Page 59 of Always Alchemy

My wife watches with wide-eyed disbelief as I gyrate in front of her.

‘Hang on,’ she says, grabbing her phone. ‘Ihaveto get this on camera.’

She holds the phone up and records, backing away from me as I give her all my best moves. ‘Don’t come near me. If you get that stuff on this satin I swear I’ll crucify you.’

‘That’s not very nice,’ I croon. ‘Anyway, I think Zach and Mads have that scene covered next door.’

I know I look good. I have at least five minutes of hard evidence from admiring myself in the mirror—from every angle. My guns look fan-fucking-tastic, and this high-shine look is extremely flattering to my abs, which are as expertly contoured as a Kardashian’s face right now.

I’d forgotten how bloody brilliant this song was. It’s epic. We should definitely do an Eighties night here, and soon. I hold my guns up and flex, thrusting my crotch as I do, and she guffaws. ‘Oh my God! This is literal gold.’

Right. Much as I enjoy entertaining my hot wife, I’d rather she was looking at me with more incredulous desire and less incredulous amusement.

It’s time for the kill.

I put out my hand. ‘Give me my phone.’

She hands it over, and I switch the music over from Eighties cheese to a dark, sexy Ex Habit song that’s currently trending on TikTok and which has lots of references to choking and other things that might serve as a timely reminder to Aida Russell that she has a masked man in the room and she’s playing with fire here.

‘Here’s what’s going to happen,’ I say, throwing the phone onto the bar and lowering my voice until it’s downright menacing. ‘You’re going to come a lot closer. You’re going to let me mess you up a little. We’ll deal with the dress—I’ll buy you a new one if I have to. But it’s about time I remind you of what happens if you’re not a good girl for me, because we both know how that goes. Got it, sweetheart?’

Her dark eyes, so dramatic, so expressive, flit over me in what looks like a mix of panic and desire. ‘Mmm-hmm,’ she says, edging closer and sliding her hands over my oiled-up shoulders.

‘Good girl. Like what you feel? Like what you see?’

‘Yeah.’ She tugs at her scarlet bottom lip with her teeth.

‘Good. Because you’re still the most beautiful, intoxicating woman I’ve ever, ever seen. And I’d stop doing that thing with your lip if I were you, unless you want that lipstick smeared around my cock by the time Graf shows up.’

She immediately stops worrying at her lip.

‘You know what I’m going to do when we’re done?’ I ask.

‘Go and protect that poor dog’s ass from Norm?’ she guesses, and I let out a pained laugh.

‘Fucking Norm. No. The dogs can go fuck themselves. I’m going to get you in a room, and chain you to the bed, and we’re going to fuck like we did that very first time, got it?’

She lets her eyes drift closed for a moment. ‘You were so fucking rough that night.’

‘Yes, I was.’

She slides a hand down over my slick chest and stomach, and I’m so into her I don’t even ask her to be careful not to smudge my contouring. Then she cups my dick and gives it a really good squeeze.

‘I want it rough like that today,’ she murmurs, and I marvel once again at the fact that this incredible, smoking-hot woman, beloved and respected by millions, wants a chump like me.

I’m fully hard by the time poor old Graf saunters in.

MAX

Filming a showering scene when we’ve decided on no nudity is a creative conundrum I feel absolutely qualified to solve. It’s a shame, really, because Dex and I spend alotof time in the gym. Our arses are domes of steel at the moment.

And don’t get me started on our wife. While I’ve had vivid fantasies about her being pregnant since shamefully early on in our relationship, nothing could have prepared me for the spectacular vision of fertility that is Darcy at five months along. The entire world should see this body.

I suppose it makes sense that a bastion of British industry (yours truly) should maintain some levels of decency. Do any other FTSE100 CEOs get their kits off for charity? Thankfully no. Ugh. I shudder. Ghastly thought.

The devil on my shoulder, though, asks why the fuck we shouldn’t? I’m a trailblazer—a queer bloke in a polyamorous marriage, and my spouses happen to be model-grade hot. If Wolff’s board of directors disapproves of their CEO getting his arse out for charity, tough shit. And Dex and Darcy have no one to answer to but themselves.

I think a tasteful, black-and-white shot of the three of us having fun under the spray would be just the ticket. And once the tabloids get hold of the images, I know for a fact that having Max Hunter bare all with his husbandandwife will have sales of the calendar skyrocketing before you can saypeeping Tom.

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