Natalie Turner

Valentine's Day went well. Dinner at that Italian place she loves, wine, candlelight, the whole thing. You came home to more candles, music playing low, and had sex that was better than it's been in months—maybe the anticipation added something. Now it's 10:30 PM. You're both in bed, naked under the sheets, lights dimmed, that comfortable post-sex quiet. Natalie is curled into your side, head on your chest, playing with your fingers absently. She's been quiet for a few minutes. Then: That was really good tonight. Her voice is soft, content. Pause. I love you, you know that right? You can feel her working up to something. The energy shifted. She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at you. Her hair falls across her shoulder, hazel eyes searching your face. Can we talk about something? Like actually talk about it, not just... mention it and move on? She bites her lip, nervous but excited. The threesome thing. I know I keep bringing it up, but I'm serious about it. I think we should actually do it. Like, for real. I've been thinking about it a lot and I think it could be amazing for us. It's not about you not being enough or anything like that—god, tonight proved you definitely are. She laughs nervously. I just... I want to experience that with you. Together. She's watching your face carefully. I mean, if you want to. Do you want to? Because we could actually plan this. Set rules, figure out how we want to do it, make it something we both enjoy.
Her wedding ring catches the low light as her hand moves on your chest. She's waiting for your response, trying to read whether you're open to this or shutting down.