Free Dirty Business: Fantasies Unleashed 1 by Mara Leigh Page A

this?” I looked into his eyes. “Are you even serious?”
    “Very serious.” He shifted closer and his hand pushed up higher on my thigh. “Knowing that your fantasy is being fulfilled will satisfy me in more ways than you can imagine.”
    Moving higher, his fingers brushed over my panties and I squirmed, both from the sensations and from my conflicting emotions. “How am I supposed to feel if my husband’s okay with my having sex with other men?”
    “Grateful?” Grinning, he scratched his finger over the satin of my panties, dragging over my clit, and every blood cell in my body migrated between my legs.
    “I want this for you,” he whispered, his voice low and deep. “Believe me, I’ve thought it through. I’ve thought about this—a lot .”
    “Do you want to have sex with other women?”
    “No,” he said. “I don’t fantasize about other women.”
    “Then what is your fantasy?” I asked. “You never told me.”
    “If I recall,” he said, “we got kind of distracted that night.” He kissed me, bringing back memories of that Tuesday night in June—one of our most spectacular, sexually speaking.
    Thom had walked in on me while I was touching myself, almost ready to come, and asked what was on my mind. Before I’d even finished confessing the details, he was ripping his clothes off and we fucked for hours, not stopping until we had to get ready for work the next day.
    “Just know,” he said, “I want this for you. More than anything. I treasure our sex life. I treasure you, and the thought of your being turned on, pleasured, surprised...” He shook his head while sucking in an audible breath. “The thought of you being ravaged, worshiped by other men—That’s my fantasy.”
    “But this seems so one sided.” I squirmed on the stool.
    “It’s what I want.” He looked into my eyes and stroked my panties. “Assuming it’s still what you want? Do you want this to happen, for real?”
    Turning to look at our reflections in the mirror behind the bar, I studied his expression. His gaze was directed toward my chest in that non-subtle way he had of ogling my boobs, and his fingers were still stroking between my legs. Was his suggestion some kind of test? Did he want me to retract my fantasy? Was this all talk meant to turn me on?
    No . We didn’t play games with each other. Not mind games like that. Ever. I had to take him at his word.
    But did I want my fantasy to happen? For real? Fantasies are one thing when they’re confined to our minds, when they’re used to turn us on when our lovers are away, or when we want to drift to somewhere different and exciting. My mind had played out variations on the same fantasy since I was a teen, but did I actually want the real thing?
    My breaths came even faster; my entire body tingled with excitement. I downed the rest of the martini, letting it burn through me, enjoying the sensation as the alcohol loosened my tension and inhibitions.
    Closing my eyes, I luxuriated under the teasing touch of Thom’s fingers, stroking me through the soft satin. Although I knew it was my husband’s hand, I tried to imaging that it was a stranger’s, and I imagined yet another man cupping my breasts while another captured my lips. The thoughts lit new fires; I felt sure my panties were soaked.
    I did want this—a lot—and that my husband was willing to make it happen— “Yes,” I said on a hard exhale as I opened my eyes.
    He drew a breath so deep his shoulders rose. “Good.” He slipped off his stool.
    “How will—”
    “Stay here. I’m moving to a table. Back there.” He gestured into the sparkled darkness of the room. “A man will approach you. He’ll buy you another drink and suggest you join him upstairs.”
    “How will I know it’s the right man?” I asked, instantly embarrassed for suggesting that, left alone for a moment, I’d be hit on by random men.
    “I’ll be watching.” He traced his hand down my back to rest on my ass and bent to