Awakening Her Needs 3: A Hotwife Beginning Story (Her Needs Series)

by Blaise Quin

  The only reference to our silently shared fantasy was what I said when I was inside her, feeling her getting close. “You want it, don’t you?” I prodded.

  She didn’t ask what I meant, didn’t deny it. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes!”

  She could have meant me, she could have meant she wanted to be with Antonio. Her words put me right up to the edge.

  “Give it to me!” she begged.

  Of all the words Emily could have chosen, she picked the ones that made me think most of coming inside her. Of Antonio coming inside her. Unprotected.

  I almost blurted it out, but it was too late. Just the thought made me blow my load, and, perhaps satisfying her own fantasy, Emily moaned in the thrill of being filled with seed.

  The next day I again watched Emily get ready for work, trying to see if she was making any special preparations for Antonio. Until, like last time, she kicked me out of the bedroom.

  I got through the morning okay, since I didn’t expect anything would happen, not without us discussing it. Although around noon I had this wild thought that Emily and Antonio would go out to lunch, but they’d never make it to the restaurant, they’d go to a hotel instead.

  The afternoon dragged. I knew Emily had another group work dinner scheduled. Once at home, I again paced, puttered, killed time.

  Dreaming up ways to take advantage of the Antonio situation. Wanting to regain some semblance of control, instead of being carried along by another man’s whims. And perhaps Emily’s.

  When I heard Emily pull into the driveway I sent her a text I’d already prepared: the lights are out in the hotel room.

  I clicked off the light as soon as the garage door closed. The minute she opened the door I wrapped my arms around her in the dark, my mouth on hers. She responded hungrily.

  I’d already dropped my pants and slipped a condom over my quivering cock, which she couldn’t see in the dark. I turned her against the wall and lifted her skirt. My hands grasped for her panties but came up empty. Had she taken them off when she got my text? Or earlier, to tease me when she got home?

  Or had Antonio taken them off?

  Either way, she was naked underneath, and wet. Why she was wet set off another whole round of fantasies. There was no way she could have become this aroused in the time she’d walked from the car. . .

  I fucked her against the wall, her face turned away from me. My finger was on her clit as I slammed into her, our breathing heavy and loud in the small entryway. It didn’t take long for either of us to find release.

  We’d never uttered a single word.

  Mid afternoon the next day I was in my office on my way to a meeting when I got a text from Emily. It said: Dinner cancelled tonight. Will be home around the usual time.

  I wondered about that all through my meeting. When I got home, Emily was already there. She had changed out of her work clothes and was sitting cross legged on the sofa, idly flipping through a magazine.

  “Hi,” I said, dropping my stuff in the hall and bending to give her a quick kiss. Emily seemed out of sorts, troubled. “What happened?”

  “The deal is off,” she said. “Nothing I did, thankfully. Or any of us. The Board of our company just decided not to accept their offer.”

  I sat next to her on the sofa. “I’m sorry, I know you worked hard on this.”

  Emily shrugged. “It’s okay. Who knows, maybe this is for the best, you know corporate takeovers can be risky.” She ran her fingernail over her thigh, a habit she had when she had something on her mind.

  “How do you feel about it?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral. It was pretty clear that she wasn’t just thinking about the deal.

  She looked up at me, her eyes a mix of confusion and uncertainty. “Like I said, maybe it’s for the best.”

  Meaning she wouldn’t have to be working with Antonio any longer. He’d be gone, out of her—our—lives for good.

  I sensed she was still working through in her mind how she really felt about the situation, so I didn’t prod. We ate dinner, made chit chat, avoiding the topic but our conversation notably subdued.

  It was only later, in bed, the light off, both of us awake but neither making a move to be intimate, when I asked a question, because if I hadn’t, I would have laid awake all night, and I sensed she would have as well. “When does Antonio leave?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  “What do you want to do?” Emily would know what I meant, because there were no excuses now, no risks. Work risks, that is.

  She turned to me in the dark, placing her hand on my chest. I’m sure she felt how hard my heart was beating.

  “I can go either way,” she whispered. “What do you want?”

  And in that moment I knew that whatever I asked for she would agree to. I could say I wanted to stop everything, stop sharing her, stop fantasizing, stop making up stories and talking dirty. I could also tell her I wanted her to go and fuck Antonio at lunch the next day.

  And Emily could have answered my question the same way. She could have told me she wanted to go ahead, or stop. I don’t know how we had got here, but we had reached a turning point.

  All the possibilities ran through my mind. It was easy to conjure them up, because I’d been dwelling on them for weeks, months. Including the recent disturbing versions.

  I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her fingers, then placed it back on my chest, my hand over hers. Not on my crotch, not on hers. This was not a decision to be made in the throes of lust.

  “What do you want?” she repeated.

  “I want to be there,” I replied.

  Emily’s fingers tightened in mine, and we lay like that for a long time. Then, perhaps because the future had been set, clearing away deep lingering uncertainty, we both fell asleep.

  For the second time in my life, I was in a hotel room that I’d booked for my wife to have sex with another man.

  The last time I had done this, for Emily and Dwayne, I’d buried myself in the logistics and details to take my mind off of what was going to happen, to smother my nervousness. This time was different. I was aroused by every piece of planning, from booking the hotel to communicating with Emily about the schedule.

  The morning after we’d agreed, she’d called Antonio on his cell. She had wanted to wait until later, but I really wanted to hear her side of that call. Watching her pick up the phone and dial was almost as exciting as watching her get dressed for her date with Dwayne.

  Just before pressing the call button she looked up at me, giving me one last chance to change my mind. Or perhaps for her to change hers.

  The fact that she hadn’t asked me what she planned on saying, that she had already started to dial, told me volumes. A year ago, my wife would have never made this call. Even a few months ago she would have agonized over what to say. Now it appeared she’d already thought it through.

  Maybe she hadn’t slept the night before at all.

  I nodded. As with her time with Dwayne, I was giving my support to her decision.

  She smiled, understanding. And pressed the button.

  I moved off a few steps to give her a modicum of privacy. Which was like sitting in the corner while your wife had sex with another man. The entire idea of privacy was a laughable concept.

  “Antonio? It’s Emily.”

  She listened, her fingers gripping the phone tightly, suggesting more nervousness than I had seen. Then she relaxed, a small smile appearing, and she turned her shoulder slightly from me, as one would do for a very private call.

  What was Antonio saying? Was he propositioning her? Gloating?

  “Yes,” she said. “Tonight. Dinner? Of course, dinner would be wonderful.”

  She listened again, then her body language changed. Her feet came together, she touched her hair. I could only see her in profile but her mouth slipped into a shy smile. “Thank you,” she said. Then, “I know the restaurant. No, my husband will drop me off. Yes, my husband.” She glanced at me. “Isn’t tha
t a little early for dinner?” Listening again, then a gasp. “I see. Yes. I understand.” She turned again, but I was still able to hear, “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Those were the words she used, but her body language and tone screamed, “I can’t wait to see you!”

  She clicked off, yet took a moment before turning to me.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “He—he seemed to be expecting my call.”

  “Or hoping for it.” I wanted more details, but was a afraid to ask. Maybe one question. “What was that about an early dinner?”

  Emily looked down at her feet. “He—he said wanted to make sure we had enough time to—.”

  To fuck. Is that what sophisticated Antonio would say? Or maybe make love?

  I waited to see if Emily would share this detail, but instead she said, “I need to finish getting ready for work. I want to get out on time so I can come home and change.”

  And that’s what she’d done. By the time I got home that night Emily was already at the house. She must have left the office extra early to prepare for Antonio. I was crushed with the disappointment of not having been there to watch her get ready.

  She was wearing an outfit that looked familiar, yet different. I finally realized that she’d shortened the skirt. She wore no stockings, and I didn’t recognize her high heels. The white silk blouse appeared to be tighter, or perhaps she had a different kind of bra on. Either way, she looked elegant, yet sexy, an incredibly alluring combination. I had to fight the urge to jump her right there.

  But her preparation, and her clothes, were for Antonio, not me.

  “You look amazing,” I’d said.

  “I’m glad you like it.” She’d turned, running her hand along her skirt, down to the hem. “You don’t think it’s too short?”

  “No.”

  “Or too tight?”

  The skirt was just tight enough to show the hint of the outline of her ass, her tiny cheeks, yet not so skin clinging to be slutty. “It’s perfect,” I said truthfully.

  “And the top?” She held her arms aside and squared her shoulders, which only served to thrust her perky breasts out at me. I had to clench my fingers to keep from ripping it off her. “Of course, I’ll have a jacket on.”

  “Of course.” I wondered how long that would last.

  She looked around the room one last time, then picked up her evening purse, the one she used for special occasions. “I guess I’m ready.”

  I made an elegant bowing gesture. “Madame, your car awaits.”

  I’d planned on having her sit in the back seat, like I was a chauffeur, taking her to her dinner date. But at the last minute I opened the front door for her, because I wanted to see those amazing legs beside me.

  My heart beat faster as we approached the restaurant. I was driving my wife to her date with another man. A date that would end up in a hotel room.

  I kept glancing at Emily, sometimes her face, sometimes her breasts, sometimes her legs. I was incredibly aroused, my cock hitting the bottom of the steering wheel, jumping every time I made a turn, threatening to make me explode in my pants.

  We didn’t speak, the only sound the hiss of the tires on the pavement. What was there to say? I could feel the tension build in the car. I turned on the radio, a classic music station, a gentle symphony in the background that was totally incongruous with how I felt.

  When I could take it no longer I said, “This will be fun. We haven’t had a date in a while.”

  Emily laughed, a grateful release of anxiety. “I needed that,” she said.

  “I hope you enjoy your evening,” I said.

  She looked at me and smiled. “Oh, we will, I’m certain.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was talking about her and me or her and Antonio.

  “You’ll explain it to him?” I asked for the tenth time.

  “Of course. If he doesn’t agree, you and I will still have fun.”

  Meaning if Antonio didn’t accept the terms of me being at the hotel, she’d come back alone.

  We were at the restaurant right on time, but it was too soon for me. Emily leaned over and held her cheek out to be kissed. I’m sure this was so she wouldn’t ruin her lipstick, but it also suggested that she was saving her lips for Antonio.

  “Enjoy,” I said.

  “I love you,” she replied.

  “Me too.”

  She gave my thigh a little squeeze before getting out of the car. It was a good thing she didn’t touch my cock, because I would have exploded.

  At the door she turned briefly and smiled, then disappeared inside.

  So here it is, two hours later, and I’m in the hotel room. In one of them, actually. I had booked two adjoining rooms with a connecting door. This had been my idea. Emily and Antonio were at dinner, on a date. They’d come into the hotel room, and I could pretend that it was his room, or even better, that Emily had booked it. Though the connecting door would be ajar, we could all pretend they were alone. I didn’t want to meet Antonio, I didn’t want to sit in the corner in the dark, a third wheel.

  I knew the waiting would be murder, so after dropping Emily off I’d taken a long drive, letting the car out on a stretch of highway, feeling the powerful engine, revving up like my own libido. It would have been worth a speeding ticket just to blow off the steam, but tonight no cops were around.

  I thought back to the half of the conversation I had heard between Emily and Antonio. What had he said to her to make her reply thank you? Commenting on her looks no doubt. How would he say it? You looked so beautiful in the office, I wanted to make love to you right there. Or perhaps Your body is incredible, will you please wear something revealing for our date so everyone in the restaurant will know we are going to have sex?

  My fingers tightened on the wheel, the speedometer edging into dangerous territory. Suddenly a new worry hit me: what if they blew off dinner and headed right to the hotel? They could be having sex right now.

  Gravel spewed as I spun the car around and raced to the hotel.

  The green light flashed as I swiped my key card to the adjoining room. I turned on the light in the bath and closed the door almost all the way, letting just a little glow filter out. With my ear to the adjoining door I listened for any evidence of someone on the other side. I felt a hum, the air conditioning, or some motor. Was that a sigh? Or a moan?

  I felt like a peeping tom. I must have stood there like an idiot for ten full minutes. Finally I eased open the door on my side and listened again. Nothing I could be sure of. There wasn’t enough space under the door to indicate if a light was on. Very gently I pushed against the second door.

  It was locked.

  So they either weren’t back yet or Emily hadn’t unlocked the door for me.

  I checked my phone again, no messages. So Antonio hadn’t backed out, or if he had, he was still going to drop her off at this hotel.

  I slipped back into the hall and used the second key card to release the door to the other room. Easing the door open an inch, I held my breath and listened.

  Not a sound. “Emily?” I called, feeling foolish.

  The room was dark, unused, but yet still felt—eerie. As if anything could happen.

  I quickly unlatched the connecting door and retreated to my own room. Odd, but that’s how I thought of it. The other one was their room. I moved the desk chair over so I could sit where I could see into their room. The bed was on the opposite wall, so I only needed to leave the connecting door open a few inches to see everything I needed to see.

  I turned off the light, plunging my room into darkness.

  I sat there stiffly, willing the minutes to tick by.

  The restaurant Antonio had booked for them was decadent, sophisticated, romantic. Emily was sure it was expensive as well, but her menu didn’t have any prices. Not that she could read a word, it was in French.

  Antonio must have seen her look of confusion. He said, “Can I tell you about some of the food?” Which was his
gracious way of asking her if she could read French without embarrassing her.

  Such a small gesture, but it gave Emily a chill, making it seem even more like a date. She hadn’t had a date—other than with Jason—in ten years. She felt like a teenager. “Perhaps you can just order for the both of us.” Then, with a sudden recollection of how she got here in the first place, the conversation with Justin that had started it all, she said, “Surprise me.”

  Antonio nodded, perhaps he was expecting this as well. There was a very thin line between sophistication in a man and chauvinism. For some men, and perhaps some women, that nod would have been condescending. For other men and women, it signified a mutual understanding of power.

  It was clear to Emily, and likely to Antonio, which man he was.

  He looked amazing tonight, his custom suit fitting him beautifully, his olive skin set off by his crisp white shirt, his tie matching his eyes. He looked only at Emily, not even glancing at the other women in the room.

  When the waiter came Antonio ordered in fluent French. As Emily listened she imagined she was in a fairy tale. He was a rich nobleman, and she was his wife. Or his mistress. He wasn’t trying to impress her, this was who he was.

  The idea of a fairy tale excited her and calmed her. Excited her, because what woman didn’t have at least one dream of being swept off her feet by a handsome, powerful, sophisticated gentleman? A man who didn’t just take her for granted, but also told her how beautiful she was, who spoke to her like an equal, who waxed poetically on the arts. And yet it calmed her as well, because as a fairy tale Emily could allow herself to be without guilt, free of any sense that she was being unfair to Justin, to her marriage. She loved Jason, not Antonio. But tonight—she could love her fairy tale.

  It would end, as all fairy tales did. But Emily could control the ending, the outcome.

  The dinner flew by, Emily remembering everything and nothing. After each course she could not recall exactly what she had eaten, only that it was delicious. The wine was like something she’d never experienced, appreciating the complex taste as Antonio explained about winemaking.