Watching

The click of Angela's stiletto heels against the hardwood floor was a sound he knew all too well; it was the rhythm of his weekend routine.

He stood just outside the bedroom doorway, his back leaning against the cool wall, hands buried deep in the pockets of his faded sweatpants. From this angle, he had the perfect view of his wife in the full-length vanity mirror. She was adjusting the hem of a sleek, high-waisted leather miniskirt, smoothing it down over sheer black tights that made her legs look impossibly long. Above it, a tailored black silk blouse hugged her curves perfectly.

"Does everything look right?" she asked without turning around, her voice casual, as if she were asking him to check the weather.

He stepped forward, his eyes tracking down the line of her nylon-clad legs. "Yeah...everything...everything is perfect, actually."

"Good." She tilted her head, checking her profile in the mirror. She ran a hand over her flat stomach, ensuring the fabric sat exactly how she wanted it. She looked radiant, confident, and entirely out of his reach—even though they shared a mortgage.

Tonight wasn't a date night for the two of them. It was Saturday, which meant it was her night with Mark.

Her husband watched as she picked up a tube of dark lipstick, carefully applying it with practiced precision. He felt a familiar, complicated knot tighten in his chest. It was a cocktail of deep-seated inadequacy, a strange, lingering possessiveness he wasn't allowed to voice, and a quiet, submissive acceptance that this was simply how their marriage functioned now. He was the caretaker of the house; Mark was the caretaker of her passion.

"Are you picking up dinner, or should I leave something out?" he asked, his voice deliberately low and even, careful not to betray the slight tremor of his ego.

"Oh, don't worry about me. Mark made reservations at that new steakhouse downtown," she replied, pressing her lips together to even out the color. She finally turned around, offering her husband a dazzling, sharp smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "How do I look? Be honest."

"You look incredible, Angela, he...he's a lucky guy." The words tasted like ash, but he said them anyway, knowing it was the answer she required. He was the safe harbor, the one who validated her before she stepped out into the storm of someone else's attention.

The buzz of her phone on the dresser cut through the silence. She glanced down at the screen, and a genuine, soft smile broke across her face.

"He's downstairs," she said, her tone suddenly brisk and energized. She grabbed her small clutch from the bed, stepping past him into the hallway.

"Angela, wait," he said softly, his hands still anchored in his pockets. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to hold her gaze. "I... I don't mind waiting up. If you don't mind. I mean, if you'll want me to...to take care of you when you get home." He rushed though the last part, knowing how it sounded.

She paused, turning back to look at him. A slow, knowing smile crept across her lips, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Are you sure?" she asked, tilting her head. "You were so reluctant last time."

By taking care of her, they both knew exactly what he meant. He meant waiting downstairs in the dark, listening for the front door to unlock, and then kneeling on the floor to lick her clean—tasting her, but also tasting the unmistakable, lingering evidence of Mark's climax leaking from her.

He quickly looked away, a hot, burning blush creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks. "I... I just..." He stammered, unable to find the words to justify the intense, humiliating craving.

Angela's smile widened, softened by a touch of patronizing affection. She stepped closer, reaching out to gently pat his cheek. "Liked it more than you wanted to admit."

He didn't deny it. He couldn't.

"We'll see how tired I am," she said lightly, turning back toward the door with a renewed bounce in her high heels. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"Stupid?"

She looked at the front of his pants. "You know what I mean," she said, "don't do anything to ruin the mood."

"I won't," he said.

"You know we can't..."

"I know," he answered, cutting her off.

"It's just his...how he is."