Shared Wife, Stolen Wife 2: Cuckold Must Settle for Humiliating Seconds

By Suzy Bright

Some desires refuse to be contained.
Brad and Emily thought they had it all—a passionate marriage, a thriving life in New York, and a love that had weathered the storms of their past. But when their former roommate, Javier—a decorated Marine with a body hardened by war and a gaze that still made Emily’s breath catch—re-enters their lives, Brad realizes his deepest fantasy has never truly faded: watching his wife surrender to another man’s touch.
What begins as a carefully controlled arrangement quickly spirals into something far more dangerous. Javier’s commanding presence and scarred hands awaken something in Emily that Brad can’t provide—an intensity, a dominance that leaves her trembling and craving more. And Brad? He’s hooked on the sight of her pleasure, the way her body responds to another man’s touch, the way she looks at him with fire in her eyes as she’s taken right in front of him.
But their games don’t stop there.
From the high-stakes glamour of Manhattan’s elite to the sun-drenched beaches of Belize, Brad and Emily dive headfirst into a world of shared desire and forbidden thrills. Whether it’s the tanned, muscular lifeguard who can’t keep his hands off Emily’s sun-kissed skin, or the wealthy European businessman whose charm and confidence make her ache with need, Brad finds himself both tormented and exhilarated by his wife’s insatiable appetite. Each encounter pushes their boundaries further, each new man who touches Emily stoking the flames of Brad’s darkest cravings—until the lines between fantasy and reality blur beyond recognition.
Yet as the encounters grow more intense, so do the risks. What happens when the men Emily surrenders to start wanting more than just a night? When the thrill of the chase becomes something deeper, something that threatens the very foundation of Brad and Emily’s marriage? And what if Brad, the mastermind behind it all, finds himself questioning whether he’s truly in control—or if he’s just another player in a game far more dangerous than he ever imagined?
Shared Wife, Stolen Wife 2 is a scorching exploration of voyeurism, power, and the intoxicating rush of surrender. With explicit scenes that sizzle with tension, raw emotion, and unapologetic desire, this story will leave you breathless, questioning the boundaries of love, possession, and the irresistible allure of the forbidden. Perfect for readers who crave high-stakes erotic encounters, complex emotional dynamics, and a love story that defies every rule.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzy Bright
• Release date: Sep 23, 2025

Suzy Bright

Suzy Bright is a provocateur with a pen, crafting stories that peel back the velvet curtain on desire, power, and the messy magic of human connection. With a wink and a whip-smart voice, she explores the intersections of lust and liberation, giving readers permission to indulge their darkest curiosities—no judgment, just juice.

Book preview

Chapter one

The engagement party hummed with the gentle chaos of Manhattan's young professionals, champagne flutes catching light from the Edison bulbs that dangled from exposed beams overhead. Brad adjusted his tie as he and Emily stepped from the industrial elevator into the converted textile loft, his eyes automatically scanning the crowd. Three months since their last encounter with Javier, and yet Brad's body responded with Pavlovian predictability when he spotted the former Marine across the room, his broad shoulders unmistakable even in a tailored suit, a petite blonde—Claire, presumably—laughing at something he'd said.

There's Alex and Emma, Emily murmured, nodding toward the newly-engaged couple receiving congratulations near a wall of factory windows that framed the downtown skyline. Her fingers tightened on Brad's forearm, but her eyes had already tracked his sightline to Javier. She straightened imperceptibly, her breath catching as she took in his presence.

Brad watched the slight parting of her lips, the almost undetectable flush that spread across her cheekbones. He recognized these signs with the precision of a scientist who had spent years cataloging the specific manifestations of his wife's desire. The familiar twist of jealousy coiled in his stomach, immediately followed by the contradictory heat of arousal that had defined their relationship for years.

Let's get drinks, Brad suggested, guiding Emily toward the makeshift bar where a mixologist in suspenders muddled mint leaves into copper tumblers. As they waited, he kept Javier in his peripheral vision, noting how the former Marine's eyes had found Emily in the crowd, lingering on her figure before returning to his date's animated conversation.

Emily wore a black dress that clung to her curves with deliberate provocation—a garment she'd purchased just days ago, though Brad now wondered if she'd somehow anticipated Javier's presence tonight. The hemline stopped mid-thigh, the neckline dipped just low enough to suggest rather than reveal. She'd paired it with the stockings that Brad had first noticed years ago, their lace tops occasionally visible when she shifted position.

Old fashioned, Brad told the bartender, then turned to Emily. Champagne?

She nodded, accepting the flute when it arrived, her eyes darting once more across the room to where Javier now leaned against an exposed brick column, his head bent attentively toward Claire. The blonde was pretty in an uncomplicated way—early twenties, Brad guessed, with the wide-eyed enthusiasm of someone still impressed by Manhattan apartments with doormen and dinner reservations at places that didn't take them.

She seems young for him, Emily observed, her tone casual but her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the crystal stem of her glass.

Brad sipped his whiskey, letting the burn ground him as he processed his wife's transparent interest. You're annoyed, he noted, not a question but an observation.

Emily's lips curved in that half-smile he knew so well—part acknowledgment, part challenge. Just making an observation.

They circulated through the party with practiced ease, exchanging congratulations with the engaged couple, catching up with colleagues and friends from their extended social circle. But Brad remained hyperaware of both Emily and Javier as they orbited each other throughout the evening, never quite intersecting but always aware of the other's presence.

He noticed how Emily laughed a bit too brightly when speaking with a group near where Javier stood. How her gestures became more animated, her posture more deliberate—shoulders back, neck elongated—when she felt Javier's gaze. And Javier was watching; Brad caught him several times, eyes tracking Emily as she moved through the space, his attention momentarily diverted from Claire despite the younger woman's obvious efforts to keep it.

The pattern was familiar yet still captivating to Mike—this silent dance of awareness, of desire tempered by social constraints. His body responded with that contradictory cocktail of emotion that had become his constant companion: jealousy that pierced like a blade, followed immediately by a surge of arousal that transformed the pain into something else entirely.

He watched Emily's lips part slightly each time Javier smiled in their direction. Observed the subtle shift in her breathing when they briefly occupied the same conversation circle, discussing mutual friends' summer plans in the Hamptons. Cataloged the way her fingers toyed with her necklace—a nervous habit that only emerged when she was deeply attracted to someone.

As the party began to thin, empty champagne bottles accumulating in elegant piles by the service elevator, Brad made his decision. He drained the last of his third whiskey, the alcohol providing just enough buffer against the anxiety that always preceded these moments of orchestration.

I'm going to say goodbye to Ricky, he told Emily, watching her eyes widen slightly at his directness.

I'll come with you, she replied too quickly, setting down her barely-touched second drink.

They crossed the hardwood floor together, navigating between lingering clusters of guests. Javier stood near the coatrack, Claire's light jacket already draped over his arm, their postures suggesting imminent departure.

Leaving so soon? Brad asked, extending his hand to Ricky.

The handshake lingered a moment longer than strictly necessary, a silent acknowledgment passing between them of all they had shared.

Early morning tomorrow, Javier replied, his eyes shifting to Emily, warming perceptibly. Claire's got a breakfast meeting with clients.

Claire smiled, professional and polished despite the slight glassiness in her eyes that suggested one too many glasses of champagne. Investment banking never sleeps, she explained, her hand settling possessively on Javier's forearm. But it was lovely meeting you both.

Hey man, Brad said, the words emerging with calculated casualness, want to come back to ours? For a nightcap? Claire can head home if she needs to be up early.

The invitation hung in the air between them, its real meaning transparent to the three who understood the dynamic at play. Brad felt Emily's body tense beside him, anticipation radiating from her in almost palpable waves.

Javier's eyes held Brad's for a long moment before sliding to Emily, assessing, considering. I'd like that, he finally said, voice dropping slightly. If Claire doesn't mind?

The younger woman's smile tightened almost imperceptibly as she looked between the three of them, some instinct warning her of undercurrents she couldn't quite identify. You boys catch up, she said, forcing brightness into her tone. I really should get some sleep before tomorrow.

I'll get us a car, Brad offered, already pulling out his phone to request a ride.

They stood together in the building lobby, conversation deliberately light as they waited—work projects, mutual friends, the engagement party they'd just left. Claire hugged Javier goodbye, whispered something in his ear that made him smile and squeeze her hand reassuringly before she slipped into her own taxi.

As their car arrived, its yellow glow illuminating the sidewalk, Brad watched Javier's hand settle briefly on the small of Emily's back as she stepped forward, fingers splayed possessively across the black fabric of her dress. The touch lasted only seconds but carried the weight of history and anticipation, a physical promise of what awaited them back at the loft.

Brad slid into the seat beside his wife, their thighs pressing together as Javier joined them, closing the door on the night air and sealing the three of them into their own private world once more.

Chapter two

The loft greeted them with familiar shadows, floor-to-ceiling windows capturing the shimmer of Manhattan's nightscape beyond. Brad flipped a switch, and recessed lighting cast a warm glow over polished concrete floors and the industrial beams that bisected the ceiling—remnants of the building's history as a textile factory, now converted into luxury living spaces. The air between them hummed with anticipation as Javier shrugged off his jacket, draping it over a Danish modern chair near the entry, his movements deliberate but unhurried, as if he'd been in their space a hundred times before.

Whiskey? Brad asked, already moving toward the liquor cabinet, needing the ritual to steady his hands.

I'll take a beer if you have one, Javier replied, his voice carrying the slight rasp that had deepened since his military service.

Emily slipped off her heels, losing three inches of height but none of her poise. I'll get it, she offered, moving to the refrigerator while Brad extracted crystal tumblers from a cabinet. Her fingers brushed against Javier's as she handed him the bottle, a momentary connection that sent color rising to her cheeks.

Brad poured amber liquid into two glasses, the clink of ice against crystal unnaturally loud in the charged silence. They gathered around the kitchen island—white Carrara marble imported from Italy, a wedding gift from Emily's parents who remained blissfully unaware of how their daughter's marriage functioned behind closed doors.

How's the new position at Morgan Stanley? Javier asked, addressing Brad but his eyes lingering on Emily's profile as she leaned against the countertop.

Challenging. Rewarding. Brad took a deliberate sip of whiskey. The usual corporate ascent.

The conversation stumbled forward in fits and starts—updates on mutual friends, Javier's consulting work with a security firm, Emily's recent promotion. But beneath the mundane exchange pulsed an awareness of why they were really here, what would inevitably follow once the pretense of casual drinks had served its purpose.

Should we move somewhere more comfortable? Emily finally suggested, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal, betraying her anticipation.

The velvet sectional accepted their weight with a soft sigh of expensive upholstery. They arranged themselves in a familiar configuration—Emily between the two men, close enough that the fabric of her dress brushed against both their thighs. Brad watched as Javier's hand settled on Emily's knee, fingers tracing small circles that gradually spiraled upward.

I've missed this, Javier murmured, his focus entirely on Emily now, as if Brad had faded into the periphery of the room. His fingers found the top button of her blouse, working it free with practiced ease.

Brad's breath caught as Javier continued down the line of buttons, exposing inch by inch of Emily's skin. The black lace of her bra appeared, then the gentle curve of her stomach. Javier's thumbs grazed the swell of her breasts above the lace edge, and Brad observed how Emily arched toward the touch, her body responding with an eagerness that sent simultaneous pangs of jealousy and desire shooting through him.

Bedroom, Emily breathed, standing and extending a hand to each of them—a bridge between past and present, between husband and lover.

They moved through the loft toward the master bedroom, shedding clothing along the way like breadcrumbs marking their path. Javier's shirt abandoned on the hallway floor, Emily's dress draped over the dresser, Brad's belt coiled on the bench at the foot of their California king. The bed welcomed them—crisp white sheets that would soon bear the evidence of their shared desire.

Emily lay between them, her blonde hair fanned across the pillowcase, skin pale against the dark blue comforter. Javier's mouth found her collarbone, tracing the delicate architecture of bone beneath skin while Brad occupied himself with the clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts to the