I awoke at nine a.m. to the smell of frying bacon. I was touched; Rick remembered my absolute favorite weekend breakfast: a fried-egg-and-bacon sandwich on lightly toasted white bread. Without knocking he burst in with the sandwich and a glass of orange juice on a tray.

"Breakfast in bed for my lady," he said, placing the tray on my sheet with a flourish.

"Thanks, honey," I said, suddenly conscious of my lace nightie, in which my breasts and nipples were clearly visible and, at the sight of Rick in his crisp white trunks, were getting erect again. I tried not to look at his tight pecs, at the faintest trace of a love bite above his left nipple, at his strong, broad thighs or his bulging biceps, and I especially tried not to sneak a glance at his dick, although the outline of it was clearly visible. This was madness. Rick and I had seen each other in our underwear a million times, but now that I'd heard him fuck, now that I'd rubbed my clit until I came while thinking about him and Sam, I felt like I'd crossed an invisible line and that things would never be the same between us. I felt like we'd actually had sex. Most of all, I was convinced that Rick somehow knew all this, that he could read my mind.

But once I'd showered and we'd had a walk along the beach to blow away last night's cobwebs and hangovers, things were back to normal. It was a glorious, hot day, and the three of us laughed and joked together, free of the dark, sexual undercurrent of last night's conversation. By lunchtime, I'd pretty much forgotten about my masturbatory fantasy, although I was reminded again that afternoon.

I don't know whose idea it was to take a cooling dip-it might have been Sam's. The boys went in first, and seeing them waist-deep in the turquoise sea, briny water dripping down their defined torsos, I felt last night's desire return. I decided to join them, reasoning that the cold, refreshing water would calm me down and take the edge off this desire that was threatening to spill over into obsession.