23: Harriet.

Three Years Later

I glide out into the backyard in my short robe, purring in my throat as my husband shucks his pajama pants, preparing to swim his usual morning laps. Naked.

As requested by his wife.

Wow.

Over the last three years, our rigorous lovemaking has turned his big body into a pillar of strength, carving out muscle on his torso, his thighs, his arms. He was already a god to me, but now he looks like something from Mount Olympus. Rugged and thick and masculine all over, from his unshaven jaw to his riot of chest hair.

Locke starts toward the heated pool but pauses when he notices my approach.

And I definitely notice the way he turns erect, the fat male flesh swelling between his legs, his abdomen dipping with strain at the impact of hunger. It's always present. The lust, the wild need. Our mutual stormy obsession is the third member of our marriage.

"Do you want me to come back to bed?" he breathes into the morning fog, reaching down to fondle the growing shaft between his le