Then he had a heart-stopping moment where he suddenly suspected that she might have brought one of her friends from work home with her. Why not? She could have a little play time before her husband got home—as far as she was concerned, he was still at the office. He felt a hot flash in his chest—God, the power of it took him aback.
How embarrassing would it be if they found him skulking there in the closet, even if it was merely a friend with her and not a lover.
But a moment later, he felt certain she was talking too loudly to be anything other than talking on the phone.
“God, that’s so amazing! I can’t believe it.”
“Everything is going to be so cool now you’re in New York!”
Lucy. It had to be—she was talking to Lucy on the phone again. Was she still going to follow through with what he’d asked her via text?
He heard a clatter from the kitchen—Madeleine making a sandwich while she continued to chat to Lucy on the phone. Well, he had told her to make herself a sandwich. He heard her finish up making the sandwich, opening the fridge to replace the ham and cheese and grab a soda, and then a few moments later he heard the TV switched on.
His heart sank—maybe she’d quietly given up the idea of a little flirtatious game with her husband.
He could hear she was still talking to Lucy, but with the TV on and blaring away with one of her shows—Gossip Girl or Vampire Academy Diaries or something like that from the sounds of it—he couldn’t make out their conversation.
What now? Did he bail out of the closet and admit failure?
A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. That actually reminded him he needed to put it on completely silent, or else even the vibrate setting might give him away. A text message from Madeleine:
> Hey. Just got home, had my sandwich.
Hugo’s heart bounced back up to full speed again—she wouldn’t text him to tell him she’d had her sandwich unless she was following what he’d asked her. He heard the TV switched off—it had been a quick sandwich, that was for sure. He wasn’t complaining.
He sent a text back saying:
> Okay, I’m on my way.
If he was just leaving the office, she would know she had half an hour or so before he’d arrive home. He heard her come through toward the bedroom, still apparently on the phone to Lucy. Her conversation was a little clearer now that the TV was off, and more so as she now came out into the bedroom.
“No—he was like that guy from CSI, you know? No, the original series, the Vegas one.”
Gossiping to Lucy about some guy she fancied, no doubt. It gave Hugo a warm tingle between his thighs—Madeleine really opened up to her best friend in a way she didn’t even with her husband. It felt wrong to be there, listening—but then he hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. She wasn’t supposed to be chatting with her best friend right now—the deal was she was warming herself up for her husband.
God, she looked good in a light summer dress with a white, blue and green floral print that came down mid-thigh, and wasn’t as short as she’d worn to work, but fitted tightly to her body to show off her curves. Had she really worn no panties to work that day?
“God, it was totally crazy. I mean, I guess I had a few drinks, but—”
He could hear Lucy’s voice, though couldn’t quite make out her words as Madeleine went to the windows and re-angled the blinds, giving herself privacy. Hugo felt himself stiffen further, not only from the sight of this goddess in front of him, but in the hope that she was adjusting the blinds to prepare for sex.
“Everything—I mean everything.”
He heard Lucy’s blasphemy in response to that, but by then he was beyond surprise that Madeleine was telling someone else about their restaurant encounter with the piano player. He had to accept that she told Lucy everything.
“I don’t know, I guess since I started teasing Connor a little through the window every now and then, and with what happened with Hugo…”
She’d been teasing Connor through the window? She hadn’t talked about that. Hugo supposed he hadn’t exactly asked her, either. She probably didn’t even remember to tell him, she was getting to be such a sex goddess.
She turned back, to head through to the bathroom now. Saying, “This fantasy of Hugo’s, what he’s been telling me since our anniversary… I can’t stop thinking about it now.”
He felt the opportunity for showing himself to Madeleine, of giving her a legitimate surprise, was now over. In the bathroom, he heard the water running in the sink and wondered if he might be able to sneak past the door while she was in there.
“I’m going to put you on speaker, can’t hold the phone while I…”
Hugo heard the familiar sound of Lucy’s voice, though somewhat tinny from the phone’s micro-speakers, echoing slightly because of the acoustics of the bathroom.
“You know Jilly Bennett wrote a piece about this last year in the Globe. It’s the new in thing.”
“The new in thing?”
“Husbands that let wives stray. The male fantasy always used to be two women, right? But we’re just not wired that way. Watching our men screw another woman right in front of us.”
“Of course not.”
Hugo edged the closet door open, poked out his head. But the bathroom door was so wide, it was going to be a huge gamble that she was even facing away from the door when he scampered past. And there was the mirror above the sink—she could spot him in that.
“We’re just not biologically wired that way,” Lucy said. “Only, it turns out a lot of men are biologically wired to see their woman with another man.”
“A lot of men?”
“Oh, it’s quite common. But God, you’re so lucky.”
Hugo quietly pulled back, easing the closet door back into its mostly-closed position as quietly as possible. He’d have to come up with a different exit plan.
“A lot of men want their women to sleep with other men?”
“Jilly talked to a load of shrinks about it. It’s like the married male psyche has this in-built acceptance that women peak sexually at 40—but instead of having his wife threaten their relationship with affairs, he wants to know about and approve his wife’s sleeping around.”
“Seriously? How did I not hear about this when I was considering whether to get married?”
“Because you were considering whether to get married when you were, like, seven years old.”
Now Madeleine emerged from the bathroom, looking radiant.
“Oh, yeah. I did kinda know about Hugo by our second date,” she said. “So I still don’t understand it: these guys are happy for their wives to have affairs? They don’t get jealous and angry?”
Madeleine dropped her phone onto the bed, but then turned to perch on the chair by her dresser, as though to do her make-up. Make-up? Was she going out?
On speakerphone still, Lucy said: “Not angry. Jealous, maybe, but then this whole primal thing kicks in, and it makes them firstly see that their wife is more desirable because other men want them, and secondly want to fight for her and reclaim her as their own—so it makes them more sexually attracted to their wives.”
“Seriously.”
“It’s biological. Nothing they can change.”
Madeleine was applying eye-liner. What was she doing that for? She never ordinarily put make-up on just for a little romance with her husband—not unless it was date night, and date night had been yesterday since she’d been worried her Saturday shift might tire her out today since there was a new Stephen King book coming in.
“And this is a lot of men?”
“A surprisingly significant proportion. Jesus—I thought Jilly was writing a fairy story. But you’ve God-Damned married one.”
“I guess…”
“God, I want one. Where can I find one?”
“You’ll have to put an ad in the personals: Wanted, husband who will let me cheat on him.”
“It’s not cheating if he knows about it. And if he approves—it’s
like he’s in control, so.”
“And the husband doesn’t want to sleep with other women?”
“Not according to Jilly’s article. These are the kind of guys who idolize their wives. Just like Hugo does with you—I’ve seen that look in his eyes when he’s watching you.”
“When he’s watching me?”
“You know he went to some of your events without telling you?”
“He did what?”
“God, I really shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“You’re keeping secrets from me?”
“I’m his Maid of Honor too, honey buns.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
Now Madeleine was applying lipstick—bright, scarlet lipstick.
Lucy said: “Anyway, it’s sweet. You’ll love it. He wanted to see your big event—he’s seriously proud of you, by the way. But he worried you might feel the need to host him because he’s your husband—he didn’t want to take any of your attention away from your big day.”
“Seriously.”
“So he was watching you flirting with those coworkers of yours—and those authors of yours.”
“God—really? You could have told me…”
“I would have—but he had this dreamy expression on his face. Honestly, I thought he’d shared a spliff with one of those student admirers of yours. I even talked to him—he just said he was happy you were so happy. I never put two and two together…”
“He saw me. And he really did like it?”
“This is the real victory of feminism,” Lucy said. “Husbands that let us sleep around—and don’t want to themselves. Only, according to Jilly’s article, this was common enough way before feminism. So are you gonna do it?”
“Am I gonna do it?”
“Sleep with some other guy. God, I would. If my husband—if I had a husband—said he had a fantasy about another man fucking me, I would be out that door in a shot to look for another man.”
“You find it hard enough to find one man, Luce.”
“Details. I know what I’m looking for in a husband now, though.”
“You can’t have Hugo, he’s taken.”
“I couldn’t have Hugo even if you let me—I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
“Really?”
“Really. So who’s it going to be?”
“Who’s it going to be?”
“Who’s your first target? Fabian? Ryan? That Connor guy’s always in the bookstore trying to pick you up.”
Madeleine stood up, peered into the mirror on the dresser as though seeing her make-up from a few inches away would reveal some imperfection that needed fixing. Hugo was finding it a little hard to breathe, these two women talking about his fantasy—talking about Madeleine fulfilling his fantasy. If he’d had a seat, he would have certainly been on the edge of it.
“I don’t know,” Madeleine said. “I mean, this is all very weird. I mean, I think I have to figure it out in my head.”
Lucy said: “You do want to sleep with other men? I mean, who wouldn’t?”
“I… I guess it would be nice, if it was the right guy.”
Hugo felt his heart skip, a jolt of jealousy shooting through.
“Who are you kidding it would be nice?”
“Okay, it could be hot,” Madeleine said, pouring boiling oil into her husband’s stomach. “But I need to know about Hugo. I don’t want to ever hurt him, and I don’t want anything to ever come between us.”
“Oh, it won’t. That’s the beauty.”
Next up, a little hair brushing. She was brushing her hair for him?
“I need to know he’s not doing this because he thinks it’s the only way to make me happy. I need to know he wants this for him, not just for me.”
“God I’m so jealous.”
“Okay, I have to go, Luce,” she said.
“You can’t be going out again?” Lucy complained.
“Actually, no,” Madeleine said, fondling her breasts a little before she reached back to unfasten the catch on her bra, and leave herself naked. “We’re having a night in.”
“Oh, okay. He’s there with you now?”
“Uh… no. He’s on his way. Only, he’s told me to warm myself up for him.”
“Told you to warm yourself up for him?”
“I don’t know—seemed pretty forceful. I kinda liked it.”
“Jesus I wish I had a husband telling me to get in his bed.”
Hugo couldn’t help but smile as he saw Madeleine laugh at her friend. His cheerfulness at the way she’d casually dropped in the part about warming herself up for him fueled his inner warmth.
“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” she said.
“You have to tell me what happens.”
“Okay—we’ll see.”
“Oh, hey—that personal trainer of yours at the gym. The one with the huge cock. You know he’s interested—he’d be a nice first fling.”
“Goodbye, Luce.”
Nine
Madeleine looked insanely good with her face highlighted by startling lipstick, dark eyeliner and mascara. And the way that dress held her curves was a thrill in itself. For a moment or two she gazed down at the bed in front of her, as though wondering where she wanted her husband to find her when he returned home.
She drifted over toward the windows, resting a knee on the window seat as she leaned forward to prize apart two of the slats, and peer out across the street.
Hugo felt his blood stirring as he realized who she must be looking for.
He glanced down at his cell phone. It had been twenty minutes—she’d be expecting him to arrive very shortly. How could he escape the closet?
He sent a text message:
> Almost home. You warming yourself up for me, honey?
He saw her twirling a strand or two of her hair as she glanced down at her cell phone, reading his message, then back up to the gap in the blind made by her fingers. Could she see her crush across the street? Could she see Connor?
She was tapping out a reply, he could see it.
> Just getting started. Phone call from Lucy—couldn’t get rid of her.
Hugo couldn’t think of how to get past her. Could he get her so turned on, so caught up by touching herself that he could sneak out? He didn’t have any other answer—he felt the need to delay her, at least, distract her.
He texted her:
> Where are you, in the bedroom? Tell me what you’re wearing.
She replied:
> Yeah, I’m in the bedroom, looking out the window. Wearing my blue and green dress I got at Macy’s last week.
Hugo replied:
> Who do you see out the window? Connor?
Her reply:
> Yes, he’s home. On his own, though.
> What’s he doing?
> Lying on his bed, listening to music, I think. He has big headphones on.
Hugo suddenly remembered what she’d said to Lucy a earlier that evening: ever since I started teasing Connor a little through the window. Hugo felt he’d missed out on her telling him about that. Maybe it was time to see it for himself.
He sent a text stating firmly:
> I want you to pull up the blinds.
She replied:
> You want him to see me?
> Yes. Pull them up, now. I’ll know if you don’t.
He saw her pause, peering through the gap in the blind again. Something suggested to him that if Madeleine had teased Connor much through the windows, it hadn’t involved much exposure on her part. She glanced down at her cell phone again, as though checking his text actually said what she thought it said.
Then she reached up for the cord hanging down beside the blind, and hauled it upward, opening the room up to the street to a startling extent.
It made Madeleine catch her breath. He saw her suddenly turn away, and for a moment thought she must have discovered his position, made him. But she wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t focusing on the closet or
the gap between the doors. She had just turned her back on the street, on Connor, a dazed smile spreading on her face suggesting that he’d spotted her, knew she was there.
Hugo couldn’t quite see out of the windows at the right angle to see Connor’s apartment. He texted her:
> Does he see you? Does he know you’re there?
She replied:
> Yes, he’s seen me.
Hugo felt his stomach fluttering, his hardness bulging. Was he really thinking about getting his wife to strip in front of the windows when her crush was watching? He was.
He decided to give her a chance—and perhaps himself more of a chance to get out of there. He texted her:
> Turn out the lights.
She did—stepping back to kill the bedside lamp, and the ceiling light. It left her only in semi-darkness at most—the light from the street flooding through the enormous windows meant Connor would still be able to see her, Hugo suspected. He could see her well enough, though the colors were leached out.
He had to be careful to turn the brightness down on his cell phone screen to avoid alerting her to him.
Madeleine sat on the bed facing the windows, hunched over her phone.
He read her text:
> There’s a lot of light from the street—he must be able to see me.
Hugo texted her back:
> Go back to the window.
He heard her quiet gasp at that, and saw her hesitate. Was she going to do what he asked? This thing would kind of fall apart if she didn’t.
He saw her hunch over her phone briefly, then she send her message.
> Yes, sir.
She picked herself up, and made the two steps back to the window in a very leisurely fashion. Nervous.
> Is he watching?
> Yes, sir.
> Remove your dress.
He saw her standing there, shaking a little. Should he have ordered her to drink a glass or two of wine before doing this? Well, he didn’t want to get her drunk, this wasn’t about humiliating her, this was about turning her on.
She hesitated, and now Hugo was beginning to regret this approach. Was this frightening her? Would this put her off?
He was about to type out a text telling her it was okay, she didn’t have to do this after all, perhaps she should close the blind again, play with herself under the bed sheets if she still felt like it.
Madeleine Plays (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book Two of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 8
