Back at home, Rajiv stood over the suitcase, his hands dancing with anticipation. He'd considered calling Samantha for packing instructions, but as her husband, he knew her needs intimately. He tossed in her toiletries, her cosmetics bag, and then lingered over her wardrobe. His fingers brushed a translucent Victoria's Secret satin slip and a lace black lingerie set, the faint scent of laundry detergent mingling with the promise of her skin. His mind spiraled, picturing her in Joe's sprawling villa, the satin clinging to her curves, the lace teasing her flawless skin. His breath hitched, and to his shock, his body responded, a hard pulse of arousal dick betraying his excitement.
The phone rang, snapping him from his reverie. Joe's voice crackled through. "Raj, buddy, new plan. Skip my house—bring the stuff straight to La Boucherie restaurant. My aunt's meeting us there. I've already briefed her on your law case, so you can dive into the details tonight. It'll be a game-changer, I promise. Oh, and my honey Samie's joining us around 6:30."
"Kay, buddy," Rajiv said, hanging up, his heart racing.
My honey Samie?
In less than two hours, his beloved wife Samantha got a Samie pet name from Joe, a playful jab that sent a delicious prickle of jealousy and excitement through him.
La Boucherie was a rare treat, a place Rajiv had dined at only thrice, twice on Joe's dime. As he stepped through the gilded doors, the world outside faded into irrelevance. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen constellations, their droplets catching fire from flickering candles. The air hummed with polished conversation, the clink of silver on bone china, and a grand piano's smooth jazz, its notes as seductive as the velvet drapes framing floor-to-ceiling windows. Waiters in black waistcoats bowed respectfully, addressing him as "Monsieur" and guiding him to a private room. One took his suit jacket, hanging it with care in the room's closet.
The private room was an island of indulgence: mahogany walls inset with antique gold mirrors, reflecting the glow in endless, shimmering repetition. The long table was draped in crisp linen, white as fresh snow, adorned with heavy silver cutlery and wine glasses so delicate they seemed to tremble under a gaze. Rajiv arrived early, pacing the room, his nerves buzzing. From the towering windows, he caught sight of the street below. There was Joe, striding confidently, his hand clasped with Samantha's. She moved with grace, her white Chanel dress hugging her curves, her blonde hair shimmering under the evening light. Beside them walked an elegant middle-aged woman—Joe's aunt, no doubt—her poise radiating authority.
Rajiv's breath caught, a mix of amusement and arousal. "Dude! Come on, Joe! What the hell?" he muttered to himself. "And Samantha, you two are way too into the show!" They looked like a perfect couple, their hands entwined, Samantha's mute laughter almost floating up as Joe leaned in to whisper something.
The door swung open, and Samantha stepped in, her white Chanel gauze dress clinging to her curves, the suspender style teasing a lovely view of her full breast cleavage. She caught Rajiv's eye and, with a flush creeping up her neck, quickly let go of Joe's arm, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. Rajiv winked, signaling her to keep up the act, his pulse racing. Joe's aunt, Mrs. Norris, an elegant middle-aged woman with a commanding presence, glanced at Rajiv without a hint of suspicion. Rajiv sat quickly, his heart thumping with a mix of relief and excitement.
The banquet began, a decadent affair bathed in the glow of candlelight. Samantha played her role flawlessly, tending to Mrs. Norris with grace—serving dishes, pouring wine, her every move accentuating her stunning figure. Joe, ever the strategist, kept proposing toasts, urging his aunt to drink in a bid to steer her away from matchmaking talk. Rajiv was stunned to find Mrs. Norris matching Joe glass for glass, downing three bottles of Opus One between them. Joe was a notorious drinker, but his aunt was a force, her poise unshaken as she lectured about marriage being a cornerstone of family responsibility. Rajiv, never one for heavy drinking, felt the wine reeling in his mind, his vision swimming. Samantha's face, flushed a rosy, stunning hue, only heightened her beauty, her hazel eyes glinting with a tipsy sparkle.
The alcohol overwhelmed Rajiv, and he stumbled to the private room's "Les Cabinets"—the bathroom—to vomit, the act sobering him slightly. The banquet stretched on for two and a half hours, the atmosphere warm and convivial despite the wine's haze. As Rajiv returned, the meal was winding down, the table strewn with empty plates and glasses. Joe's secretary arrived to escort them out, a polite young man who respectfully supported Mrs. Norris as they prepared to leave.
Rajiv was about to bid farewell when he froze. Samantha and Joe stood close, their arms entwined, supporting each other as if they'd forgotten the world around them. A prickle of jealousy stung Rajiv—his beloved wife, his newlywed Sammy, was in another man's arms, not his. Samantha was playing Joe's girlfriend, temporarily "single," with a new "boyfriend" by her side. The thought was intoxicating.
As they stepped outside, Rajiv trailed behind, watching Samantha nestle into Joe's embrace. Joe, the notorious playboy, held her hand, his fingers sliding—whether by drunken accident or deliberate intent—down to her slender waist, then resting silently on her plump, busty buttocks. Samantha's dress hugged her curves, the gauze teasing her cleavage, and from Joe's taller vantage point, he surely had a clear view of her full breasts. She didn't shy away, her body leaning softly into his, her sensitive hips yielding to his touch. Rajiv shook his head, half-convinced it was the wine.
His mind flashed to their agreement at Starbucks: You can only adore her, Joe—no touching! Yet here Joe was, kneading Samantha's waist, his hand lingering on her curves. Rajiv's heart raced, torn between excitement and fear. He was thrilled, his cuckold fetish flaring at the sight, yet a whisper of worry gnawed at him—had Samantha drunk too much? Was she too caught up in the act? He caught the secretary's sly grin, but Mrs. Norris remained composed, her expression unreadable.
Desperate to stay close, Rajiv blurted to the secretary, "Hey man, I've got something for Boss Norris. Gotta bring it to his place." He hurried to Benz V260 MPV, tossing Samantha's suitcase into the trunk with the help of driver. The company staff, familiar with Rajiv as Joe's buddy, said nothing, though Mrs. Norris's slight frown hinted at her curiosity. Rajiv slid into the front passenger seat, followed by Mrs Norris, Joe and Samantha climbing into the back. The car purred toward Joe's villa, the city lights blurring outside.
In the rearview mirror, Rajiv glimpsed Samantha leaning against Joe, her dress riding up slightly, her thighs gleaming in the dim light. Joe's hand rested on her waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles, and Samantha's flushed face betrayed a mix of tipsy ease and playful allure.