All Chapters of I AGREED TO MY HUSBAND'S OPEN MARRIAGE RULES: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

STACY'S POVThe drive to Stacy’s office tower is a blur of rage and screeching tires. My phone is a dead weight in my hand. Her words echo, too calm, too reasonable. A partner friend. A daughter. The school knew. Every rational explanation feels like a lie. Matt is out there. Lionel is moving. And my daughter is with a stranger.My knuckles are white on the leather seat. The car pulls up to the curb and I’m out before it fully stops, storming through the glass doors. The receptionist’s eyes go wide. “Mr. Sotheby, is everything—”I don’t answer. I head straight for the bank of elevators, jamming the button for her floor. The ride up is an eternity. My mind races with terrible pictures. Matt, grabbing Millie. Some accomplice. A trap.The elevator dings. The doors slide open to the executive floor. It’s all soft lighting and expensive carpet. And there, through the open door of a small breakout lounge, I see her.Stacy.She’s standing, one hand on her hip, her head thrown back in a laugh

STACY'S POV“Tell him to stop,” Michael whispered, his lips hovering near mine. His other hand came to rest on my thigh, high up, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh through the fabric of my pencil skirt. “No more pickups. No more cozy work briefings. I’ll handle the school run. I will protect what’s mine.”His hand on my thigh began to move, a slow, deliberate stroke upward, pushing the hem of my skirt. My breath caught. This was wrong. We were arguing. Millie was asleep three feet away. But my body responded instantly, a traitorous heat pooling low in my stomach. The fight, the fear, the sheer intensity of his focus on me—it was all turning me on.“Michael…” I whispered, a plea that meant both stop and don’t you dare stop.He kissed me.It wasn’t gentle. It was a conquest. A silencing. His mouth crushed against mine, his tongue demanding entry. I tasted his anger, his jealousy, his relentless need for control. And I met it. My hands flew up, not to push him away, but to clutch

MIACHEL'S POVHer orgasm hit her like a quake. She screamed, her body convulsing around my hand, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt. I held her through it, fucking her through the pulses until she went limp, spent and trembling.I withdrew my slick fingers, bringing them to my mouth. Her taste exploded on my tongue—sweet, musky, victory. Her eyes tracked the movement, wide and dark.I unzipped my trousers, freeing my aching cock. I was painfully hard, throbbing. I positioned myself at her entrance, the broad head nudging her swollen flesh. “You’ve earned your place in the war room,” I told her, my voice thick. “Now, this is my reward.”I didn’t wait. I pushed into her in one long, devastating stroke. She was so wet, so warm, so impossibly tight. She gasped, her legs wrapping around my hips, her heels digging into my ass, urging me deeper. I set a brutal, pounding pace from the start. This wasn’t about lovemaking. It was about possession. About branding her with my ne

STACY'S POVThe drive home felt longer than usual. The confrontation with Matt played on a loop behind my eyes. His fake smile, the dropped roses, the venom in his whisper.He won’t let this go. The thought was a cold stone in my stomach. He’d been humiliated in front of an audience. A man like Matt, built on arrogance and control, would find a way to retaliate. I could feel it coming, a storm gathering just beyond the horizon.But I couldn’t afford to stare at the storm clouds. Not now. I shifted my focus, forcing my mind back to the cool logic of the bid packet on the seat beside me. The Centennial Bridge. Michael’s company was bleeding, caught in a web of embezzlement and family betrayal cooked up by his cousin Lionel. This project wasn’t just a contract; it was a lifeline.A way to turn the tide, to show strength when they were trying to make him look weak. I can do this. I can help him. The numbers, the strategies, the political chess moves—this was a language I understood. It wa

STACY'S POVThe polished elevator doors slid open to the executive floor of Sotheby Holdings, and the hum of focused energy hit me like a wall. This is it. Michael’s hand rested at the small of my back, a steady, possessive pressure through the silk of my blouse. He’d driven me here himself, Davis and another guard a silent, looming presence behind us.“Remember,” Michael murmured, his lips close to my ear as we stepped into the bustling open-plan area. “They work for me. But today, they’re here for you. You own the room.”I nodded, clutching my leather portfolio. Inside were the printed bid documents, my handwritten notes in the margins, and the strategic summary I’d prepared. My heart was a frantic bird against my ribs, but my face felt calm. I can do this. He believes I can.The receptionist, a young man I didn’t recognize, looked up. “Mr. Sotheby. The team is assembled in Conference Room A.”“Thank you, Ben.” Michael’s voice was all business. But as we turned down the hall, people