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correct angle. Her forehead brushed lightly against the wardrobe door, almost forcing it open. Becca pulled back just as the magnetic latch started to give, allowing it to snap back into place.
    Luckily, the men were too engrossed in one another to have noticed her mistake. Adam sat back on his haunches. He looked up at Elliot with a mesmerising grin. It wasn’t a pleasant, ‘Come hither, you lucky, lucky thing’ sort of grin, not even a charming one. Rather, it was raw and dirty. It twisted up his face into a mask of feral longing. Said, ‘I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to do it good. You’re going to scream and moan and lose yourself in the beauty of it. I’m going to blow your mind. You’ll look back on this in years to come and the sheer nostalgia of it will make you preen’.
    She’d never had a man look at her like that. Maybe she hadn’t attracted anyone like Adam. Maybe men only looked that way at one another. Either way, she bought into the promise wholeheartedly.
    Adam rolled himself up off his knees to stand before Elliot with a swagger. He didn’t say a word, just turned and looked straight at the bed.
    “Still doesn’t seem right, man.”
    Adam sliced his head over to the right.
    God damn it! Elliot was still protesting. She wished he’d shut up with the whine and enjoy the present being offered to him. She would, if Adam were standing before her hinting they should get up on the bed. He was, after all, one prime package of raw manliness. Not that Elliot was any sort of wuss, but hell. “Just do it, will you,” she whispered.
    Maybe she’d spoken a little loudly, for Adam twisted his head to glance at the wardrobe again. He winked.
    Good God! Had he just winked conspiratorially at her?
    He knew she was there.
    Knew it and was going to get rampant with Elliot regardless—or maybe because he intended for her to see the performance? What sort of conversation had the men had downstairs? Had it really been as simplistic as the one that had run through her head? That began with Elliot saying, ‘She saw us’?
    ‘Yeah’.
    ‘She wants to watch’.
    ‘Does she?’
    ‘Yeah’.
    ‘So, let’s fuck’.
    Adam led Elliot by the hand. She’d never seen men hold hands in that way, fingers curled around each other’s palms, betraying the affection and regard they held for one another right alongside their mounting lust. It wasn’t about comfort. That grip was about power. In this case, Adam’s power over her lover. He damn near threw Elliot down upon the bed and spread his legs.
    They were going to do it face to face.
    That seemed more romantic, somehow. It was certainly more personal. There was no opportunity to pretend something else was happening. No way to hide by pressing your face into the pillow or burrowing into the eiderdown. It was straightforward, raw reality. Off came the rest of Elliot’s clothes. Adam shrugged off his jacket, but nothing else. He made short work of his fly. Becca held her breath, waiting for the first glimpse of his cock. It rose from between the metal teeth of his parted zip like a white sabre, steely and slightly curved back upon itself, and long like its owner. He paused long enough to roll a condom down the shaft. Bastard had even come prepared with a bottle of lube. She watched him squirt and slick up, while her fingers slipped inside her own sopping sheath.
    Fuck! They were really going to do it. She’d wanted it, but in a moment it would be real. And she was spying, the thing her mum had always told her was so terribly wrong.
    She was spying on her husband who was about to be fucked by a man.
    Hell, if even the notion running through her head didn’t turn her on.
    Adam lined up and pressed. There wasn’t much of a preamble. She supposed there wasn’t a need. They were both desperate in their lust. Elliot was just as eager as the man he was allowing to prick him, despite all his earlier protests. She knew him, recognised all the telling signs of his