The Holiday Switch
Copyright© 2026 by THodge
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - THE HOLIDAY SWITCH After fifteen years of being invisible to her workaholic husband, Deniece Walker's life transforms when Emma Henderson offers friendship—and dangerous temptation. What begins as makeup and confidence-building evolves into something far more intoxicating: stolen kisses in hot tubs, her husband fantasizing about Emma, and Deniece craving Emma's husband Ted. With her $250,000 inheritance and newfound sexual awakening, Deniece no longer needs Tim for anything. But after one brutal
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Cuckold Sharing Wife Watching Group Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Big Breasts Nudism
Deniece lay in the afterglow, staring at the ceiling.
Fifteen years of marriage.
The truth was, she still loved him.
That was the part that hurt most. She loved Tim—the man who’d asked her to marry him at a business conference, who’d promised to build a life together, who’d worked so hard to make his business succeed.
She loved Tim who used to notice when she got her hair cut. Who used to compliment her dresses. Who used to pull her close on the couch and kiss her just because.
That Tim had existed once.
But somewhere along the way—gradually, so slowly she hadn’t noticed until it was too late—he’d stopped seeing her. Stopped touching her with intention. Stopped being present for anything except his business.
And she’d let herself fade. Become invisible. Convinced herself it was normal, that this was just what marriage looked like after fifteen years.
But now she knew better.
Now she’d tasted what it felt like to be seen. To feel desired. To experience real pleasure. To remember she was more than just Tim’s wife and housekeeper.
And she couldn’t un-know it.
Deniece heard Tim’s voice downstairs, still on the phone. Still prioritizing Henderson’s account over the wife waiting upstairs.
She loved him.
But love wasn’t enough anymore.
Not when it was one-sided. Not when she was giving everything and getting nothing back. Not when he couldn’t even be bothered to look at her face.
Her phone buzzed.
Emma: How was the rest of your day? 😏
Deniece smiled sadly and typed: Amazing and terrible at the same time. I just came three times with both toys. Then I lay here realizing I still love my husband even though he doesn’t deserve it.
Emma’s response took a moment: Oh honey. Love and deserve are two different things. You can love him and still choose yourself.
Deniece read that three times.
You can love him and still choose yourself.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Maybe I can.”
Emma stared at Deniece’s text, her heart squeezing with unexpected emotion.
She hadn’t meant to make Deniece fall out of love with Tim. That was never the plan.
The plan was to wake Deniece up. Make her confident. Sexy. Aware of her own power. And then—when both women were ready, when the timing was perfect—suggest something that would benefit everyone.
A swap.
Ted fucking Deniece while Emma finally got to feel Tim’s cock inside her.
Not an affair. Not a divorce. Not destroying marriages.
Just two couples exploring pleasure together. Sharing. Swinging.
Emma had seen it work dozens of times. Marriages that were stale became exciting again. Couples who’d stopped really seeing each other suddenly appreciated what they had when they watched someone else desire their partner.
Tim would see Deniece through Ted’s eyes—confident, sexy, desirable. He’d remember why he married her.
Deniece would feel wanted, worshipped, properly fucked for the first time in years. Then she’d go back to Tim renewed, awakened, satisfied.
And Emma would get what she’d wanted since that first dinner—Tim’s hands on her body, his cock filling her, his eyes seeing her the way he’d been programmed not to see his own wife.
Everyone wins.
But only if Deniece didn’t leave Tim first.
Emma typed carefully: I don’t want you to leave him, honey. I want you to remember you’re worth being SEEN. Maybe Tim just needs a wake-up call. Maybe he needs to see you through someone else’s eyes to remember what he has.
She paused, then added: Sometimes marriages need a spark. Something to shake them out of routine. Make both people remember why they chose each other.
Deniece: What kind of spark?
Emma smiled at her phone.
We’ll talk about it. When you’re ready. No pressure. But trust me—there are ways to save a marriage that don’t involve suffering in silence.
Deniece: Okay. I trust you.
Emma set her phone down.
Four months until Christmas.
Right on schedule.
Emma called Deniece instead of texting. This conversation needed to happen voice-to-voice.
“Hey,” Deniece answered. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking. You, me, Ted, and Tim—dinner at our place this Saturday. Casual, just the four of us. Good food, wine, conversation.”
“I don’t know, Emma. Tim’s not exactly great at social stuff—”
[M-expression] Emma’s face showed calculated determination mixed with playful mischief as she spoke, eyes bright with purpose and lips curving into a knowing smile, the expression of someone about to move a chess piece into exactly the right position while making it look completely innocent and spontaneous.
“Here’s the thing, honey. I’m going to be honest with you because we’re friends.” Emma’s voice dropped lower, more intimate. “I’m going to have Ted flirt with you. Really flirt. Compliment you, notice you, make you feel desired.”
“What? Emma—”
“Listen. You need to feel what it’s like when a man actually sees you. And Tim needs to watch another man want his wife. Maybe that’ll wake him up. Remind him what he’s been taking for granted.”
Silence on the other end.
“You want your husband to make a pass at me?” Deniece’s voice was shocked but not angry.
“I want you to feel desirable. And I want Tim to feel jealous. Maybe a little threatened. Maybe reminded that you’re not just his invisible wife—you’re a beautiful woman other men would kill to have.” Emma paused. “Nothing has to happen. Just conversation, flirting, attention. But I guarantee you, it’ll change things.”
“This is crazy.”
“Is it? Or is it exactly what both marriages need?” Emma softened her voice. “Trust me, Deniece. You’ve trusted me this far, and look how far you’ve come. Trust me one more time.”
Deniece was quiet for a long moment.
“Okay,” she finally whispered. “Saturday. I’ll be there.”
Emma smiled.
“Wear that black skirt.”
Emma hung up and immediately called Ted.
“Dinner Saturday night. Our place. Tim, Deniece, you, me.”
“Finally.” Ted’s voice held anticipation. “What’s the play?”
“You’re going to flirt with Deniece. Hard. Compliment her, notice everything Tim doesn’t see—her makeup, her outfit, how beautiful she is. Make her feel desired.”
“And Tim?”
“Tim’s going to watch another man want his wife. Maybe it’ll wake him up. Maybe he’ll finally see what he’s been ignoring.” Emma’s voice turned darker, more excited. “And I’m going to flirt with Tim. See if he reacts. Test the waters.”
“You think he’ll go for it?”
“Baby, he’s been thinking about me since that first dinner. I saw it in his eyes. He just needs permission—or at least plausible deniability.”
Ted was quiet for a moment. “What if Deniece freaks out?”
“She won’t. I told her the plan. She agreed. She’s wearing the black skirt.”
“The really short one?”
“That’s the one.” Emma smiled. “So you’ll get to see those legs up close. Touch her arm when you talk. Lean in close. Make Tim wonder what the fuck is happening.”
“You’re evil.”
“I’m effective. Four months until Christmas, Ted. This is how we get them ready.”
“And if it works too well? If she actually wants me?”
“Then you fuck her. That’s the whole point.” Emma’s voice was matter-of-fact. “But not Saturday. Saturday is just planting seeds. Showing them both what’s possible. Making them think about it.”
“What should I cook?”
“Something impressive. Something that takes time so I can keep refilling wine glasses.” Emma laughed. “Get them tipsy and comfortable. Lower those inhibitions.”
“I love when you plan things.”
“I know you do. Saturday at seven. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Never.”
Emma hung up, already planning her outfit.
Four months until Christmas.
But Saturday might change everything.
TIM AND DENIECE’S HOUSE - THURSDAY EVENING
Deniece found Tim in his office, as always. She stood in the doorway, heart pounding.
“Emma invited us to dinner Saturday night. At their place. Just the four of us.”
Tim didn’t look up from his computer. “Henderson? Yeah, I can do that. Business stuff?”
“No. Social. Just dinner.”
Now he looked up, confused. “Why?”
“Because Emma’s my friend and she wants us to spend time together as couples.” Deniece kept her voice steady. “Seven o’clock. She’s making something nice.”
Tim frowned. “I’ve got paperwork Saturday—”
“Tim. It’s one dinner. With your biggest client. You can manage a few hours.”
Something in her tone made him pause. She wasn’t asking. She was telling.
“Fine. Yeah. Okay.” He returned to his screen. “What should I bring?”
“Just yourself. And maybe try to be present. Actually talk to people.”
He grunted acknowledgment, already absorbed again.
Deniece walked away, hands shaking slightly.
Saturday. Two days away.
She was going to wear the black skirt—the one that barely covered her thighs. The cream top that showed cleavage. The black lace lingerie underneath. The heels that made her legs look endless.
And Ted Henderson was going to flirt with her.
Really flirting.
Make her feel desired while her husband watches.
The thought terrified and excited her in equal measure.
What if Tim noticed? What if he got angry?
Or worse—what if he didn’t notice at all? What if another man openly desired his wife right in front of him and Tim was too oblivious to even register it?
Deniece went to her closet and pulled out the black skirt. Hold it against her body.
Saturday night, she was going to find out exactly what kind of marriage she had.
And exactly what she was willing to do about it.
Her phone buzzed.
Emma: Can’t wait for Saturday. You’re going to feel amazing. Trust me. ❤️
Deniece smiled nervously.
I trust you.
TIM’S OFFICE - FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Tim stared at his computer screen, pretending to review delivery schedules. But his mind was elsewhere.
That woman from Ted Henderson’s lobby. The one who’d bent over, flashing him red lace thong under that impossibly short black skirt. Long legs, perfect ass, that knowing smile when she’d turned around.
He’d jerked off thinking about her at least a dozen times since then.
Special delivery for Mrs. Henderson.
The fantasy was always the same. Walking into Ted’s office. Finding her bent over the desk. Skirt hiked up. Red panties pulled aside. She looked back over her shoulder, inviting him.
The package needs a signature, ma’am.
[M-expression] Tim’s jaw clenched with barely contained impatience and frustration, eyes darkening as he shifted in his chair to adjust his hardening cock, his expression showing the restless hunger of a man who’d been fantasizing about something he couldn’t have for weeks, face tight with sexual tension that had nowhere to go.
He’d never cheated on Deniece. Fifteen years, completely faithful.
But god, he wanted that woman.
Wanted to find out if she was as confident in bed as that smile suggested. Wanted to see what was under that skirt when it was intentionally being removed, not accidentally flashed.
His phone buzzed. Text from Deniece: Don’t forget dinner tomorrow at Ted and Emma’s. 7 PM.
Right. The social dinner thing.
Tim typed back: Got it.
He’d have to sit through an evening of small talk and probably mediocre food. At least Ted was good company—professional, successful, understood the business.
And maybe his wife would stay home and he wouldn’t have to make conversation with her too.
Tim returned to his computer, trying to focus on delivery routes.
But his mind kept drifting back to black skirts and red lace and women who looked at men like they knew exactly what they wanted.
My wife is nothing like those women.
SATURDAY - 5:30 PM
Deniece stood in front of her closet, staring at the black skirt like it might bite her.
This was really happening.
She showered first, taking her time. Shaved everywhere carefully. Applied lotion until her skin was soft and smooth.
The black lingerie went on first—bra, thong, garter belt, stockings. She looked at herself in the mirror, remembering how confident she’d felt the first time she’d worn this.
Tonight she needed that confidence more than ever.
The black skirt slid up her thighs, settling just below her ass. The cream top came next—V-neck showing cleavage, fitted to emphasize her waist.
Makeup took thirty minutes. She applied it more dramatically than usual—smoky eyes, defined cheekbones, bold lips. Not subtle. Not invisible.
Heels. The black ones, three inches, making her legs look endless.
Deniece studied her reflection.
She looked sexy. Confident. Desirable.
Nothing like the invisible housewife Tim had stopped seeing years ago.
“You ready?” Tim called from downstairs. “We should leave in fifteen.”
Deniece took a breath, grabbed her purse, and walked downstairs.
Tim stood by the door, keys in hand, looking at his phone.
She walked right up to him. Stood there. Waiting.
He glanced up absently. “Ready to—”
His eyes widened slightly. Actually focused on her for the first time in weeks.
“You look ... different,” he said slowly.
“I look good,” Deniece corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Tim’s gaze traveled down the short skirt, the heels, back up to her face. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe a hint of interest.
“Yeah. You do.” He cleared his throat. “When did you get that skirt?”
“A while ago. You didn’t notice.”
The words hung between them.
“Well. Let’s go.” Tim opened the door, already looking away.
But Deniece had seen it.
For just a moment, her husband had actually seen her.
Now she’d see if Ted could make it last.
IN THE CAR - SATURDAY EVENING
Tim drove toward the Henderson house, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Emma.
Ted’s wife was the woman from the lobby. The one who’d bent over in that black skirt, flashing red lace. The one who’d turned and smiled like she knew exactly what she’d done to him.
He’d realized it at that first business dinner—watched her walk away from the table and his brain had finally connected the dots. Same skirt. Same ass. Same knowing smile.
Ted Henderson’s wife was the woman who’d been starring in his fantasies for weeks.
And tonight he had to sit through dinner pretending he didn’t want to fuck her on the table.
“You’re quiet,” Deniece said from the passenger seat.
Tim glanced at her. The short black skirt. The heels. She did look good tonight—better than usual. When had she bought these clothes?
But his mind was already on Emma. What would she be wearing? Would she remember that moment in the lobby? Did she know he’d been thinking about her?
“Just thinking about work,” he lied.
They pulled up to the Henderson house—nice neighborhood, bigger than theirs. Tim parked, his heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years.
Get it together. She’s Ted’s wife. Your client’s wife. Off limits.
But god, he wanted her.
They walked to the front door. Tim could smell Deniece’s perfume—something new, expensive. Since when did she wear perfume?
He rang the doorbell.
Footsteps inside. The door opened.
Emma stood there in a red dress that hugged every curve. Her dark hair was down, lips painted deep crimson. She looked even better than she had in the lobby.
“Tim! Deniece!” Emma’s smile was warm, welcoming. Her eyes lingered on Tim just a fraction too long. “Come in, come in. Ted’s in the kitchen finishing up dinner.”
She hugged Deniece first, then turned to Tim.
“So good to see you again,” Emma said, her hand touching his arm as she leaned in for a brief hug.
Tim caught her scent—something floral and warm, the same from the lobby. His cock stirred.
“You too,” he managed.
Emma’s eyes sparkled like she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Wine?” she offered, already leading them inside. “I have a wonderful Pinot open.”
Tim followed, watching the red dress sway with each step.
This was going to be a very long dinner.
Or a very interesting one.
TED AND EMMA’S HOUSE - SATURDAY EVENING
Emma led them into a beautifully decorated living room—tasteful furniture, soft lighting, jazz playing quietly in the background. Nothing like the sterile showroom feel of Tim and Deniece’s house.
“Ted! They’re here!” Emma called toward the kitchen.
Ted appeared, wiping his hands on a towel. He was dressed casually—dark jeans, button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves. Confidence. Comfortable in his own skin.
“Tim, good to see you.” They shook hands. “And Deniece—”
Ted’s eyes traveled down her body slowly. The short black skirt. The cream top showing cleavage. The heels. His gaze lingered just a fraction too long before returning to her face.
“Wow. You look absolutely stunning,” Ted said, his voice warm and genuine.
Deniece felt her face flush. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. That color is perfect for you.” Ted stepped closer, touching her arm lightly. “Tim’s a lucky man.”
Tim’s jaw tightened slightly. He’d barely glanced at Deniece in the car, but now Ted was complimenting his wife and he felt ... something. Irritation? Possessiveness?
“Wine?” Emma offered, already pouring four glasses of red. “I opened a nice Cabernet.”
She handed Tim his glass, her fingers brushing his deliberately. Their eyes met. Emma’s smile was warm, inviting, and knowing.
“Thanks,” Tim managed.
Emma turned to Deniece. “You look amazing, by the way. I told you that skirt was perfect.”
“You helped me pick it out,” Deniece said, relaxing slightly.
“Well, I have good taste.” Emma winked. “And Ted clearly appreciates it.”
Ted raised his glass. “To good friends and good company.”
They clinked glasses. Tim took a long drink, very aware of Emma standing close enough that he could smell her perfume.
Deniece caught Ted’s eye again. He smiled at her—not polite, but interested.
“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” Ted said. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
The evening had begun.
And everyone knew it wasn’t really about dinner.
They settled into the living room—Ted and Deniece on the couch, Tim and Emma in adjacent chairs. The seating arrangement wasn’t accidental.
Emma leaned forward toward Tim, her red dress shifting to show more cleavage. “So Tim, how’s the business? Ted says you’ve been absolutely crushing it with the Henderson account.”
“It’s going well. Hired two more drivers.” Tim tried not to stare at her breasts. Failed.
Emma noticed. Smiled slightly.
Meanwhile, Ted turned his full attention to Deniece. “Emma mentioned you two have been shopping together. I have to say, the transformation is incredible.”
“Transformation?” Deniece asked.
“You look like a completely different person than that first dinner.” Ted’s voice was appreciative, not judgmental. “More confident. Alive. Beautiful.”
Deniece’s face glowed with genuine confidence and pleasure, shoulders back and chin lifted as she met Ted’s eyes directly without the shy deflection she would have shown weeks ago, her smile warm and self-assured, the expression of a woman who knew she looked good and was finally allowing herself to enjoy being desired.
“Thank you. I feel different.”
“What changed?” Ted asked, leaning in like her answer actually mattered.
“I guess I just ... stopped hiding.” Deniece crossed her legs, and the skirt rode up higher on her thighs. She didn’t pull it down. “Remembered I was more than just someone’s wife.”
Ted’s eyes dropped to her legs briefly. “Well, whoever that someone is should be reminded what he has.”
The comment hung in the air.
Tim heard it from across the room. His hand tightened on his wine glass.
Emma stood smoothly. “I’ll help you in the kitchen, Ted. Tim, keep Deniece company?”
She walked past Tim, her hand trailing across his shoulder as she passed.
Ted followed Emma, glancing back at Deniece with a smile that promised this was just the beginning.
Tim and Deniece sat alone in the living room.
The silence between them was loaded.
Tim stared at his wine glass. Deniece smoothed her skirt, acutely aware of how short it was, how much leg she was showing.
“You do look different,” Tim said finally. “When did you start wearing makeup again?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“And the clothes?”
“Same time.”
Tim looked at her properly for the first time in months. Really looked. The makeup made her eyes stunning. The skirt showed legs he’d forgotten were that good. The top revealed breasts he’d stopped appreciating years ago.
“Why?” he asked.
Deniece’s face flickered with guilt and uncertainty, eyes unable to quite meet his as her smile faltered slightly, the internal conflict visible in the tightness around her mouth—she knew this whole evening was orchestrated, knew Ted’s compliments were part of Emma’s plan to wake Tim up, and the weight of that deception sat uncomfortably even as she tried to maintain her newfound confidence.
“Because I wanted to feel pretty again,” she said quietly. “Because I was tired of being invisible.”
“I never said you were invisible.”
“You didn’t have to say it, Tim. You stopped looking at me years ago.”
The words hit him harder than expected. Because they were true.
“I’ve been busy with the business—”
“I know.” Deniece’s voice wasn’t angry, just sad. “You’re always busy.”
Silence stretched between them. In the kitchen, they could hear Emma laughing at something Ted said. Easy. Comfortable. The way they used to be.
“Ted seems ... interested in you,” Tim said, voice tight.
Deniece looked up. Was that jealousy? Actual jealousy from her husband who hadn’t noticed her in years?
“He’s just being nice.”
“He was staring at your legs.”
“So were you. Just now. First time in months you’ve actually looked at me.”
Tim opened his mouth. Closed it. No defense came.
From the kitchen, Emma called out: “Dinner’s ready! Come eat!”
Deniece stood, smoothing her skirt.
“Coming,” she called back.
She walked toward the dining room without waiting for Tim.
Deniece’s hips swayed deliberately with each step, a subtle rhythm she’d forgotten she could create.
Tim watched her walk away. The short skirt. The heels. The confidence in every movement. When had his wife learned to walk like that?
He followed her into the dining room.
The table was set beautifully—candles, good china, wine glasses already filled. Ted stood at the head, Emma to his right. Two seats remained open across from each other.
“Deniece, sit here next to me,” Ted said, pulling out the chair beside him.
She sat, and Ted pushed her chair in, his hands lingering briefly on her shoulders.
Tim took the seat across from her, next to Emma.
“This looks amazing,” Deniece said, looking at the spread. Roasted chicken, vegetables, fresh bread, salad.
“Ted’s an incredible cook,” Emma said proudly. “I’m useless in the kitchen, but he loves it.”
“I find it relaxing,” Ted said, serving Deniece first. His hand brushed hers as he passed the plate. “Besides, cooking for beautiful women is always worth the effort.”
He served Emma next, then Tim, finally himself.
Emma raised her glass. “To new friendships.”
They clinked glasses again. The wine was flowing freely now—second glasses being poured before the first course was finished.
“So Deniece,” Ted said, cutting into his chicken. “Emma tells me you’ve been exploring new hobbies. What are you interested in these days?”
His tone was innocent, but something about the way he said “exploring” made Deniece’s pulse quicken.
“Just ... trying new things. Getting out more. Remembering what I enjoy.”
“And what do you enjoy?” Ted’s eyes held hers.
Emma’s foot found Tim’s under the table. He startled slightly, glancing at her. She smiled innocently, taking a sip of wine.
“I’m still figuring that out,” Deniece said softly.
Ted smiled. “Well, discovery is half the fun, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Deniece breathed. “It really is.”
Tim’s knuckles were white on his fork.
Emma’s foot traveled up Tim’s leg slowly, deliberately. From his ankle to his calf, then higher to his knee.
Tim froze mid-bite, fork halfway to his mouth.
Emma continued talking to Ted as if nothing was happening. “Honey, tell them about the new mortgage company. The one expanding into three states?”
“Right, yeah—” Ted launched into an explanation about business growth and market penetration.
But Emma’s foot kept climbing. Past Tim’s knee. Up his thigh.
Tim’s breathing changed. He reached for his wine, drained half the glass.
Across the table, Ted was fully focused on Deniece. “You know, Emma mentioned you haven’t traveled much. Have you ever thought about taking a trip? Just for yourself?”
“I don’t know. Tim’s always busy—”
“I meant alone,” Ted said gently. “Or with a friend. Sometimes we need to do things just for us.”
His hand rested on the table near hers. Not touching, but close. Intentional.
“I’ve never traveled alone,” Deniece admitted.
“You should. A confident woman in a new city, exploring, discovering...” Ted’s voice dropped lower. “There’s something incredibly attractive about that.”
Emma’s foot reached the top of Tim’s thigh. Dangerously close to his crotch. She pressed gently.
Tim coughed, shifting in his seat.
“You okay?” Emma asked innocently, turning her full attention to him. “Need more wine?”
“I’m fine,” Tim managed.
Emma’s foot pressed harder. “You sure? You look a little flushed.”
Ted poured more wine for Deniece. “I think every person should have the freedom to explore what they want. Don’t you agree, Tim?”
Tim’s cock was hardening despite himself. Emma’s foot right there, Ted openly flirting with his wife, Deniece looking more beautiful than she had in years.
“Yeah,” Tim said roughly. “Freedom. Sure.”
Under the table, Emma’s toes found his erection through his pants.
She smiled sweetly and took another bite of chicken. As her lips curved into a smile of pure smugness, eyes glittering with victory.
She had him. Tim was rock-hard under the table, squirming in his seat, trying desperately to maintain composure while her toes traced the outline of his cock through his slacks.
“This chicken is delicious, Ted,” Emma said conversationally. “What’s the seasoning?”
“Rosemary, thyme, a little lemon.” Ted was completely oblivious to what was happening across the table. His attention remained fixed on Deniece. “Do you cook, Deniece?”
“I do. Every night.” Her voice held a slight bitterness. “Though I’m not sure anyone really tastes it.”
Ted caught the implication. His hand moved closer to hers on the table. “I’d love to taste your cooking sometime.”
The double meaning wasn’t subtle.
Deniece’s pulse quickened. “Maybe you will.”
Tim heard the exchange through the fog of arousal. His wife was flirting back. Actually flirting with another man right in front of him.
And Emma’s foot was now fully rubbing his erection, slow and deliberate.
“More wine?” Emma asked, refilling Tim’s glass without waiting for an answer. “You’re drinking fast tonight.”
“It’s good wine,” Tim said tightly.
“Mm. It is.” Emma’s foot pressed harder. “Makes you feel ... warm. Relaxed. Open to new experiences.”
Ted laughed. “Emma’s always pushing people out of their comfort zones.”
“Someone has to,” Emma said, eyes locked on Tim. “Life’s too short to stay comfortable all the time. Don’t you think, Tim?”
Her toes curled around him through the fabric.
“Yes,” Tim breathed. “Too short.”
Deniece watched her husband’s face. Flushed. Breathing hard. Something was happening she couldn’t quite see.
“Dessert?” Ted asked, standing. “I made tiramisu.”
Emma’s foot slid away from Tim suddenly, leaving him aching and desperate.
“I’d love some,” Emma said sweetly.
Tim wanted to scream.