Chapter 4: The Kiss and the Contact**

Chapter 4: The Kiss and the Contact

The slow, sensual rhythm of the R&B track faded, leaving a humming silence in its wake. As if released from a spell, Carrie and Jason separated, their chests rising and falling in a shared rhythm. Rick watched them walk back toward the booth, a two-person parade of flushed skin and guilty pleasure. Carrie’s eyes found his first, a flicker of apprehension in their depths, before they slid sideways and landed on the woman sitting across from him.

Her face, so recently alight with pleasure, went pale. The soft, pliant surrender Rick had just witnessed on the dance floor vanished, replaced by the rigid posture of Professor Stine caught in a compromising position. Her hand flew to her mouth, not to bite her lip, but to stifle a gasp. This was it. The crash. The moment the thrilling fantasy collided with brutal reality.

But Emily, the architect of this new, chaotic reality, simply smiled. She leaned forward, her expression open and friendly, completely disarming the impending explosion.

“You must be Carrie,” Emily said, her voice a warm, welcoming balm. “Jason’s told me so much about your class. I’m Emily.”

Carrie stood frozen, a statue of mortification. Her eyes darted from Emily’s placid face to Jason’s unapologetic grin, and finally to Rick, her silent plea screaming across the small space. Help me. Fix this.

For the first time all night, Rick felt a surge of pure, unadulterated power. He wasn’t the passive observer anymore; he was a player in a game he was just beginning to understand. Emily had laid the new rules on the table, and he was ready to make his first move.

“We were just saying you’re a great dancer, honey,” Rick said, his voice impossibly calm. He patted the leather seat beside him. “And it looks like you two had fun.” He looked directly at Jason, a glint of challenge in his own eyes. “But it hardly seems fair for you to get all the dances with my wife.”

A beat of silence passed. Jason raised a single, questioning eyebrow. Carrie looked at Rick as if he’d just started speaking in tongues.

Then, fueled by a potent cocktail of whiskey and adrenaline, Rick pushed his chips to the center of the table. He stood up, his gaze locking with Emily’s.

“I believe,” he said, a slow smirk spreading across his face, “it’s our turn.” He extended a hand to Emily. “Unless your boyfriend has a problem with a partner swap?”

Emily’s laugh was like music. “He knows better,” she said, taking Rick’s hand without a moment’s hesitation. Her hand was warm, her grip surprisingly firm. She slid out of the booth and turned to Jason. “Don’t wear her out completely,” she purred, winking at Carrie, who looked utterly bewildered.

Jason’s grin widened. He looked from Emily to Rick, a flash of masculine respect in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice a low promise as he took Carrie’s hand again. “I’ll be gentle.”

Rick led Emily to the small dance floor just as another slow, pulsing song began to play. He placed a hand on her waist, pulling her in. She was shorter than Carrie, her body softer, curvier, fitting against his in a way that was new and unexpectedly pleasant. The scent of her perfume—something sweet, like vanilla and citrus—filled his senses.

“You’re a terrible liar, Rick Stine,” she murmured, her breath warm against his ear as they began to sway to the music.

“Oh?” he asked, his voice tight.

“You don’t want to dance with me,” she said, her tone free of accusation. It was a simple statement of fact. “You want to watch them.”

She was right, of course. His body was here, holding this beautiful, perceptive woman, but his entire being, every ounce of his focus, was trained on the other couple. He watched as Jason pulled Carrie close again, their bodies moving with an easy familiarity they had no right to possess. Jason’s hand slid from her waist down to the gentle curve of her hip, his thumb stroking the denim of her shorts. And Carrie, his Carrie, let him. She melted into the touch, her hand creeping up from his shoulder to tangle in the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay,” Emily whispered, as if reading his mind. Her own hand moved from his shoulder to rest on his chest, right over his frantically beating heart. “You can look. That’s what this is for. To see.”

Her permission was a key, unlocking the last vestiges of his guilt. He didn’t hide it anymore. He stared openly, drinking in the sight. He saw the way Jason whispered into Carrie’s ear, the way her eyes fluttered shut. He saw the way her body molded to his, a perfect fit. He was witnessing his deepest, most shameful fantasy play out in high definition, and it was more potent, more overwhelming than he had ever imagined. The jealousy was still there, a hot coil in his gut, but it was intertwined with an arousal so profound it left him breathless.

Then, the moment shifted. Jason pulled back just enough to look at Carrie’s face. He brought his free hand up, his thumb stroking her jawline, tilting her head up to his. The air in the bar seemed to go still. Rick’s breath caught in his throat.

This wasn’t just a dance anymore.

Jason leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t a peck on the cheek or another illicit kiss on the neck. It was a deep, passionate, open-mouthed kiss. A kiss of conquest and claim. He devoured her mouth right there in the middle of the bar, and for a heart-stopping second, Rick saw Carrie’s body stiffen in shock.

But then, something inside her broke. The last dam of resistance crumbled. Her hand, which had been resting in his hair, clenched, pulling him closer. Her body went from pliant to active, pressing into his. She wasn’t just being kissed; she was kissing him back, meeting his passion with a long-suppressed hunger of her own.

A shockwave hit Rick, so powerful it felt physical. The sight burned itself onto his brain—his wife, the love of his life, locked in a passionate embrace with another man. It was the ultimate betrayal and the ultimate fantasy fulfilled, a horrifying, beautiful car crash of emotion. He was shattered. He was ecstatic.

He was so lost in the vortex of the moment that he barely registered Emily’s movement. Her hand left his chest and slid up his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. She gently but firmly turned his head, forcing his gaze away from the scene and onto her.

Her eyes were dark, sparkling with a shared, thrilling secret. “Our turn,” she whispered.

And before he could process the words, before he could even take a breath, she closed the distance and kissed him.

Her lips were soft and tasted of vodka and lime. It wasn't a kiss of passion like the one he’d just witnessed. It was something different. It was knowing. It was an initiation. A seal on an unspoken pact. As her mouth moved against his, she pulled back just enough to breathe a single, electrifying word against his lips.

“Swap.”

The word, the kiss, the sight of his wife—it all coalesced into a dizzying, sensory overload. When they finally broke apart, the song was ending. The four of them stood on the dance floor, caught in a tableau of crossed boundaries and shattered expectations.

They returned to the booth in a thick, charged silence. No one spoke. Carrie wouldn’t look at him, her face a mask of shame and exhilaration. Jason looked smugly satisfied. Emily just looked amused. Rick’s mind was a maelstrom, replaying the two kisses over and over.

As he slid back onto the leather bench, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his fingers clumsy. A text from an unknown number. He opened it, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The message was brutally simple, a line of ten digits. No name, no explanation needed.

He looked up from the screen, his eyes finding Jason’s across the table. The younger man gave him a slow, deliberate nod.

The fantasy was no longer just a fantasy. It now had a phone number. The invitation wasn’t for a dance anymore. It was for something much, much more.