She loved the crude word combined with the sweet one. Another term of endearment.
Then he tore away the scrap of lace, exposing her fully. “I’m going to lick you until you scream. Put your leg up here”—he patted his shoulder—“so I can get at you.”
She curled her leg around him, and he went at her again until she felt so weak she had to brace herself with one hand on the wall. She rode the wave of pleasure, tipping her head back. Cupping her bottom, he held her close and open for his assault.
“Oh God, oh God, please.” She cried out the way he wanted. As the first orgasm hit, she had to anchor herself to him, bending double, her arms around his head.
Without knowing how he’d accomplished it, she was suddenly flat on the carpet in the opening of his living room, the moonlight streaming down through the skylight.
“Want you, gotta have you, need you.” Kneeling between her legs, he tore a condom packet and rolled on the latex with shaking fingers. “Take me.”
He fell on her as she wrapped her hand around him, guided him. He plunged deep, took her in a frenzy, swept her along. The second orgasm rolled through hard and fast, and he didn’t stop, prolonging the sensation with a relentless thrust. When she came the third time, she took him with her, dragging him down, arms and legs wrapped around him.
* * * * *
“I tore your panties.”
“My husband will love it when I bring them back to him that way.”
He swallowed hard, tamping the sudden anger he felt at her husband’s intrusion. It would have been easier if she’d used the man’s name, but the word husband was harder to ignore.
He rolled to the side, pulled her with him, and nestled her in the crook of his arm, their bodies still connected. Stars twinkled through the skylight. The only window in the great room was the sliding glass door along the back of the house, so he’d had three skylights installed.
“That was hot,” she whispered, fiddling with his tie. He hadn’t taken off his suit jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, or even loosened his tie. “I love sex like that,” she went on. “Overpowering. Wild. Crazy.”
He was wild and crazy for her. “I could have at least taken you into the bedroom.”
Once there, he had a mind to tie her to his bed and never let her go.
She pulled on the knot of his bowtie, then undid the button at his throat. “First against the wall, then on the floor, then the bedroom.”
“You’re an insatiable wench.”
She wriggled against him, and already he could feel himself swell inside her. “We’ve still got four hours,” she reminded him. “I don’t want to waste a minute.”
“As I recall, didn’t you say something about sucking me dry?”
She bit his neck lightly. “Yeah.” She tipped her head back. “But I liked the time you came on me and rubbed it all in, too. To suck and swallow or to not suck and swallow,” she quipped.
He loved her playful nature. She made sex so much fun. Yeah, he wanted to bathe her in his come again. “We can do both.” He flexed inside her.
“I love how fast you recharge.”
If he could have managed it, he’d have carried her into the bedroom with his cock still deep inside. But he was no gymnast. “Be back in a minute.”
Pulling free, he rose, leaving her on the carpet. Off the front of the great room was an alcove that led to two bedrooms, one of which he used as a home office, and a full bathroom. He headed there to remove the condom.
Back in the great room, he found her still prone on the carpet, her dress high on her thighs. She looked so sexy and wanton that he almost fell on her again. Instead, he grabbed her purse from the entryway where she’d dropped it and held out his hand.
“Come and suck me dry, baby.” He wouldn’t waste a minute either.
When she was on her feet, he bent at the waist and tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, forcing a squeal from her.
“Oh my God, what are you doing?”
Holding her in place with a hand across her ass, her heat and moisture seared him. “Showing you what a he-man I am.”
He carried her back to his bedroom. The house wasn’t large, the great room running almost the full length of it. The kitchen was divided from it only by a half wall, with a breakfast nook on one end and the garage on the other. There was a small patio beyond the sliding glass door on the end, and the doorway to the master bedroom was masked by a two-foot extension wall that also served as an offset for the built-in cabinets that housed his big screen and stereo equipment. He had more space than he needed, but in reality, it was no more than a starter home.
He dipped going through the door, then crossed to his king-size and dumped her unceremoniously. She bounced, then laughed. “What a he-man.” She kicked off her high heels and crawled backwards up the bed. “Now get that tux off and let’s see how many times the big man can make me come.”
He’d make her come so many times she’d forget her name. Her last name. And the Mrs. in front of it.
Chapter Thirteen
“No, no, I can’t. Not one more time.” She was so sensitive, her body almost ached. Pushing at his shoulders, she scrambled across the bed. He was on her before she reached the edge.
“I counted fifteen,” he said.
“Thank God you’re not an accountant. It was twenty.” Twenty glorious orgasms. He’d come two more times, the last on her stomach which he proceeded to rub in, then, of course, he had to lick her pussy clean, and that led to two more stupendous orgasms.
“Twenty must be a record.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her against his length.
At some point, he’d opened a door out onto the patio, and now a lovely breeze cooled the perspiration on her skin. “It’s a record when I’m with someone else.”
“Meaning you’ve had more with your vibrator?”
“Of course,” she teased.
He sighed heavily. “I see I have my work cut out for me.”
She patted his hand resting beneath her breasts. “I’ll admit that yours were more intense. So I guess twenty amazing orgasms trumps thirty so-so ones.”
“Thirty?” he scoffed.
She nodded, rubbing her head against his chin. “The night after I got home from Florida and watched that video we made, I must have had at least twenty-five.” It was an exaggeration, but she didn’t care in the least.
“And where was your husband for all these orgasms?”
Her laughter dimmed. “In his office, I think.”
“I don’t know how he can just sit in his office while he could be watching you.” She felt his shake of the head. “I’d want to lie beside you, watch you come.”
She could have ignored the comment. Instead, she said, “I’m sure you’ve figured out he has issues.” She didn’t want to get blunt and say that for the most part Keith couldn’t get it up. She also didn’t want to say that he’d gotten it up for their video but had still chosen to go to his office.
“Yeah, I figured that out. I also realized that’s why he sends you out to play.” He was unmoving against her. “Do the photos and the phone calls and the videos make it so he can…?”
She was equally still. “He hasn’t made love to me in over three years.” Her throat suddenly constricted. That’s what she’d wanted out of hotwifing, for the kinkiness and the excitement to give Keith some verve when she got home. It never had. The closest they’d come was Monday night. But he’d walked away. He seemed only capable when she was at a safe distance. The worst part was that on Monday, it hadn’t mattered; she’d been too consumed with Spence.
He stroked her hair. “I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll fuck you so good on this special night you’ve got planned that your husband won’t be able to help himself.”
It was a promise he couldn’t keep. Over the years, she’d lost hope. And now Spence had fulfilled her need to feel desired. He breathed life back into her sexual soul. He made her feel like a complete woman again.
/> “I think I’m ready to make it twenty-one,” she murmured. “Can you go for a fourth?”
He chuckled against her ear. “Oh baby, just try me.”
* * * * *
His body was utterly replete. She’d done him in. Drifting on the edge of sleep, his arms reached to pull her close. Only to find her gone. She’d left him with a kiss on his mouth, his chest, and his cock. He’d stirred but hadn’t moved fast enough to catch her. He wanted St. Augustine back, where he fell asleep with her in his arms and woke next to her in the morning.
As the other man, he wondered if he’d be allowed over-nighters. He could definitely go for a weekend, too, maybe a trip to Sea Ranch along the Mendocino coast. Or Tahoe. Maybe south to Paso Robles or San Luis Obispo. Of course, there was always something closer, like Napa, or even a Saturday night at a San Francisco theater and a room at one of the luxury hotels on Union Square. So many possibilities.
He stretched, then sank back against the mattress. He made her a promise he didn’t want to keep. He’d said he’d make her husband want her again. It was nigh on impossible, but he’d felt her pain sear him, and he’d needed to promise something, anything. How did a woman live without sex for three years?
He laughed harshly. By fucking other men at her husband’s request. Only he didn’t believe that had given her everything she needed. Until he’d found her. He could give her everything, make her feel desirable, special, sexy.
Then let her go home to her husband.
Fuck.
His cell phone beeped on the floor somewhere, signaling an incoming text message. Oh yeah, it was in his tux jacket, which he’d tossed on the floor next to the bed. Leaning over, he searched the dark lump, found the pocket, pulled out the phone.
The picture took a moment to load, then she filled the small screen. His heart flipped over in his chest. On the plane, she hadn’t trusted him. He’d thought it was over. But here on his phone, his cock in her mouth, she gazed up at him with an unreadable emotion in her eyes. She looked right at him, saw deep inside him, knew who he was as a man, all the things he’d lost, all the things he wanted to give her. He had never seen a woman more beautiful, more loving.
There was a text to go with it: I thought you might like this to remember me by since you won’t see me until our big night.
He wouldn’t have been able to get her face out of his mind with or without the photo. But she’d given him something more, her trust.
* * * * *
The TV was on when she stepped into the small vestibule of their home. Keith had waited up for her. Just as he’d waited up to take her calls. But this was the first time she’d come home to him right after another man had taken her.
Rounding the corner into the hall, she stopped in the large archway to the living room, which lit only by the images flickering on the TV. Her face dominated the screen, her moans filling the room. She clenched with tactile memories of the things Spence had done to her tonight, the way he’d had her up against the wall the moment the door closed behind them.
Keith turned as if he’d seen her reflection in the TV. He stared for a long moment before rising and coming to her. His eyes were dark holes in his face, unreadable.
“This is the first time you’ve ever come home to me,” he murmured, echoing her thought.
“I brought you something.” She held out the torn thong. She’d given away a piece of herself tonight, oh so willingly. She had to give Keith something in return.
He took the scrap of lace gingerly, gazed at it in the palm of his hand, then slowly raised it to his nose, held it there, eyes closed, breathing deep.
When he looked at her again, his eyes blazed in the darkness, hot, needy. All the things she’d wanted from him but found in Spence.
“Your sweet come is all over them. They’re still damp.”
“He put his hand between my legs in the restaurant.”
“Oh my dirty, filthy little bitch.”
Terms of endearment. “Yes.”
“Did you come?”
“Almost,” she whispered.
With a swiftness she hadn’t expected, he dropped in front of her, his knees thudding on the hardwood. She instinctively backed up against the wall. He followed, reaching, the thong still in one hand as he pushed her dress to her waist. His nose against her mound, he breathed her in, then exhaled with a sigh. “Fuck, you smell like him. He’s all over you.”
He licked just above the line of pubic hair. Then her belly. Lower, along the top of one of her thigh-highs. “I can taste him on you. His sweat. His come. God, that’s so hot.” He grabbed her butt cheeks and held her close, his breath on her, his tongue, his lips.
She shuddered. Spence had rammed her up against the wall, plundered her pussy, made her scream. This was like an afterthought, a shadow, an echo of what she’d felt. But she got wet. Her nipples tightened. She put her hand to the back of Keith’s head.
“He came on my pussy. Lick it off.” Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she spread her legs to accommodate him. “Lick me,” she demanded.
Keith put his lips to her, sucked her clitoris into his mouth. She pressed her hands flat against the wall, spread-eagled for him, and closed her eyes. Behind her lids, it was Spence down on the floor. It was Spence’s tongue jabbing her clitoris. “Oh God, oh God.” Her body undulated, her breath puffed hard and fast. “Yes, yes, yes, lick his come. Taste it. Smell it. Swallow it.”
Keith made noises deep in his throat, a low grunting growl. He ate her from the outside in, licking her lips, her clitoris, her vagina. She knew it was Keith, she told herself it was him. She opened her eyes and looked down at the thick silver hair.
Then he pulled back, shoved two blunt fingers inside her, pumped hard. “Is this how he fucks you, my dirty bitch? Taking what he wants, forcing you?”
“Yes.” She swallowed the lie. Spence didn’t force, didn’t have to. But Keith wanted these words. “He makes me suck him. He forces me onto my hands and knees and fucks me from behind so he doesn’t have to look at me.”
“Just a piece of ass he’s fucking.” Keith growled, thrusting harder.
She told herself it didn’t matter how or why he’d gotten turned on. Only that he did. Only that he was touching her. Finally, they were connecting.
But the orgasm they both needed wouldn’t come. She was on the edge, but for the life of her, she couldn’t tumble over. She couldn’t make it happen. As much as they both needed this between them.
Until he put his lips to her once more. Zoe put her head back against the wall and let herself go. She told herself she was doing it for Keith, because he had to have her orgasm as much as she did. But with her eyes closed, Spence took over, his mouth on her, the taste of him, the hardness of his cock inside her.
She bit her lip hard because the name on the tip of her tongue, filling her consciousness, demanding release even as her body shuddered with orgasm, was not her husband’s.
* * * * *
Spence was on call for the Monday board meeting. He had a short presentation on the sales forecast for the second half of the year. There was an agenda, of course, but the timing always varied. What it meant was that he couldn’t get on the phone for long conference calls or run over to another building for a meeting. Which left him too much time to think about Zoe. She’d been silent since Friday.
He hadn’t realized that when she said they wouldn’t see each other until their big night, she’d also meant they wouldn’t talk or text or email. It was like she’d pulled the plug on him.
He remembered a lunch with Ward a couple of weeks ago where he’d made some comment or other about Ward falling in love with Cassandra Montgomery in something close to a week. It had seemed utterly preposterous. Yet here he was, totally wrapped up in a married woman. It wasn’t love—he wasn’t capable of that after Fiona—but it was sure as hell more than a one-night stand or a casual affair. How the mighty do fall, Spencer Benedict being led around by his dick.
It had happ
ened only once before, with Fiona. But he wouldn’t let it end the same way. These were different circumstances, a different time and place, though they were both women who were off limits. With Fiona, they’d played out their own West Side Story in the tough New York neighborhood he’d been born in. With Zoe, there was Keith.
Spence knew he was crazy. But he’d go to the doctor tomorrow. He’d have his blood tested, and he’d get his results by Thursday. He already knew what they’d be; he was careful. But he wanted to prove his worthiness to Zoe.
He was snapped out of his introspection by a hard tap on the office’s doorjamb. Clay Blackwell.
“They ready for me?” Spence asked.
“Not yet. But Holt wants us all in there for an announcement.”
Clay was a tall guy. Next to him, Spence would have been considered the runt of the litter. Which was probably why he’d become such a scrapper in his youth, and why he didn’t take shit from anyone. In some ways, the business world was no different than the neighborhood he’d grown up in; it just bore a more civilized veneer.
“What’s this about?” He walked side-by-side with Clay upstairs to the boardroom.
Clay gave a snort of laughter. As CFO, he was usually a staid guy, though they all knew he had a few quirks just like everyone else. But there was something shit-eating in his grin that was uncharacteristic. “I cannot divulge any information. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Packed into the room, the whole executive staff was present, including Ruby, Holt’s admin, along with the five board members, their chairman, Mr. Sutton, and his personal secretary, Miss Dawson, a statuesque blonde. Sutton never traveled without her.
In fact, Spence had never seen the chairman without her except in the john. Sutton was about his age, his hair a dark blond with barely visible gray at the temples. Spence guessed midthirties for Miss Dawson. As far as he knew, her first name was Miss. He’d never heard Sutton refer to her in any other way. There was something kinky about their relationship. Sutton wasn’t married, and he and Ward had speculated that she was the chairman’s sex slave when they were in private.
The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing) Page 12
