Under the table, he felt something brush his thigh, and then felt her stocking-clad foot slide over his legs to lodge against his rock hard cock.
Madeleine caught her breath as she felt how erect he was.
“You really want me to do this, huh?”
“I guess so.”
“This is real, Hugo,” she said gravely. “If I screw someone else, I can’t unscrew him.”
“I know.”
“So if there’s even a one percent chance you’ll decide you can’t handle it after all, I’m not doing anything.”
God she was beautiful, her sandy hair glinting in the halogen lights of the bar in that French braid, her pixyish face elegantly made up but spiced with a nervous blush.
Could he really handle the idea of another man laying he hands on her?
He said, “When you were on that train, you made me so certain you were actually fooling around with that other guy—I handled it, didn’t I?”
“I’ll say,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard.”
An elderly couple drifted past their table a little too close for comfort, no doubt on the way out to their own planned dinner, but there was no question the old lady had caught the tail end of what Madeleine was saying—she gave them both of them a highly disapproving glance.
It made Madeleine giggle, covering her mouth with a hand in horror at being overhead by such an inappropriate audience. Her peels of laughter simply turned Hugo on even more.
When they were alone again, she said, “I guess when I was playing, I did make you think it was real.”
“You did,” Hugo nodded, leaned back. “Look, if you like I’ll go upstairs, take a shower and comb my hair a different way, and come back down here as though I’m a potential client. Then we can go off, have dinner, and play it out, and I can even pay you for sex if you like…”
“And if the other guy comes back while you’re off having a shower?”
“You’re free to do whatever you feel comfortable doing,” he said. “If I don’t find you here, I’ll assume you decided to take the red pill…”
“It’s not The Matrix, Hugo,” she said, gravely serious. “If there’s any possibility of this affecting our marriage…”
“I can only say that you’ve already tested me in situations where only you knew you were faking.”
“So it’s down to me,” Madeleine nodded. “Can I handle it?”
Hugo tried to portray the picture of calm. “It’s one night. Not even that—you could be with him five minutes, turn around and tell him you’re sick, you’ve got to leave. If you like, we’ll never say another word about it.”
“And if he doesn’t take no for an answer?”
“You tell him your pimp has a Glock, and will track down him and his family with great anger and furious vengeance.”
Madeleine traced out the form of his hardness with her foot again under the table, and he was mildly impressed at her flexibility—perhaps assisted by her efforts in the gym.
She finally said quietly, “Okay. Go take your shower.”
Hugo felt his pulse quicken, his body forced into taking a deep breath. Either way, this could be hot. If she really did connect with someone who assumed she was a hotel hooker, it was going to be a huge step. And if he came down to find her waiting for him, they could imagine a fairly sizzling situation instead, he was sure of it.
“And take your time, don’t rush,” she said as he hauled himself up to his feet now, and it sounded like teasing, but was there a hint of hopefulness in her voice, that she would be hired by that other guy after all? “I’ll be okay down here.”
“Okay,” he said, amusing her as he shifted his pants to conceal his tent pole. “If you need more time—to decide, or whatever—just send me a text.”
Hugo leaned down to offer her a quick parting kiss on the cheek, but as he did so she glided in to kiss his mouth. She tasted so sweet, so fresh with the tang of alcohol lacing her mouth. He wondered faintly whether someone else would be kissing her later that evening.
And then he was thinking: would other men really pay to be with his wife?
“I love you, Hugo Finnell,” she breathed as they parted.
“I love you, too, Madeleine Finnell,” he said. “Nothing will ever change that.”
Then she beckoned him with a finger, so that he leaned down for her to whisper in his ear. “One way or the other, I’m going to fuck you later.”
She made him jump by squeezing his cock through his pants, but then Hugo found himself walking away, as though walking on clouds back to the elevators.
Was she going to be there when he got back?
*
Up in the room, Hugo felt conflicted as he stripped off and stepped into the glass-walled shower, allowing the wonderfully warm water to course down his naked body.
What did he really want?
His options were to take a quick shower and get down to the bar as soon as possible, so that Madeleine’s suitor had no time to make a move—or he could relax, take his time, allow the full possibility to go ahead.
Under the warm flow of the water, he felt distilled panic clawing away at his insides. It urged him to hurry, hurry, hurry, get clean, get dressed, get downstairs to snatch his wife from the jaws of danger. Yet the warm feeling of arousal seemed to keep that panic in check, pushing up his erection at the thought of the unbridled excitement and lust in Madeleine’s face, along with a fair amount of shock, as he had suggested the possibility of her actually being a call girl for the night.
He managed to slow his breathing, calm himself, take a leisurely shower, hanging on to the experience he’d had when Madeleine had called him from the Baltimore train, when he had been certain she was finally taking it to the next level with another man.
He had coped with that situation then—enjoyed it, even.
Even if he rushed his shower, dashed downstairs looking like an idiot, Madeleine might already be gone when he got there. He might as well take his time, enjoy this curious mix of emotions.
By the time he shut off the water and stepped out of the stall to grab his clean white towel, Hugo was actually beginning to hope Madeleine would be nowhere to be found when he returned to the bar.
*
Hugo felt his heart rise up into his throat, his pulse quivering as he left the room and headed down in the elevator to the lobby, then strode through into the bar, looking like a Wall Street trader, hair slicked back with gel in a way he’d never worn it before.
He would have to make up some kind of playboy backstory to kick-start their role-play. Maybe he was some kind of shipping magnate in town to check out the port facilities. Maybe he was a Silicon Valley overnight-billionaire, in town for a big meeting with investors on Wall Street. Maybe he was a scorned husband seeking the solace of hired company knowing his wife had left him for another man.
As he came through into the bar, Hugo actually gasped.
There was no sign of Madeleine.
Seventeen
He seemed to spend an age searching the darkened interior of the bar, seeking out every face seated round every table, wedged into every booth, and propping up every inch of the bar to see whether he was simply overlooking her.
His skin felt suddenly clammy, perspiration breaking out across the upper reaches of his forehead, and he seemed to be finding it difficult to get any kind of oxygen out of the air he breathed.
She was gone. Her suitor had returned, and she had gone with him.
“Jack Daniels, straight up,” he asked the smartly-dressed barman. “Room 2728.”
“Everything okay, sir?” the barman asked, and Hugo guessed that he looked a little more shell-shocked than he thought he did.
“Uh… yeah, thanks. I… uh… I have a slight cold.”
The first drink didn’t even touch the sides as it went down. The second he carried over to a small table in the middle of the room, to wait for her.
Perhaps she’d gone to the restroom. Perha
ps she was teasing him.
Five minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes ticked by.
Then, his cell phone buzzed in his pants pocket. He struggled to pull it out, his suit pants fitting closely to his frame.
And his heart performed a small somersault.
> You out of the shower yet, honey? My client came back—I’m in a taxi with him, he’s taking me to dinner. Everything still okay?
Hugo felt his hardness pressing at his restrictive pants, his loins tingling at the thought of his pretty wife accompanying someone to a restaurant on the pretext of having sex with him afterward.
He felt the urgent panic rising inside his stomach again, pressing him to call her, text her—anything to stop her from going through with this. But it was such a thrill. Madeleine was going to have a really powerful experience.
The Fantasy was back on.
How incredibly beautiful she would look having dinner with her stranger, her suitor, no doubt finding it hard to keep from blushing profusely at the knowledge of what would come at the end of the evening.
How could he call a halt to all this? Madeleine had the choice to go as far as she wanted to, and if his jealousy became too much to handle, he could order her to come back.
Even if it didn’t all go well, there would be some resolution to this whole fantasy of theirs—either it would be confirmed as something fun to do, or they could move on, no longer think about any of it again.
Hugo texted back:
> Just stepped out, sweetie. Have fun with your client—remember you can stop whenever you want to.
A few moments later, another text.
> Are you sure you’re okay with this?
He replied:
> I’m sure. I’m so hard thinking about you enjoying yourself, honey. Only wish I could watch.
Madeleine replied:
> If this goes well, we’ll have to find a way to arrange that.
> That would be seriously hot.
Hugo smiled as he texted her back.
Then:
> Taxi is stopping. Order some room service! Text me if you want me to come home. Love you.
Hugo sent a missive back telling her to have fun, he’d be okay. Then he headed back upstairs for what seemed like the longest wait he had ever faced in his life.
*
He put a pay-per-view movie on the television while he waited, but couldn’t focus on the flick for a second. Initially, he kept telling himself she was having dinner. Whoever she was with, they weren’t doing anything yet.
He’d been through this before—the belief that she was with someone else. Madeleine had managed to fool him into thinking it was all real, too, and he’d reacted accordingly.
How was this so different?
After half an hour, Hugo did begin to worry. Was Madeleine safe? What if she wanted to come back to him, and her client didn’t let her? God, they were so stupid to do it like this.
At turns he was so excited, and terrified. He tried to dwell on the former. Madeleine was out enjoying herself. Experiencing life. Indulging in her carnal urges without the restrictions of a boring husband.
He couldn’t lie down and just watch TV, and even switching over to one of the 10-minute teasers of the adult movies, he wasn’t able to pass any time without thinking about what might be happening, checking his phone for messages and monitoring the time.
He kept looking over to the door, that same immobile door handle. When was she coming back?
Nine o’clock came and went, and he did break himself out of the whirl of conflicting thoughts and feelings to order a cheeseburger from room service. When it came, he managed all of two bites before the nausea in his belly took away his appetite.
Still, no messages.
*
He didn’t hear her come in.
He’d actually fallen asleep, somehow. He had no idea how late it was when he was stirred from slumber by the movement as she sat on the edge of the mattress, removing her shoes.
The instant he realized she was back, he was startled awake by a burst of intense heat inside his chest.
What had happened?
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said as he hauled himself up in the bed, and before he really had time to open his eyes, she was leaning over to kiss him.
“Hey, honey,” he said in between kisses.
Her lips were still waxy from her heavy lipstick. She tasted of alcohol and cigarettes—the latter particularly giving her breath a sharp edge he’d never experienced before since she had always been a nonsmoker.
She’d been with someone else. Hugo’s cock sprang up.
How far had they gone?
Completely awake now, he put his arm around her shoulders and just kissed her. God she was so beautiful. She was still in her little purple cocktail dress, but in the low light of the single lamp she’d turned on, her hair seemed mussed up, tied back loosely in a ponytail now.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Three, I think.”
Hugo felt another sharp burst of shock and jealousy strike him hard inside his chest. Three? There was no way that dinner alone could have gone on so long. Even if she’d gone dancing afterwards, it was too late for her to be getting in, wasn’t it?
“You have a good time?” he murmured, trying to hide the outward signs of the intense energy rocking his system.
She hugged him, her hands grabbing his head as she kissed his cheek, his forehead, his lips.
“It was amazing,” she beamed.
With every breath, he was inhaling her strong cocktail of scent—her perfume, of course, and the cigarette smoke from wherever she’d been hanging out. There was also a hint of male cologne lingering around her—her client’s scent?
And underneath it all, there was the dark smell of female arousal.
She’d had sex with someone else.
“Great. That’s fantastic,” he smiled, feeling genuinely pleased she was happy, though he was a little confused at his own response.
“Was it terrible waiting for me?” she giggled, kissing him again, filling his vision with her smile.
“It’s always terrible waiting for you,” he said, feeling the need to play down the absolutely age he had spent on his own that night, pacing, sighing, peering at the clock, doing his best to suppress the anguish and paranoia that could otherwise have had him beset by fears of losing his beautiful wife.
She turned into him, and reached for another long, slow, sweet kiss.
“What happened?” he asked, dreading the question but needing its answer. “What did you get up to?”
She stood up, went to the mirrored wall behind the TV, checking her makeup. Suddenly nervous.
She said, “You didn’t stop me.”
“No.”
He heard her take a deep breath. She said, “We had dinner at this Italian place across town. I… I didn’t really enjoy it, I was so nervous.”
He could hear the tremor in her voice. She was scared. Was she scared of how he’d react to her being with another man, or was she scared about something darker?
He found himself wanting to console her, somehow, to reassure her, to calm her down. At no point did he want her frightened, or anxious, or in pain.
“You stayed out late afterwards,” he said, trying to sound calm, reassuring, stretching out on the bed to get closer to her, show her he wasn’t angry. “He take you back to his room?”
She turned around, and in the light of the bedside table, he could see now the way her lipstick was smeared across her face. God, had she really used her mouth on another man? She had stretched her lips around another man’s big swollen cock—loved every minute of it.
Hugo felt his heart quivering.
She leaned down and planted an upside down kiss on his mouth, one hand gently pressing at the side of his head. Her ponytail trailed over his chest as he sucked on her lips, slid his tongue into her mouth. She tasted so different from the booze and the cigarettes. It was almost as though he was kissing a diff
erent woman entirely.
Perhaps he was. Perhaps she had now forever changed.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked in a little voice.
“For what?”
“Going home with him. Spending most of the night with him.”
“Of course not. Can you see how hard you make me, Madeleine? I just want to know all the details.”
She actually giggled again, a very comforting sound. Kissed him again, rubbed his nose with hers playfully. “Is this what you dreamed it would be like?”
“I think you’re very brave, Madeleine,” he said seriously, reaching up to place his hand on the back of her head, fingers sprawling out over the top of her neck as he pulled her in for a long tender kiss, indulging in her strange flavor, breathing in her wicked scent. “I wanted you to try this, you know that.”
“I know.”
“So did you have a good time?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and continued planting little kisses on him, running her delicate tongue along his lips, smiling broadly.
“You enjoyed being with another man?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“He was good in the sack?”
Hugo felt his heartbeat thudding against the wall of his chest, hard.
Madeleine said: “He was fine. A little rough, but I guess I needed it like that.”
He stifled a gasp at the brutal confirmation that his wife had slept with someone else, tried to distract from it by reaching up to cup one of her breasts through her little purple dress.
Then she said, “What really turned me on was the thought of you waiting for me, going crazy about me being out with someone else.”
“That right?” Hugo smiled, breathing deeply, trying to dampen down the strong feelings of jealousy he felt, although those feelings also seemed to inspire powerful arousal in him. He added, “You always did like driving me crazy.”
Her laughter made him feel all warm inside, and he actually relaxed a little.
“You always drove me crazy,” she said, and then let out a little shriek as he grabbed her ass, pulled her onto the bed and over his head. “Talking about your fantasy. Fair’s fair.”
Madeleine Plays (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book Two of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 18
