Agatha's invitation haunted me like a sin I was already dying to commit.
"If you change your mind, my door will be open tonight," she had whispered—with a voice soaked in sex, smooth as silk, and laced with pure temptation.
Even while I sat in the living room at dinner, surrounded by my wives, pretending to be present, my mind was burning. Agatha ate with the elegance of a queen, as if her lips hadn't pressed against mine earlier in her room.
My girls talked, laughed, passed food around. But all I could see was the flicker of Agatha's smirk. All I could hear was the whisper of her breath. And all I could see was the memory of my head resting gently on those soft, wicked thighs of hers, grazing my skin like a curse I never wanted lifted.
