Gace’s POV
Saturday morning arrives with the smell of pancakes and the sound of Cole moving around the kitchen like he belongs there.
Ryan sits across from me at the breakfast table, newspaper held up like a shield, both of us maintaining the careful silence that's become our new normal after a week of avoided touches and conversations that trail off mid-sentence.
I stir sugar into my coffee with mechanical precision, counting rotations like they might divine some answer from the liquid swirling in my cup.
"This isn't working."
Cole says suddenly, setting plates in front of us with enough force to make the silverware jump.
"Whatever we're doing here, this dance we're all pretending is sustainable—it's poisoning us slowly. Every day we get a little more distant, a little more careful, a little more afraid."
Ryan lowers his newspaper slowly, that analytical expression crossing his face. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
"You should watch." Cole says it simply, casually, like he's suggesting we try that new Italian place downtown. "When Grace and I finally... when we're together. You should be there, in the room. Watching it happen."
Ryan's coffee mug freezes halfway to his mouth, then he's coughing violently, choking on the liquid that went down wrong.
I feel heat flood my face so fast it makes me dizzy, my skin burning from my chest to my hairline.
"You're insane," Ryan manages between coughs, eyes watering as he pounds his chest. "You can't be serious."
"Why not? Tell me why that's insane."
Cole leans against the counter, arms crossed, completely calm like he hasn't just suggested the most mortifying thing imaginable.
"You're pacing at night, wondering what's happening, torturing yourself with imagination. Grace is paralyzed by guilt every time she looks at me. I'm walking on eggshells, afraid of breaking rules."
"So your solution is exhibitionism?" Ryan's voice carries an edge I can't identify—anger, maybe, or something else entirely.
"My solution is honesty. No more mysteries. No more wondering."
Cole meets Ryan's eyes steadily. "The mystery is killing us. All three of us. So let's demystify it. Let's stop pretending this is something shameful that needs to happen in the shadows."
"You want me to watch you fuck my wife?" The words come out raw, stripped of Ryan's usual careful control. "You want me to sit there while you—"
"I want you to see that it's not about destroying what you have with her."
Cole's voice gentles, becomes something almost tender.
"It's about all of us acknowledging what this is instead of dancing around it. You offered this arrangement, Ryan. But you offered it like a business transaction. Maybe it's time to make it human."
The silence that follows feels endless, pressing against my eardrums until I want to scream just to break it.
I can't breathe properly, my lungs forgetting their basic function as these two men discuss watching me like I'm not sitting right here, like I'm not drowning in mortification and something else.
"Maybe you have a point," Ryan admits quietly, so quietly I almost miss it. "About the mystery making things worse. If this arrangement is going to work, perhaps we do need to stop pretending it doesn't exist."
"Ryan…" I start, but my voice cracks and dies.
"Tonight," he says, decision made in that tone that brooks no argument. "If we're doing this, we'll do it tonight before I lose my nerve."
That evening, we gather in the master bedroom like actors taking positions for a play nobody's properly rehearsed. The air feels too thick, charged with nervous energy that makes my skin hypersensitive.
Ryan positions himself in the corner chair, his hands gripping the armrests with white-knuckle intensity. I stand frozen by the bed, wearing the sundress Cole said he liked, feeling ridiculous and exposed even fully clothed.
"We go slow," Cole says, approaching me with deliberate intent rather than caution. "But once we start, we don't stop unless someone's actually hurt. Understood?"
I keep glancing at Ryan in his corner chair, checking his face for signs of regret, but his expression is unreadable—jaw clenched, knuckles white on the armrests.
Cole notices my divided attention and grips my chin, turning my face back to him. "Eyes on me, Grace. He wanted this. He can watch, but you're mine right now."
He doesn't wait for my response, just starts with my cardigan, pulling it off roughly enough that buttons strain. His blue eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
My hands shake as he reaches for my dress zipper. I glance toward Ryan again, I can't help it, and Cole makes a sound of frustration.
"You want to know if he's okay with this?" Cole asks, loud enough for Ryan to hear clearly. "Ryan, tell your wife you want to watch me fuck her."
"I—" Ryan's voice cracks. He clears his throat. "I want to see it."
"Louder." Cole's already unzipping my dress with steady hands while mine tremble at my sides. "Tell her properly."
"I want to watch," Ryan says stronger now, and there's something dark in his voice I don't recognize. "I want to see what you do to her."
The dress falls and Cole's hands are immediately on my skin, possessive and sure. He unclasps my bra with practiced ease, tossing it aside without ceremony.
"Look at her, Ryan. Have you ever seen her this nervous? This excited? She's shaking for me."
"Cole, please…" I start to protest the humiliation of being discussed like this, but he cuts me off with a kiss that's all dominance and hunger.
"You're beautiful," he says against my mouth, loud enough for Ryan to hear. "So fucking perfect. Ryan, isn't she beautiful like this? Trembling and ready?"
"Yes," Ryan breathes from his corner, and his voice sounds strangled. "She's... yes."
Cole pushes me back onto the bed, not gently but not rough enough to hurt.
He spreads my legs with confident hands while I fight the urge to cover myself. I keep looking at Ryan, checking, always checking, and I see his throat work as he swallows hard.
"Watch carefully," Cole tells him as he kisses down my body—my neck, between my breasts, lower. "This is how you worship a woman."
When his mouth finds my center, I cry out and my eyes fly to Ryan automatically. He's leaning forward now, breathing hard, and Cole lifts his head.
"Do you like that?" he asks Ryan directly. "Watching your wife fall apart for another man? See how wet she is for me?"
"Jesus," Ryan mutters, shifting in his chair.
Cole's tongue moves with deliberate skill, and I can't stop the sounds escaping my throat. He adds his fingers, setting a rhythm that makes me see stars, all while maintaining conversation with my husband.
"She tastes incredible," Cole tells him between strokes. Cole's fingers curl inside me and I arch off the bed. "Watch her face when she comes. Watch what I do to your wife."
My eyes find Ryan's across the room, and what I see there makes my breath catch—not just arousal but fascination, like he's learning something vital about himself.
"That's it," Cole encourages, his free hand gripping my thigh possessively. "Come for me while your husband watches. Show him what he's been missing. Show him who you really belong to."
"Do you see it?" Cole asks Ryan directly, never slowing his movements. "Do you like what you see?"
Ryan nods slowly, his breathing ragged and uneven. "I do."