meant...” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Whatever it takes, you know? If there’s something you need, or something you want to try—”

“No,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “Don’t dance around it. Be honest with me. What were you thinking when you said that? What did you mean?”

His jaw tightened, and I could see the internal war playing out on his face. He hesitated, like he was deciding whether to tell me the truth or try to spin it into something less messy.

“I meant...” He swallowed hard, his voice lowering. “I’d do whatever it takes to make you happy. Even if it’s something that makes me uncomfortable. Or something ... unconventional.”

I blinked, his words sinking in. “Unconventional,” I repeated, my voice flat.

Ben nodded slowly, his hands gripping his knees. “I’ve been thinking about it since we talked. I don’t know, Tiff—maybe we’ve been doing this wrong. Maybe we need to be more open. Try things outside the box.”

He said it carefully, like he was afraid I’d explode. And maybe he was right to worry, because the idea made my stomach twist in a way I couldn’t quite name.

“Open?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. “You mean ... like open open?”

He winced, his cheeks flushing. “Not like that—not necessarily. I just mean ... exploring. Together. You know, like the stuff I was watching—”

“The cuckolding stuff?” I cut in, my words slicing through the tension.

He didn’t deny it, which was somehow worse. He just nodded, his face etched with guilt. “It doesn’t have to be exactly that,” he said quickly. “But if that’s something that turns you on, or makes you curious, I’d try it. For you.”

The room felt too small all of a sudden, the air too thick. I stood up, pacing to the other side of the couch. “Ben, you can’t just ... throw that out there like it’s some casual suggestion. Do you even hear yourself right now?”