Let Me In
Lauren Hawkeye
Imogen hasn’t had sex with her husband, Ty, in over a year. She’s still as attracted to him as ever, but they’ve both been looking for something new to renew their desire for one another. Yet she never thought to find it at a friend’s wedding when another couple invites them to share their bed. Ty is obviously aroused by the idea and the thought of a ménage thrills Imogen to her core. Could this be the key to rekindling their passion…and can Imogen go through with it?
Book four of Lauren Hawkeye’s Erotic Me series.
Contents
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Halibut and green beans had never been so unappetizing.
As I picked at the food that was artfully displayed on a bone-white china plate, which was in turn nestled onto a pink charger—the exact putrid pink of the rest of the wedding—queasiness settled deep in my belly.
I knew it wasn’t because of anything other than my own unhappiness.
I hadn’t had sex with my husband for more than a year. He wasn’t happy about it. Neither was I.
And still…neither of us seemed able to do anything about it. There wasn’t any easy way to break through that ice. That ice that was colorless and tasteless, yet very much still there.
Every attempt to make love in recent memory had been nothing short of a disaster, complete with tears, shouting and the inevitable consumption of copious amounts of alcohol.
Consequently I felt about as far from sexy as I could. Not to mention it was all I could think about. As I sat there, my head bowed down over my plate of typical wedding fare, strands of copper sticking wetly to my sweaty neck, I felt fat, frumpy and miserable.
It was hard to believe that I’d ever dated the groom, the still ridiculously good-looking Nick. But he’d moved on, and was marrying willow-slim, überblonde, incredibly gorgeous Suzanne. We were still friends, yes, but I was no longer the kind of woman that would, or even could, attract his attention.
I snuck a sideways glance at my husband, handsome as ever, even with his skin glistening in the heat. He’d removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie to gain some relief from the soaring temperatures, but the rumpled look only served to heighten my attraction to the man I’d pledged to love, honor and cherish only five short years ago.
If something didn’t change, and soon, I was incredibly afraid that five years was all we were going to get.
With a huge sigh, I forked up a mouthful of mashed potatoes. They’d probably been pretty good once upon a time, but after sitting at the buffet for who knows how long, they’d turned the consistency of glue.
Tasted a lot like it, too.
I closed my lips around the tines of my fork, slid the potatoes off. As I did I exhaled, a huge sigh that had my breasts straining against the tight black satin of my halter style dress.
“Imogen.” I turned to find Ty staring at me.
I flushed the deep red of the fresh strawberries that decorated the wedding cake. When I felt fat, I hated people watching me eat. Even my husband, with whom I was supposed to be able to share everything. Had shared everything, not so long ago.
Swallowing thickly, I laid my fork down beside my plate. Summoning a forced smile, I tried to make my eyes look wide and interested, though I suspected that the effect was more stunned than anything else.
“What’s up, hon?” I noted, with only a touch of resentment, that he’d cleared half of his plate already without any hint of embarrassment. He’d finish it all, I knew, and likely go back for seconds. Not to mention dessert.
And why shouldn’t he? He was as fit and leanly muscled as he’d been when we’d met.
Unlike myself.
Still, I had to give him points for putting up a show. He reached across the table, laced my fingers through his, a gesture that was as familiar to me as my own hand. Leaning forward conspiratorially, like he was going to share a big secret, he gestured for me to do the same.
“Listen to the couple at the end of the table.” There was an empty chair beside each of us, and on the other side of those pink beribboned chairs was a remarkable specimen of humanity. I’d noticed both the man and the woman when we’d sat down at the table and exchanged those perfunctory nods and stiff smiles that were de rigueur when dining with strangers.
But I hadn’t listened to them. Hadn’t listened to much of anything, actually, other than the depressing monologue that was running through my own head.
But whatever it was had put a sparkle in Ty’s verdant eyes, and a flush in his cheeks. So I nonchalantly tilted my head in an effort to hear better, and made a show of picking up my glass of buttery chardonnay and sipping.
It was hard to hear over the roaring music of the swing band, but the occasional words and snippets that I caught seemed to all add up to the same thing.
The couple at the end of the table were looking to swing.
I furrowed my brow a bit at Ty. “Does that mean what I think it means?” I giggled a bit as he tapped my bare ankle with his foot under the table, some of the stiffness of the situation momentarily forgotten in the absolute ridiculousness of our eavesdropping.
He nodded and grinned. “Yep. They’re looking for another couple to do the nasty with.” We both laughed then, trying to stifle it, to swallow it, but the bubble of mirth kept frothing to the surface.
When we finally calmed, it was to find the couple at the end of the table looking our way.
I looked down at my plate, my cheeks reddening. I was sure that Ty’s were, too. But to their credit, the other couple, whose names were Hannah and Cal, didn’t say anything about our blatant eavesdropping. Instead they simply began to chat about the wedding—beautiful if ostentatious, the food—not that great, the bride’s dress—obviously pricey.
But I couldn’t forget what we’d overheard. Couldn’t let go of the idea that this seemingly happily married couple—they both sported intricate bands of rose gold on their left hands—had sex with other people. Together.
All together. Like an orgy. And were okay with it.
The idea made my flesh feel swollen and too big for my skin to contain. I was conscious of the material that touched my body, the black silk, the tug of the lace of my underpants.
I couldn’t say why it was this, of all things, but the thought of swinging had me excited, sexually excited in a way that I hadn’t been for months.
Cal procured another round of drinks for our table, and I gulped gratefully at the chilled wine, which cooled my dry throat.
And then I nearly choked, when he spoke his next words.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed interested in our conversation earlier.” With a professional looking swirl of his wineglass, he lifted his glass of deep red to his lips, sipped and swallowed after a long pause. I watched, mesmerized, at the bob of his Adam’s apple as the liquid slid down the lean length of his throat. “Is swinging something you’re curious about?”
“I—” I was flustered. I looked frantically at Ty, who seemed more bemused than anything, and appeared to be leaving it to me to answer.
I kicked him under the table. He winced as the needle sharp tip of my stiletto heel caught him in the shin.
“We’ve…” Ty trailed off. I glared at him. I wasn’t answering this one, no way. Not when the denial of any interest would be a complete lie when spilling from my lips.
His answer surprised me.
“I think we’ve both been searching for…something…lately.” He eyed Cal steadily, watched the other man twine fingers through the hand of his beautiful wife. I had a brief mental flash of Ty and Cal pressed together, naked, olive skin pressing again golden-brown, and a surge of dampness flooded between my thighs, making the abundant flesh stick together and pull uncomfortably.
&nbs
p; Oh, Lord.
“Well, swinging certainly isn’t for everyone.” I noticed that Hannah didn’t seem to feel the need to talk, apparently content to let her husband be the voice for the both of them.
Well, it wasn’t much different from what I was doing, I realized as I finished off the last dregs of wine in my glass and gestured for a new one, even though I knew that the haze of alcohol might not be the best idea in terms of decision making tonight.
But there was a tingling along my skin and a new…something…when I looked at Ty that made me want to consider the possibilities instead of just fleeing into the night, back to our hotel room and our cold, sexless marriage.
Expressing interest may not be the most prudent action; certainly, even my tipsy brain knew that. But a part of me that I hadn’t seen for a long time, one that was more impulsive than the me I’d become, floated above my left shoulder. It reminded me that if Ty and I couldn’t resolve our intimacy issues we might be ruined anyway, so why not give it one last, crazy shot.
Assuming Cal and Hannah were interested, of course. They might not be. They might just be interested in sharing their views on their ‘lifestyle’ with us. Spreading the joy, if you like.
Maybe they found us repulsive, and I was getting all worked up for nothing.
This all ran through my head while I sipped at more wine, and while the other three talked. Well, while the men talked, really. Hannah sipped at her wine, too, though with a less voracious appetite than me. She didn’t seem disinterested, just quiet, even a bit shy, and I wondered what would draw a woman like her to a situation like this.
She rose suddenly, and I blinked.
“Here is our key. We’ll understand if you don’t come.” Cal flashed a smile at Ty first, then at me, and then they were gone and I was left reeling.
What had just happened?
Ty picked up the flat plastic key, the size of a credit card, and ran it through his fingers before looking at me.
“What do you think?” I didn’t have to ask what he thought. The excitement was written all over his face.
Instead of feeling slighted, or jealous, or like he just wanted to have sex with beautiful, slim Hannah instead of lumpy, dumpy me, I felt…intrigued. Invigorated.
Like this was possibly not the best idea, but like I wanted to do it anyway.
Still, sensible me had to voice at least a token protest.
“Are we seriously considering this?” I felt out of control. Somehow, we’d gone from giggling about our tablemates’ naughty conversation to be possibly considering having sex with other people. Other people who weren’t familiar with our—namely mine—lumps and bumps, scars and other imperfections.
With the jiggle of my inner thighs, or the width of my ass.
Not that Ty had anything to worry about. I studied him in the dancing flame of the pale golden candlelight as I worried the situation over in my head.
My husband was as beautiful as the day I’d met him, and I knew that I wasn’t glossing it over. No, he still had unblemished golden skin, which always had a hint of five o’clock shadow, no matter how often he shaved. He was still tall and leanly muscled, and he still wore a suit as well as he did tonight. His eyes were still a dark caramel, and though there were a few lines around them that hadn’t been there years before, they only added to his appeal.
The lines around my eyes, however, were about as attractive as the width of my hips.
That was eventually what did it in for me. When was I ever going to have a chance like this again? Sure, it could just exacerbate the problems that had simmered into a thick, meaty stew between Ty and I, but there was the wild, wild hope and chance that they could help. And even if they did make things worse, well, when was the next time that I was going to get to embark on a sexual adventure like this? When I would be brave enough to?
Never. Exactly never, that’s when.
I took the key card from where it lay on the table, and looked my husband in the eye, really looked at him, for the first time in a long time. There I saw trust and eagerness and…could it still be love?
It warmed my heart, and I did something that I wouldn’t have thought twice about when we’d met but that now made my heart palpate. I tucked the key card between my breasts, smiled a flirty grin and extended my hand to the man that I’d promised to be faithful to.
“Let’s go.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” The elevator doors pinged shut behind us, and we stood in the stale air of the hotel hallway. From over the balcony I could hear the ongoing echoes of mirth and revelry, wafting up to where we stood, and I wondered yet again if I was crazy.
I’d barely thought this through. For that matter, neither had Ty, but to reinforce a stereotype, well…he was a man. This was sex. Crazy, orgiastic sex. What did I expect him to say?
It did my heart good, though, that he was the one asking, though I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
“Hey.” Wrapping long fingers around my wrist, he tugged at my weight, pressed me back against the wall. “Imogen. Seriously. We don’t have to do this.” Standing with an arm on either side of me, effectively caging me against the green and gold swirled wallpaper that was peeling at the seams, I felt the impact of his maleness hit me full force. His pelvis was aligned with the softness of my stomach, and I could smell his breath, sweet and with the faintest tang from red wine, as it blew lightly over my face.
I felt a tingle, low in my belly, which fueled the fire in my gut and spread down lower. Even without the idea of swinging, without the idea of Hannah and Cal, and whatever novelty they might bring, just the thought of being with my husband again made my nipples tighten.
Vivid, colorful snapshots, a slideshow of naughty images, slid through my head as I stood basking in the nearness with my husband. The memory of his skin sliding against mine, of the feel of the crisp hairs on his chest as they curled through my fingers. Of the size and shape of his cock, and the dusky color that it turned when it was hard. The way that it was lined with pale amethyst veins and the satin-smooth feel of the head when it had been wet, either with the wetness from my mouth or my cunt.
Oh, yes, I wanted this. I wanted to have sex with my husband again, craved sex with him again. More than the sex, I longed for the intimacy, and I was convinced that that would come through physical contact.
If Hannah and Cal were a means to that end, then so be it.
And I’d be lying if I said that the thought of swinging didn’t thrill me to my very core. Costumes had felt silly, sex toys foreign, and the idea of a threesome had me sure that someone would be left out.
This, however…two men, two women…two couples.
How much I was attracted to the idea scared me a bit, actually. But I wasn’t going to show that—I wasn’t going to back down.
I didn’t want to back down.
To reassure him, I stood up on my toes, my heels sliding halfway out of my spiky black pumps as I did. Rubbing a hand from where it rested at Ty’s waist over and up his chest, to land firmly on his neck and stroke, I licked my lips, tasted peach gloss and tilted my head up for a kiss.
Though I’d meant it to be sexy, to be warm and flirtatious, the heat with which Ty claimed my mouth took me off guard. I stumbled, nearly falling as he pressed me back against the wall, the cool paper causing chill bumps to dance across my skin.
He moved his hands from that wall quickly to my waist, keeping me from falling. He kneaded the soft flesh that curved there before sliding those hands up to stroke lightly at the undersides of my breasts.
I gasped as the tips puckered painfully. I hadn’t felt his touch on that part of my body for so long, forever, it seemed. Now the skin was so sensitized under the touch that it had craved for so long that it was very nearly painful.
His left hand moved from the featherlight touches at the tender underside of my breast, up and over to palm it fully, rubbing in rough circles. A surge of heat shot straight to my cunt, and I felt the silky lace of my pantie
s dampen.
Hell, maybe we didn’t need Hannah and Cal after all. Maybe the idea of them was enough.
Giving myself in to the moment, I wrapped both arms around Ty’s neck, hanging on for dear life as both of his hands stroked my breasts, the body part that he’d always claimed to favor the most on my body.
I was pretty fond of them myself, right at that moment.
I arched my back so that the mounds of flesh pressed harder into his hands, rubbing against him like the proverbial cat in heat as he massaged me to a state of mind-numbing excitement.
As I gasped and tried to catch my breath against the onslaught of sensation, he insinuated a knee between my own and rucked the skirt of my dress up so that the rough fabric of his trousers pressed directly against the hot, wet mound of my labia.
I buried my mouth against the slick, sweaty flesh of his neck and did my best to stifle the noise that was trying to rip its way from my throat. It had been so long since I’d felt anything but the touch of my own hand there, and really I’d been feeling so unsexy that there hadn’t been much of that, either.
My hips began to buck of their own accord. I wanted more. I wanted it all.
Chuckling against my neck, amused at the fervor with which I was responding to his touch, Ty traced a finger over the lace of my panties for another moment, then dipped a finger beneath the taut edge. Moving with the assurance of familiarity, a familiarity that had returned so naturally it was as if we’d made love a million times in the past year, he pressed against my entrance and right on in, easing a finger into the tight wetness of my cunt and making me bite my tongue as pleasure surged through me.
Involuntarily my muscles clamped down around his finger, a hot, steamy fist. His chuckles turned to a pained, sharp intake of breath, and the hint of a smile turned to determination.
I watched through heavily lidded eyes as he bit his lip, while beginning to move his finger inside me.
It took only a moment for the heady surge of sensation to sweep over me—it had been so long, after all. I came with a gasp and a sharp cry that I couldn’t hide, flooding into Ty’s hand and causing him to press me back against the wall for another deep, open-mouthed kiss.
Let Me In Page 1
