When my husband’s CEO invites us to his private place in Malibu, we think it's just a fancy thank-you for all the late nights at the office.

But we get there and find out it's not a normal resort. It's a place with different rules, a place about trust. It's a freeuse resort. My husband and I look at each other: Are we doing this? I see he’s not scared. I'm not scared either. We hold hands tight in a silent yes.

I go from sipping chardonnay to having it poured over my skin and licked away by a stranger before I can even finish the glass. Across the room, I see my husband lost in his own pleasure with other women, and somehow there’s no jealousy—only a deep, steady certainty that when the day ends, we still belong to each other.

And I realize that we’re not breaking our marriage here. We’re building something stronger.