Sally noted David’s eyes following her. But he had otherwise left her alone. No word, nor wordy look had been shared, so she sat uncomfortably beside the lovers, tall and straight, hands holding her sarong down, till David reached out and touched her knee, if only briefly. Her body seemed to collapse in on itself, like an office block demolished, shoulders, head and spine falling into her lap. Again she had trouble finding words, not because of social restraints, but because none were necessary. She sat folded into a ball, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, hoping to be petted again, ready to purr. He touched her head lightly, caressing her blonde hair, playing with the gorgeous masses of gold.
Emma had continued her less than idle manipulations of her husband’s cock. Though he had not become hard he had certainly filled out, becoming heavier, thicker and more encouraging.
All the while David was consciously suppressing his fears. He was sure this kind of behaviour was inherently self-destructive. The path he had taken tonight ended at a precipice. He had set notions about what women would allow, what transgressions they could forgive and what levels of restraint they expected of their mate. His notions suited Sally’s public face perfectly, and suited the Emma he wanted to believe in, but suited neither woman in this particular instance. He intuited rather than recognised that this unusual turn of events may just be an exception to every rule he had ever set. He therefore suppressed his thoughts and let someone else decide the limits of the moment. Sally would not take up his slack. Emma would not either. Until forced to.
Emma was watching her husband’s hand playing with Sally’s hair. Emma would have liked very much to have kissed Sally’s soft lips, felt her soft cheek against her own, felt her soft palm on her breast. To exchange brute erotic force for sweet caresses and to then switch back would be a delight. To experience both at the one time would be pure self-indulgence.
She was feeling very tender towards her friend. They had had their disagreement, fought over David, and Emma had won. She’d received her sensual trophy and had nothing but praise for her opponent. She’d very much like to share her husband with her friend. Very much. She saw the three of them together, kissing and touching and rolling about on the large bed upstairs, flesh on flesh, no one moment would any of them be alone, they’d be entangled, united and messy. If this moment could last, if Sally would loosen the bonds which tied her, if David could turn a blind eye, if Sally could love her as she had done in private … There were a few too many ifs.
‘Is it bed time, darling?’ she asked David.
His body stiffened a little at the suggestion. He didn’t want to go to bed. He’d just been fantasising about having these two sweet women fighting over him – a blonde head and a brunette head hovering over his groin; four lips, two tongues, two warm mouths kissing and sucking; two naughty faces looking up at him.
Sally’s refined beauty was once again manifest. He held her blonde tresses in his hand. She had kissed his fingertips, having dipped them in wine, and her blue eyes had fixed on him. His wife’s sensual beauty was intoxicating. Her body was pressed heavily against his own, her naughty fingers were on his cock, her brown curls were falling over his chest. He was bathing in two distinct forms of beauty.
‘Yes. We should go up now,’ he heard himself reply, somehow knowing these words would be regretted, not tomorrow, nor the following day, but further down the road, much further along when he would remember this moment with a stab of pain at his missed opportunity.
TWENTY
The following morning would prove to be an awkward one for all those staying at the beach house. There was no harmony between the couples and even less between friends. Too much had happened the night before and far too little had been said about it. Emma recognised David’s mood as soon as she woke to find him nearly dressed.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked, sleepily.
‘Yes, baby. Fine. How are you?’ he replied, tying the laces of his dilapidated boat shoes.
‘If you were fine you’d still be in bed with me,’ she said, sounding annoyed. Her head was pounding.
‘It’s ten. We can’t sleep all day,’ he said.
‘Oh, but we can,’ she said, reaching out her hand.
‘I’m up, Emma. I’m going downstairs to see what there is to eat. I’m starving.’ He blew her a kiss and escaped out the door.
Emma could only stare at the space where he had been standing. She was astonished by his evident desire to be somewhere else. When they had reached bed last night David had rolled onto her and had made love to her slowly and tenderly. He’d been wrapped up in her. They had kissed with great passion and she had come before him, nearly reaching a second as he held her tightly and thrust those final violent thrusts to bring him all the way. No words had been spoken. Kisses were their ‘goodnight’, then sleep had overtaken them both.
How strange to wake to a cold bed? She climbed reluctantly out of bed and headed to the shower.
In the other bedroom Mark had woken with a thumping head and a throbbing hard-on. He had rolled over and held his wife in his arms, spooning her. She had felt him pressed against her but had ignored him. He had played with her breasts, nibbled on her neck, but having received no encouragement the hard-on subsided. He needed water and a pee. He had struggled out of bed and had satisfied both needs in the en suite. Returning to the bedroom he collapsed into bed and tried to touch his wife but she shook him off.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked.
‘Why did you have to drink so much? You were embarrassing.’
‘Did I embarrass you in front of your friends? Did I, Princess?’ he replied, instantly irritated that she could be annoyed at anything he had done.
‘You embarrassed yourself.’
‘So I got drunk. What of it? No one cares. Anyway, I only got drunk because I was so bored. These friends of yours are so stuck up. Don’t they know how to have fun?’ he said, grabbing her arse.
‘We had lots of fun after you passed out,’ she said, wriggling away from him.
‘What did you do? Play Trivial Pursuit?’
‘We had a threesome.’ There was a deadened tone to her voice.
‘Did you now!’ he said, grabbing her again.
‘Yeah. I now know what all the fuss is about.’
‘What fuss?’
‘The fuss about big cocks, darling,’ she said, sounding very bored. ‘Why women go on and on about them.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because David’s cock filled me like no other ever has,’ she said, and felt her husband enter her.
‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘Doesn’t that fill you, baby?’
‘Are you in yet?’ she asked, a bitter note highlighting her words. Mark could take a joke, he could, but wasn’t this going too far? He rolled over, taking her with him, rolling over her and climbing onto her. She lay on her stomach. With one hand he held her head down, and with the other he held her hip. He thrust his hips against her, pushing his cock deep.
‘Feel that?’ he said. Sally made no sound. ‘No?’
He pulled her hips up and crouched over her as David had crouched over Emma. He pressed his cock into her again. This hit the cervix.
‘You felt that, right?’ he asked.
‘Get off me, you jerk!’ she said, and pulled herself away from him. He could see she was crying. His whole demeanour changed.
‘Baby! I was joking. I was joking.’ He laughed to try to make the whole thing light. ‘I didn’t know. Don’t cry, baby.’ But she wasn’t to be assuaged by any of his appeals, for in truth, she had no real idea why she was crying. They’d played that game before. They’d played many stupid sex games in the past. But today she felt dreadful. The tears would not stop. She hid her face in the pillow and Mark lay beside her, feeling terrible for something he had not done.
Everyone ate breakfast alone and at different times. David had been the first one down. He’d expected to find Sally bustling around the main room but to his surprise there wa
s no sign of her. He’d have enjoyed being fussed about by her this morning. The added sexual charge would have been fun. She’d have touched his hand as she filled a glass with fresh orange juice. He might have touched her inner thigh as though by accident as she put toast on his plate. But instead he ate a bowl of cereal in silence, standing up in the kitchen, then walked down to the beach and contemplated the surf. He knew something had gone awry. He had gone awry.
Mark had tired of Sally’s morbid state and had gallantly offered to make her breakfast. But had been told to go down and get his own. Which he did. Then, having conferred with the back of Sally’s head, drove off to buy some seafood for lunch.
Emma had a coffee on the balcony. She could see David on the beach. He cut a lonely figure and, though his back called for her, she restrained herself. She felt sure she could make everything better, but that is what bugged her. Nothing was wrong. Sally and David had manufactured a problem. If they wanted to fuck each other all they had to do was be honest with her.
Or not even that. They didn’t even have to tell her. They had to be honest with themselves. They had to act. Their not fucking was more offensive to her than the thought of the two sneaking off somewhere by themselves.
Now she was caught in the middle. Now she was the cause of two people she loved not getting what they wanted. And all this idiocy was to keep up the facade of marriage. Sure, life would be more complicated if they acted upon their desires, but life is dull without complications. Had she stopped herself from fucking Jason, or Sally? Or any number of others? Did it make her life more complicated? Hell, yes. But delightfully so. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
The only blessing the morning had brought forth was that Mark had gone out. She’d heard him leave. The rest was shit. The coffee she’d made herself was far too bitter. Her husband was acting like a child. Her friend was a coward. There were clouds on the southern horizon and she felt she was more irritable than normal. The very same deep sense of irritation she’d experienced month after month, year after year since her teens. But she was thinking far more clearly now, she thought. She was not going to be forced into motherhood, for one. That was that. She wasn’t going to be the wife David wanted her to be. She would make him the husband she wanted him to be. Everything was falling into place. If she looked at the world dispassionately she saw that everyone was fucked. Every damn person she’d ever met had disappointed her. Every damn one.
When Sally finally emerged from hiding she took one look at Emma – who turned a cross face around – and retreated back upstairs. On her bed she cursed herself for being such a coward. But no matter how hard she tried she could not find a reason to return downstairs. And she had so much to do upstairs, didn’t she? She started to clean the en suite. Pulling on rubber gloves and getting on her knees and scrubbing the shower floor, which she’d been meaning to do for so long.
When David had decided on a course of action he stood up, shook the sand from his board shorts and started back to the house. The time alone had been good. The sand, the surf and the waves made everything far more manageable. Direct sunlight had bleached clean his thoughts.
He saw Emma on the balcony and waved. She neglected to wave back though she was looking directly at him. His step became far heavier, the sand dune more difficult to traverse. He was inclined to do an about-face, but even though his reasoning backed up such a retreat, his pride, the more influential member of his cabinet, voted for the storming of the barricades. The weight that he’d so recently shrugged from his shoulders was carefully loaded back on.
What could Emma be angry about? He had determined to blame her for the whole mess.
That Emma might be annoyed at his failure to cope with his attraction to her best friend was not even entertained as a reason for her look of disdain. Nor was his behaviour that morning. He had reasons for getting up early, he’d desired to see Sally alone, and had given Emma a plausible excuse for leaving as he did. Case closed.
David’s slow trek forward was observed by an ever increasingly despairing Emma. His obvious regret made him appear pathetic. David should never appear pathetic.
Once he managed to pass by the balcony, Emma leapt up and, quickly assessing the risk, swung a leg over the rail. Holding the tip of the rail, she lowered her other leg onto the scant lip. She looked down at the grass over two metres below and felt a hollowness in her stomach. She couldn’t jump from that height.
Looking about her quickly for some other way, she noticed a handhold from which she managed to lower her legs over the side. She had no real idea how far she had left to drop. Her face was up against the balcony. Dangling thus, back to the grass, she regretted her action. But she soon tired and was forced to let go and let chance decide her fate.
She landed heavily in bare feet on the grass, falling backwards and hitting her head on the turf. She lay, stupefied. She was unhurt though her head bumped the ground quite hard. What an idiot thing to do, she thought. But she just couldn’t face David looking like he did. Angry David, yes. Repentant David, yes. Dishonest David, yes.
But not pathetic David.
She crept into the shadow under the balcony. She’d much rather Sally deal with him in such a state. Not that he would appear to Sally like that.
TWENTY-ONE
David entered the house ready for a fight. He’d set his brain from defence to offence on the stairs. Everything was Emma’s fault. Who had falsely accused him of infidelity? Who had left him alone with Sally? Emma must have known Sally to be untrustworthy. Who had behaved so provocatively in front of Sally? Who had invited Sally to share in something necessarily exclusive? Emma had behaved abominably. He was in a strong position and felt far happier on the moral high ground.
So in truth, Emma had no real need to leap the balcony rail and nearly kill herself. The David who entered the main room was one she would have welcomed into the ring. Pugnacious David was a worthy opponent. It would seem that pathetic David was but a momentary glitch in the circuitry.
David saw straight away that the balcony was empty. As was the main room. He needed no further evidence for his conclusion that she had run upstairs. He followed her up. Finding their room empty he proceeded to the room opposite. This too was empty, but he heard something from the en suite so glanced around the door and found Sally in her bikini on her knees, scrubbing the base of the loo with a scrubbing brush.
‘Where’s Emma?’ he asked.
Sally jumped a mile. Her thoughts were elsewhere, as they must be when cleaning the loo.
‘Jesus, David, you scared me!’ she said, starting to rise.
‘Don’t get up,’ he said.
‘You prefer me like this, do you? Is this what they teach you to expect of a woman at private school? A bikini-clad cleaning lady?’
‘I didn’t go to a private school.’
‘You didn’t? I thought …’
‘Nope. But that doesn’t mean that you, like this, hasn’t stirred something basic in me.’
Sally did stand up. She took off her rubber gloves and threw them on the closed lid of the loo.
‘I suppose you’d have preferred those left on.’
‘They did add something, um …’ said David, waving his hand in a circular motion. ‘A certain …’
‘Yes?’ she said, leaning over the sink to wash her hands, knowing full well she was just asking to have him reach out and touch her butt. He resisted the temptation but lost his train of thought. ‘You were saying?’ she teased.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he said, thoughtlessly. Immediately regretting introducing the topic and regretting taking the blame.
‘I’m not,’ she replied, turning to face him.
He saw she was wearing a different bikini. This new bikini was unlike the strapless one from yesterday in every way. It was all strap, shoelace thick, with the smallest triangular piece of white cotton covering and holding up her breasts. The white material against her tanned skin was unbearably attractive to him. The cont
rast to his wife’s skin was never more apparent. The beauty of her body was presented for him by this slip of a bikini. All eyes, he handed her a towel.
Sally thanked him.
‘Emma and I were out of line,’ he continued, pushing Emma into the firing squad before him.
‘That’s Emma, though,’ she said, pensively, ‘through and through … as you know.’
‘I’m not proud of my behaviour,’ he added.
‘I’m not proud of mine,’ she conceded, purely to align herself with him. ‘Emma is a very persuasive personality, don’t you think?’ she said, moving towards him.
He stepped aside to let her leave the en suite. ‘She has strong views, but I don’t know how persuasive she is.’
‘Oh, I think she is very persuasive,’ she said, sitting on the bed. Flitting through her mind were images of the three of them living sinfully together. Though she knew she would never be able to play second fiddle to anyone, not even Emma. In the presence of such a male her desire for Emma was necessarily, and consciously, pushed aside.
As a married woman, as the proud owner of an Audi, as a Mosman resident and a lifetime member of the gym, she felt certain the best course of action was deception. She would have to convince David to deceive his wife as she was willing to deceive her husband. Nothing could happen here. Nothing could happen now. She was certain she would have to seduce David all over again once everyone was established in their normal roles back home. The thrill she received from the thought of her treachery was exquisite. But most of the pleasure she derived from this thought came from the delight of sharing of it with Emma, which she would never be able to do.
‘She’s wilful. That’s all. And irresponsible,’ said David, utilising some of the ammunition he had ready for Emma.
‘And lovely, David.’
He was silenced by these words. Not because he was in the mood to agree but because he had just been thinking how lovely Sally was. Now he felt shackled by the expectation of some affirmation, which would not come. Instead of searching for words, instead of opening up his box of stock phrases, he took hold of Sally by the hands and lifted her till she stood before him. He placed one of his hands on the naked small of her back, and the other he lifted to her face and gently cupped her cheek. She smiled warmly. He held the moment, looking into her eyes. She was so very beautiful. This hand slipped around till he held her by the back of her neck. Her whole body fell against his. He drew her lips slowly towards his own. Feeling her breath on his lips, he paused. His heart was beating swiftly, he felt physically weak.
The Secret Lives of Emma: Distractions Page 12
