The week dragged on, each day a slow burn of anticipation. I couldn't stop thinking about Lila's next massage. It was insane—she was my wife, and I could see her naked any time I wanted. Yet here I was, glued to my computer, heart racing like some perverted voyeur waiting for another show. The guilt gnawed at me, but the memory of that first session, the way Lila's body glistened under Mason's hands, kept me hooked. I hadn't told her about the cameras, and her lie about keeping her bra and panties on only fueled my obsession. If she could keep secrets, so could I.