Tell me what the rules are.
My cock was coming back to life again, and I rolled on top of Jordan. She seemed to expect it; seemed to want it, even, because she spread her legs and my semi-hard cock slipped into the very folds of her pussy almost magically.
I pressed her hands against the bed, and looked into her eyes.
She smiled. “Tell me what the rules are,” she said. “So I can be a good girl and follow them.”
Perceptive Jordan.
She smiled again, this time very obviously for the pulse of my cock as it hardened in a millisecond. She squirmed underneath me. Her eyes were expectant.
“You tell me everything,” I said. “Every detail, if I'm not there.”
She rocked beneath me. “Okay.”
“You get approval,” I whispered in her ear. “For everything.”
“Everything?” she purred. “Like if he wants -”
“Say he wants you to suck his cock,” I said. “You have to tell me first.”
Jordan paused. “Okay,” she agreed, obviously letting her mind wander to the logistics of that request. To reel her back in, I thrust inside of her. She mewled.
But now I wanted to go in for the kill, the thing that was really bothering me.
“No emotional connection,” I said. “These men are strictly for your physical pleasure.”
“Mmmhmm,” she purred. She opened her eyes. The edict seemed to affect her in no way whatsoever, which was good, right? It meant she didn't think about an emotional connection. She didn't consider it, or want it. “And yours,” she answered.
I smiled. “Speaking of that,” I said. I started to rock on top of her. Inside of her.
But no...wait.
There were other things I wanted to tell her. Other things I wanted to talk about.
Once again, they were drowned out by obsession.
A DATE
In the end, Tyrese called Jordan the next day. The requisite time to wait before calling a woman. When she didn't answer he sent her a text.
Jordan showed it to me. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon with a strange rain outside. Jordan was reading on the bed, and she called me in to the room when she got it.
Need to talk abt case. OK to call?
I read it.
“Why is everyone so good at having affairs?” I murmured. The guy was using code and everything.
Jordan smiled. “No, he's a special case.” She dropped the phone on the bed to pull her cashmere sweater over head, distracting me from the topic of the conversation so completely that I didn't even know what she was talking about when she said: “After all, the only reason I have this job is because all the wives know.”
Now she was wearing only a slippery, silken camisole. Her nipples were hard beneath the fabric, and I watched them as it slid over her skin, two little rocks beneath a river of silk...
Jordan took the phone from the bed, shaking her head.
“So. This is it. Should I tell him to call?”
I blinked.
She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Paddy? Your wife is making a date with a hot black man here. Yes, or no?”
Your wife is making a date with a hot black man here.
She was already typing when I said “yes.”
“Okay,” Jordan said, setting the phone down and settling onto the bed cross-legged. She had typed with two thumbs, biting on her lower lip. A pang of jealousy vibrated inside of me, at her expression. She had the appearance of a schoolgirl with a crush.
“Now what?” I said, climbing onto the bed. I reached toward her camisole, plotting to push it up, get my fingers underneath it, and find the little buttons of her nipples...
Jordan shrugged, ignoring my advances.
Then she laughed. “I don't know. I'm sort of...nervous. Isn't that silly?”
In a way, I felt the same kind of nervousness I knew she was describing. What if he didn't get back to her?
Then I looked at Jordan, and realized there was no chance we weren't getting a call back. Her hair was down, and parts of it had begun to turn wavy again from humidity. She had no makeup on but her face was still very pretty. Almost more so, in fact. It gave her a very youthful, fresh appearance.
Her lower lip was distended in a small pout.
“Don't worry,” I said. “He'll call.”
The ridiculousness of this statement struck me, suddenly, as very funny, and I stifled a laugh. Jordan seemed actually concerned. Another wave of molten jealousy rolled beneath my skin.
I was starting to see that there were two kind of jealousy here: good and bad. The lines between them were gray and blurry, but I was beginning to see that it fell down, for the most part, on the division between physical and emotional. It was odd, wasn't it, that men seemed to feel more pain from their wives having an emotional connection with another man, and women seemed to go ballistic about a physical one? On the face of it, it made no sense; after all, the world could generally agree that women cared more about their emotional connections and men would generally rate physical needs higher than emotional ones. (If they were being honest.)
I felt an urge to get a handle on things again.
“Can we...go over the rules one more time?” I said.
Jordan looked up at me. She blinked. She was obviously lost in thought and my words were taking a long time to get to her consciousness.
“Yeah, see, this,” I said. I was surprised that I was being so direct. “This kind of bothers me.”
“Huh?”
Jordan seemed genuinely perplexed.
I was grateful for all of the deep thinking I had done, just moments before. I explained my theory about physical and emotional jealousy.
Jordan stared at me.
“Huh,” she said, leaning back against her huge pile of pillows. “Yeah, it's true, I'd be totally pissed at you if you had sex with another woman. Just so you know. But...”
She was thinking. And I was glad she wasn't thinking about Tyrese.
She shook her head. “Nah, you know, your theory is no good. I would be pissed no matter what you did. This doesn't work for me, the other way around, either physically or emotionally. But I take your point...you're worried about an emotional thing between me and him, is that it?”
I submerged my desire, a very deep and instinctive one for a lawyer, to defend my original argument. I was getting her to talk about what I really wanted to talk about, after all, and I didn't need to take any argumentative detours.
I nodded. “It's this: the jealousy is good, it's part of the thrill, but it's only good if I know...”
“You have my soul,” Jordan growled, in a monster voice. It wasn't very good, and she laughed at herself. “Sorry. That was supposed to sound like the devil.”
I smiled in spite of myself. When did Jordan get so funny? I wondered. I didn't remember her being this funny when we first started dating.
Or was that true? I started to sift through some memories, and as they surfaced, I realized that Jordan's humor was one of the things I had been so attracted to when we were younger. Kids, houses, career, the suburbs, decorative pillows...it had all gotten in the way.
Jordan snapped her fingers in front of me. “Where have you gone to, now?”
“Just thinking about you.”
She smiled and pulled her feet under her, taking her phone with her. “Look, I know I'm all...giddy. But it's not that kind of giddy, where it's like, I'm thinking of running off with this guy or something. I mean...” she looked at me. “This was your own idea, Paddy. It's exciting, but it's not any kind of emotional thing. I promise.”
I rubbed my forehead. “You would tell me if it turned into that?”
“I'm only doing this...because you want to see it. And it's going to be like...a one-time thing. I think that's the best idea.”
“But you like this guy, right?”
“Personality-wise?”
“Yeah.”
She looked at the ceiling. “Well, yeah, of co
urse...but not like, have-an-affair, 'like' him. He's too suave.”
“Too suave?”
“Yeah, you know, like...guys who unhook your bra with one hand, or act all, I don't know, James Bond-y...they're too suave. It means they're players.”
I frowned. “Who's been unhooking your bra with one hand?”
This was a joke, because other than one boyfriend in high school who she dated during a tempestuous, adolescent-angst filled breakup we had, Jordan had only been with me, until the hockey player.
“Certainly not you,” she joked, snorting a little.
Her phone started ringing. She had it set to the 1812 Overture, which was also quite funny, especially given the phone call she was waiting for.
She looked at the screen, and then back at my eager face.
She shook her head. “You look like a kid at Christmas,” she told me. “It's just Arest.”
She swung her legs out of bed and stood up to answer the phone. “Jordan.”
She walked away, out of the room, which I don't mind saying blew another wave of heated jealous-breath through me. Why didn't she just stay here? What was up with her and Arest? Weren't we in the middle of a deep conversation about ourselves and our marriage?
I stared at the indent in the pillows where she had been leaning.
My jealousy was boiling over, when my mind did me the great favor of having a brilliant thought:
This must be how Jordan felt for so many years in our marriage.
After all, I always left the room for a work call. I always locked myself in my study.
I always justified leaving a conversation that must have been important to Jordan because my job was so important. I was a spoke in the wheels of justice. I was a real hotshot. I was going to be somebody.
Next to Jordan's side of the bed, there was a picture of us. It was by a professional photographer, and I couldn't even remember the photo being taken.
My own face smiled back at me. Forced. A man, undoubtedly, in too big of a hurry for a photography session. A man with too many things to do.
What a stupid look.
What a stupid man.
“You're an idiot,” I told him.
I had been in the study, working. I had been planning to go back to what I was doing, but now the idea seemed silly to me. The kids had disappeared at friends,' rain was streaming down the windows, and it was warm in our bedroom.
I unbuttoned my shirt, and took off my jeans. I lay back on the pillows.
Life was too short, and I had a beautiful wife.
When Jordan came back into the room she raised her eyebrows. “That's a very sexy look,” she laughed.
I had extended my arm, jokingly, and propped on leg up to strike a sexy pose.
“Do you like it?” I purred, hoping she would catch my imitation of Val Kilmer in The Saint, a movie we had watched and re-watched when we were younger for the purposes of making fun of it, and mostly – or maybe entirely – because of that scene.
She threw her head back immediately and laughed. “Oh my god! We should watch that.”
She hopped into the bed, and I was filled with nostalgia. She was giggling.
We started quoting the movie, and scouring the internet for a way to get a copy of it, and planning our snacks. Jordan was on her stomach, her feet flitting girlishly above her. She had taken off her worn, baggy “house pants,” and was now in only her underwear and her camisole.
Suddenly she stiffened, as her phone vibrated in her hand.
“It's him,” she said.
“It's him,” she said again. Her face seemed to flush a little.
She jumped up and climbed on top of me, staring at the phone.
“Who?” I said, and instantly regretted it. I sounded like an idiot. I knew who “him” referred to, of course. And Jordan knew that as well. She knew that I had spent nearly all of my time thinking about “him” and her together. She wasn't an idiot.
“Should I answer it?” she said, ignoring my dumb question. She looked away from her screen and to me. I watched her eyes move over my face, reading me quickly and with ease.
I was about to open my mouth, though truth be told, I have no idea what was about to come out of it, when she grinned very wickedly and swept her finger over the screen.
“Hi,” she said simply. Her voice was sweet, tinged with just a sliver of sexiness. “I was wondering when you would call.”
My cock was already hard underneath the soft weight of Jordan's body. But now it felt as if every liter of blood in my body had been sucked to it instantaneously. I felt it all hit with a slam. It almost made me sick. I crunched forward against the physical pain.
This amused Jordan. She reached and casually behind her and found my balls. She rubbed them through the fabric of my boxers.
But she was smiling into the phone, for Tyrese. Her eyes were on mine.
“Oh, just the usual. I don't live a very glamorous life on weekends, like I told you. Husband, kids, laundry...the usual.”
Another stab of pain. So she had told him. He knew she was married and he didn't, obviously, care.
I closed my eyes as Jordan closed her hand around my balls and shifted her weight rhythmically so that she was rubbing my cock from side to side with the place between her legs. I could feel through my own boxers and the material of her panties that she was very turned on by something. Whether it was Tyrese's voice, or what she was doing, or me, I have no idea.
Probably all three.
She smiled, and ran her tongue along her teeth, all the while looking at me. Tyrese said something to make her laugh.
“I'll tell you what. Let me find an opening in my schedule, and I'll call you back.”
I could hear the low rumble of Tyrese's voice through the phone, but not what he was saying. Whatever the words were, they were lighting up Jordan's face. He was making her laugh inwardly. The corners of her mouth were turning up against her will.
She raised her eyes to the ceiling, and when she did I felt the slam of jealousy against my chest. It was like a hard slap. Her fingers continued to play with my balls, but without her steady gaze, it seemed more absent-minded.
She moved her fingertips underneath the fabric of my boxers and raked her nails gently along the tight sacs of my balls. My cock, pressed up against my pelvis and beneath the weight of her body, throbbed wildly. Jordan smiled at that moment, though who could know why? Was it something Tyrese said? Or was it because she liked the way she turned me on? Or was it because she was getting off on her own power over me?
“I'll be sure to do that,” she purred, finally. Her eyes dropped back down to mine. Her smile seemed now, with the connection between our eyes, to be for me.
Not for him.
“But Ty?”
A pause, while I let the pain of his nickname leaving my wife's lips gnaw at my heart.
“Make a reservation for someplace nice. Someplace with good wine.”
And then she smiled again, and her body rocked on top of me. My breath was caught in my chest and my cock had robbed every last drop of blood from my body. I strained to hear, through the pounding of my blood and the ringing in my ears, what it was that Tyrese said in response to her. What it was that made her mouth quiver at the corners.
“Oh, I will,” she said. And then she held the phone away from herself, and hung up with a quick swipe of her finger. She tossed it on to the bed carelessly. She looked down at me.
“Guess who that was?” she joked. She drew her finger along the collar of her camisole, grinning at me with her eyes.
I was finally able to move my hands from her hips, where I had been gripping her as though for dear life to enjoy the torture she was putting me through, and I slid my thumbs under her panties as I drew my hands forward. As I had suspected, the panties were soaked and her pussy was a sloshing, velvet mess. I curled a thumb inward. As I had hoped, it slipped past her clit and then into her hole, where she was hot and so very wet.
“You're very excite
d,” I said. “What were you thinking of while you were talking to him?”
Jordan's lips trembled into a smile. “What were you thinking about while I was talking to him?” she challenged.
I slid her panties to the side and pushed gently on her mound. She rose to her knees, and I freed my cock from my boxers and held it up for her to slide down. While she was high on her knees, she lifted her camisole over her head.
She reached down and held my cock in her hand. I was aching for her to encase me in her flesh, but I knew she was going to tease me a little. She rubbed the head of my cock against her wet flesh, between her bare lips. She shivered each time the head of my cock rubbed against her taut clit, and her mouth opened a little to let out a faint gasp.
“I was thinking about his cock,” she said, and her eyes lit up with delight when she felt my cock throb in her hand.
I reached up and grasped her ass, but she resisted being pulled down onto me. She moved the tip of my cock in her watery folds, teasing me more.
“I was thinking about how big his cock probably is. What it would feel like if inside of me, filling me up, with his body on top of me.” Her eyes fluttered and she began to move my cock more quickly now. Her body was growing tense, and I knew she was getting closer to coming.
“Keep talking,” I urged her, hoping the desperation in my voice was not as evident to her as it was to me.
“I was imagining what it would be like to get on all fours and take his big cock really hard from behind.” Her breath was ragged now, and the words left her mouth in uneven gasps. “How good it would feel taking all of him...”
I was digging my fingers into her flesh now, watching her use my cock to stroke herself to orgasm while she told me all about Tyrese's cock.
A Well-Laid Trap 2: The Story Of A Professional Hotwife Page 7
