My laptop was making its shutdown noises in front of me, but I wasn’t distracted by that. I was completely engrossed in the tortured expression on his face. “I don’t understand.”
Well, that wasn’t completely true. I did understand, now that he’d explained it, that he was having trouble resisting me. I could see that on his face, could feel the throb of it behind my breasts. I also knew that I’d love to be in his bed, which didn’t bode well for my ‘adult’ resolution of a few hours before. What I didn’t understand was why he thought a lesbian relationship wasn’t cheating.
I closed my laptop and stood, deciding to get to the crux of the matter. “How long has Katinka had a girlfriend?”
Finn said nothing for a long time. Just looked at me. Then he nodded again, as though resigning himself. “Three years. This is their sixth holiday together.”
How did he not think this was serious? “What if she leaves you for this woman?”
He shook his head. “It’s like men on a fishing trip. They have their adventure and then they come home.”
You keep telling yourself that, buddy. “You’re very… forgiving.”
“Marriage is about more than just sex.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“I wouldn’t know.” I shrugged. “I’ve never been married.” Although I did have opinions. There was no way I’d marry someone who was cheating on me, or stay with them if they did.
“It complicated.”
His marriage might be, but I didn’t want the details. “Anyway… I’m not here to be a counselor. I just stop husbands straying. So couples stay married,” I added, a touch self-righteously.
His gaze dipped to my breasts a nano-second before he met my eyes again, then he said, “I don’t need help to stay married.” With more than a little self-righteousness of his own.
For some reason that annoyed me. He shouldn’t have the high ground. He’d nearly fucked me. “Then Katinka wasted her money,” I shot back.
He stared at me a moment longer, then shook his head. “She bought me a month of torture.” His hot gaze licked its way down my body and then back up to my flushed face. “I didn’t think it was going to be this hard, but you’re sexy and, I suspect, experienced…”
I blinked at him in shock as a surge of indignation spiked up the Richter scale. Nobody wants to be hit with the slut-stick. Not to mention that I’d been such a clumsy twit the night before, I was clearly not some suave seductress. Yet they were paying me for sex, assuming I was skilled, so his comment was justified.
Unfortunately, it eroded my ‘poor Finn’ resolve. He wasn’t attracted to Jill Wilson. He was attracted to whatever he thought I was, some version of a prostitute, so I obliged him by saying, “I sleep with men for money,” and shrugged as if I was proud of the fact.
Across the darkening patio, I saw him tense. “I don’t want you to.”
“What? I’m not…” What was he saying? “I only do one at a time.” Did he think I was out fucking men while he was at work?
“I don’t think you should do it at all,” he elaborated, his beautiful eyes narrowed. “You’re smart and funny. You could—”
“No.” I held up a hand. If he was going to tell me I could do something more morally correct with my life, I didn’t want to hear it. Not from him. His situation was fucked. I wasn’t about to let him lecture me.
So I picked up my laptop. “Dinner in ten minutes?”
That caught him by surprise but he didn’t argue, so I marched straight past him into the house, scenting the illicit Morrissey aftershave on the way. It warmed me from top to bottom, but he went straight for the shower so I busied myself sorting plates and cutlery and lighting candles on the dining table.
When he returned I was seated, and I gestured at the placed I’d set across from me—too far away to accidentally touch. When he’d settled himself, I raised my glass. “To successful marriages,” I said without a trace of irony. It was, after all, the reason they’d employed me, and with him looking even more scrumptious, damp from the shower in denim shorts and a worn tee-shirt, I needed to remind myself of that at every opportunity.
He raised his glass and I thought I could see color riding his cheekbones. Did he think I was mocking him? “To self-control,” he countered, and looked deadly serious.
I couldn’t help saying, “No more tucking me into bed?”
He shook his head and took a deep, slow breath. “Everywhere I go in this house, I fantasize about fucking you. And those are places where I haven’t touched you. There is no way I am going back into your bedroom. That hits too close to the—”
“Boner?” I couldn’t help drawling the word. I shouldn’t be teasing him but I was unashamedly thrilled to hear that he’d fantasized about me. It made the insecure part of me sing. “So, on that chair,” I nodded to where he sat. “Right now? You’re fantasizing about fucking me there?”
He licked his lips and I’m sure it was an unselfconscious action, but it turned me on, and I licked my own back at him. The reckless anger he’d incited in me out on the patio was still tumbling around and I needed to damp it down. So to throw him completely, I put down my wine and started serving the risotto, telling him about the vegetables I’d used and how we’d need to shop for more, and how did he want to do that?
He started breathing again, and actually joined in the conversation as we worked out how best to provision the kitchen while Katinka was gone. Then we ate and finished the wine, talking about the slow food movement and local organic food, why I was a vegetarian and how little he cared about what he ate, so vegetarian food was fine while I was living there. Etcetera.
Finally I stood, and immediately he tensed, but I just said, “Do you mind cleaning up while I have a shower in your ensuite. Then I’m off to bed. I’ve got a new book to read.”
He watched me carefully for a couple of seconds and I waited patiently until he said, “Sure. I’ve got things to read too.”
“Fab.” I smiled brightly. “See you at breakfast if I’m up. Otherwise at dinner tomorrow night. I’ll cook again.”
He nodded, looking as if he wasn’t quite sure he could believe what he was seeing. But, despite the fact that I’d been mentally undressing him all through dinner, watching the way his lips moved, imagining his tongue inside my mouth again, I walked away. And I did what I’d said I would. I had a shower and went to bed.
But I didn’t read. I lay on top of the sheets in my pink pajamas telling myself I was a house sitter. This wasn’t a husband sitting job. I needed to revert—to pretend Finn was not a meal I was planning to devour. He was a faithful husband who was simply allowing me to be there because it made his slut wife happy to torment him in various ways. Maybe he was a masochist.
In any case, I tried to talk myself into obedience, but the thought of Katinka stirred up rebellion. Why did she get to have this gorgeous man in this gorgeous house and a lover on the side? It was outrageous.
I didn’t want her life. It was sordid. (listen to me—pot calling the kettle black), but I also didn’t want to tamely play along with their weird infidelity tango, even if the smart thing would be to keep my head down and get through my month’s contract. Bottom line, I didn’t see why Katinka should get away with having everything and leaving Finn with… torment. This wasn’t about infidelity; it was about equality. If she wanted an ‘open marriage’ she should damn well let him have lovers as well.
That brought me neatly back to the fact that he’d admitted he was fantasizing about me all the time, and was having trouble resisting my sexual allure.
Which was totally hot!
Just thinking about that made me shed my good intentions along with my pajamas. Lying naked on the bed gave me far more leeway to fantasize about him and to get all hot and sticky with some leisurely masturbation which I didn’t keep to myself. I simply couldn’t help squealing “Oh god!” when I hit the crescendo, no doubt echoing my orgasmic bliss around the silent house.
I was
definitely a naughty girl, and I resolved to be better tomorrow—to most definitely not torment Finn any further with inadvertent bikini wearing, bending over, cleavage or any other arousal techniques. Because that would be cruel, even if it did feed my fledgling seductress ego.
I absolutely must not.
So, you can imagine how that went. One day fell into another with me doing secretarial work during the day and chatting to Brittany each lunchtime—which was morning for her. Then Finn would come home and I’d revel in the way his eyes slid over me hotly from the moment he walked in the door. I simply could not get up early enough—I’m sure he was out the door by five am. So I enjoyed his covert attention over dinner when he thought I wasn’t watching, and then later as we sat in front of the television. It didn’t matter what we were watching, Finn positioned himself in the lounge-room so he could pretend to be looking at the screen while he scoped me out.
I wanted to call him on it, to say For fucks sake, just do me! But the sexual tension was addictive. I’d never felt this desired before, but I’d also never been with a man who was so gentle and so smart. Our dinner conversations were a heady mix of world politics, cricket—which we both loved—and sci fi nerdery. In sharp contrast, I’d been lucky to get a conversation about the weather out of Doug, so this new intellectual stimulation was as sexy as hell to me, especially when I could see Finn mentally undressing me the whole time.
I told myself I wasn’t doing anything to seduce him. He was doing it all himself. I even resisted provocative attire, but in shorts and a tank top, when I was sleepily sprawled out on the lounge, my legs just… fell open, as they did on the fifth night. Wine and self-satisfaction made me complacent and I dozed off, only to be roused by Finn putting a blanket over me.
I woke up groggy and pushed it off. “S’fine,” I mumbled. “I’ll go to bed.”
“Okay.”
He stepped back and I lurched up off the lounge, too quickly, and ended up falling into him with an undignified “Oof!” It took me a couple of seconds to work out that my foot had gone to sleep. Then I pulled myself up on him and said through my fallen-down hair, “I don’t think… I can’t walk.”
He made a sound, like a low growl that I felt through his chest. Then he pulled me hard against him. Suddenly my breasts were crushed against his chest and his lips found mine, startling me out of my dozy state into sudden dizzying arousal. His mouth was hot and demanding, and when his tongue slid into contact with mine, my nipples fizzed into life like sparklers. One of his large hands slid across my shoulders while the other ran down my back to press me hard against his erection. Which felt big.
All I could think was I’d been planning to sit back down.
But this was better.
This was heaven.
And amid the seductive heat of his body against mine and the deliciousness of his tongue in my mouth, tasting of wine and sin, I had no room for anything other than throbbing pleasure and hoping this would never stop.
Miraculously, the morals questions were out of my hands. He was the married one and he had to decide whether he wanted to be unfaithful. Clearly he did, so when he pushed me back onto the lounge and started kissing down my neck to my exposed cleavage, you’d better believe I wasn’t resisting.
I managed to breathe, “Is this where you’ve been fantasizing about fucking me?”
He paused in kissing his way across my cleavage and whispered against my skin, “I should have taken you that first time, in your bed after you—”
“Masturbated.”
He nodded, his breath hot against my skin, making my nipples tighten so much they hurt.
I sucked in an unsteady breath. “Do you want to go there?”
He didn’t say anything, just stood and pulled me up into his arms, walking me to my room and lowering me to stand beside the bed. I reached for the bottom of my tank top but he pulled it out of my hands, sliding it over my head and then somehow dispensing with the rest of my clothes as he kissed me. Whether I was still groggy from sleep or simply drugged with the throb of arousal that echoed low in my body, I barely noticed.
At last I pulled back from the kiss and said, “Let’s try a full recreation.” And with only the light from the hallway on us, I crawled onto the bed on my hands and knees and wiggled my ass.
He stripped off his clothes beside me in the shadows so I couldn’t see much. All I could hear was the zipper and then rustles as his clothes hit the floor, but I contented myself with the fact that we had more than three weeks in front of us. Plenty of time for exploration.
I nodded at the bedside table. “The cream is there if you want to—”
“I do.”
He retrieved the bottle and then the bed dipped before his hands slid possessively onto my ass. I wanted to groan in advance of the pleasure I knew was coming, but I somehow managed to hold that in.
His voice was deep and low as he said, “I’ve been fantasizing about this. A lot.”
“So cream me,” I taunted, and he did. One hand lathered my ass while the other slid between my legs, making my breath catch high in my throat. I was so excited already I was damp there, and his long fingers sliding across that hot, needy flesh felt like an electric shock of pleasure. I actually shuddered, and not only did those tremors of arousal almost melt me onto the bed, I couldn’t get over how sexy it was having him touching me so intimately while I couldn’t see him. “Whatever happens,” I said, “Don’t stop doing that.”
“I’m not going to stop,” he said firmly, as if he was trying to convince himself.
“Good. Don’t think with your big brain.”
“I’m not.” The hand with the cream slid off my ass and ran across my waist and then around to cup a breast and roll the sensitive nipples between his slippery fingers. I suddenly wanted his hard cock inside me.
“I’m missing something,” I said and wiggled my ass again.
“Not yet.”
I secretly like being bossed around, so I let him take over, resting my forehead on the pillow as his clever fingers stroked my clitoris until it was quivering with delight. All I could do was pant as the clutching sensations spread tingles of pleasure around my loins and even across my lower back where he leant against me. Not to mention the exquisite sting of my nipples being softly pinched.
In under a minute I lost track of my body and I barely had time to groan, “Oh. My. God…” before Finn’s masterful manipulations resulted in an orgasm like a rolling wave of pleasure smashing down. For a dislocated second I imagined his fingers were inside my body, pressing down hard like a pianist hitting some bizarre pleasure crescendo. But when my senses returned enough to find reality again, I realized he was holding my mound with a finger pressed firmly against my clit, exactly the way I liked it when I came. As if he’d memorized that from watching me masturbate.
I shouldn’t have been emotional at all, but for some reason that thoughtfulness hit me high in the chest and I couldn’t stop myself wondering what it would have been like to meet Finn ten years ago, instead of Doug—someone who turned me on just by looking at me. I might have been his wife instead of Katinka, and the thought that I could spend a lifetime with a man like that made my chest ache.
Which was dangerous.
Husband sitting was supposed to be about physical involvement only. When I’d first come up with the idea, I hadn’t even imagined that I’d like the husbands I’d be fucking—cheating bastards—let alone that I’d grow fond of them. I certainly hadn’t factored on being with someone like Finn. He was a keeper, yet for some reason his wife was pushing him away. Did she want him to divorce her for some financial reason?
And was that any of my business?
Jesus, get your head together, girl. You’re turning this into a melodrama.
I swallowed a few times to wet my throat. Then I lifted my head and turned it to say, “Not sure you need cunnilingus skills when you can do that with your fingers.”
His straightened and gripped my hips with b
oth hands. “If that was a compliment, I’ll take it.”
“Your turn.”
I didn’t want my orgasm to derail him, because I was looking forward to a good dogging. But he worried me by being silent for a few seconds.
At last he said, “I don’t…I didn’t bring any protection.”
“Top drawer.” I pointed. He reached past me and opened it, helping himself to one of the many condom packets Katinka had filled it with. I heard ripping and fumbling, then he was back behind me and there was a moment of poking before the hardest cock I’ve ever felt slid into me. It was like a piece of granite, and if I hadn’t felt his thighs against mine when he pressed deep into me, I would have sworn it was a dildo.
“That’s impressive,” I said, my eyes wide open now, blinking at the sensation of fullness. If not for the slickness of my earlier orgasm, it would have been a challenge to accommodate him. “For a lean guy, you certainly hide a lot in your pants.”
His hands tightened against my hips and I heard him swallow before he said, “Could you pause the running commentary for a minute?”
I resisted the temptation to ask him if that’s all it would take, and instead said, “Sure.” If this was his first infidelity, I didn’t want to spoil it for him.
So I put my forehead back on the pillow and waited with my ass in the air, for what seemed like at least one minute, if not two. Then his grip tightened and he started to move, in and out, and wow. The stretching was doing exciting things to all the nerves down there that had so recently exploded in ecstasy. It was hard not to shudder when he pushed in deep, and impossible to stop myself moaning as the rhythm got faster.
I was determined not to talk, but I couldn’t stop myself in the end, because his clever fingers slid across my clit again and I started moaning in earnest, interspersing it with “Jesus,” and “God, don’t stop that!” as my hips jerked against his. All the delightful sensations I’d only just experienced came back in a clutching bundle of heat and pleasure, zigzagging across my body and pooling where he was in contact with me.
Husband Sit (Husband #1) Page 6
