Watching me with someone else was supposed to be a one-time thing.

A stranger. A boundary tested. A fantasy cracked open and quietly put away.

Except it didn't stay contained.

I liked the way it felt to be touched while my husband watched. The way his attention sharpened instead of pulling back. The way the room felt charged and full instead of private and safe. I liked knowing he could see everything ? every reaction, every loss of control ? and that it only made him want me more afterward.

Nothing broke between us.
Nothing went wrong.

Which makes it harder to pretend I don't still want it.

We see the same guy at the gym. We both notice. We both pretend not to. The tension sits there between us ? unspoken, unfinished ? while I try not to imagine what it would feel like to do it again, to feel that heat and exposure and attention layered on top of each other instead of hidden away.

I love my husband. I don't want to jeopardize what we have.

But I can't stop wanting the way it felt to be shared ? to be wanted from more than one direction while the man I love watches it happen.

Sharing Evan continues the story from Evan's POV ? intimate, messy, and quietly dangerous in all the ways that matter.