Since that was exactly what she was thinking, she was being entirely honest. As far as she was concerned, Thomas had fulfilled his purpose. He had saved Bella from the humiliation of seeing her twin sister zoom too far away from her in the marriage and baby stakes. Good-looking, eligible, well-mannered, well-regarded at work, he had been a good match. Her father had definitely preferred Thomas to Paul, considering a commodity trader a much more appropriate husband for one of his daughters than a male model.
Well, that credit would be comprehensively lost when she announced – as she daily dreamed of doing – that she was leaving her extremely respectable husband for the man whom Jeffrey Sachs would always see as the housekeeper’s son. No amount of selling Ronaldo as a successful, Harvard-educated advertising executive at a top Chicago firm would counter the embarrassment to Jeffrey of having his housekeeper and her husband as in-laws.
Adrianna seemed so keen on family get-togethers! Bella briefly pictured Maria and Jose turning up at Vanbrugh Manor for a Christmas celebration, and her mind boggled. Could Maria even stay on as Jeffrey’s housekeeper? Would Bella have to move to the States to live with Ronaldo to avoid the whole issue?
Bella caught herself up, knowing that her imagination was running riot. She simply couldn’t stop the thoughts, the fantasies, the temptation to flash ahead to a future in which Ronaldo was her acknowledged boyfriend, turning to look at her as they sat next to each other, holding hands, dropping a quick kiss on her lips as their eyes met, the way Paul did with Charlotte.
‘I so wish I’d visited your place when I was in Chicago,’ she said to Ronaldo wistfully. ‘I thought if I did, I’d crash after we’d had sex and then I wouldn’t be able to drag myself away, and I absolutely couldn’t stay out all night without everyone at the hotel noticing . . . but now I really wish I had, because I could picture you there – cooking your dinner, watching TV, having a shower . . .’
In other words, she thought, the domestic things I want to do with you. Of course I’m loving the hot Skype sessions, the sexy talk, dressing up for you, feeling glamorous and beautiful, and I want to keep that . . . but I want the cosy, homely, cuddling moments too. I want to plan what we have for dinner, take it in turns to cook for each other, argue about which show to stream next.
I want it all.
‘Aww, that’s so boring!’ Ronaldo said, laughing. ‘You want to picture me cooking? Baby, I have a freezer full of bags of chicken fillet slices and a bigger bag of prepped veggies. I dump one each into a pan once a week, stir-fry them up and portion them out in baggies in the freezer so I can eat healthy when I’m not out at restaurants, entertaining clients. My mother would die if she saw me doing that after all the cooking lessons she gave me! But you know, I’m a single guy, that’s how we live!’
He had automatically raised his hands to show the size of the bags, and Bella started to giggle.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Those look like really big bags of veggies.’
‘They are,’ he said, immediately slipping into the tone she had adopted; he was incredibly fast and intuitive, she had noticed. No wonder he was so successful as an advertising executive, a business that required not only excellent customer relations but a mental suppleness, an ability to read what the client wanted but couldn’t quite verbalize, jumping ahead to give them their perfect solution. ‘They’re huge bags. Gigantic. Really hard to get into the freezer.’
‘Super-sized,’ Bella said. ‘Massive.’
‘Enormous. Enormous bags of veggies.’
‘This big?’
She held her hands even wider than his, which caused the lapels of her silk robe to fall open. She had, naturally, dressed up for the video chat in some of her best Bloomies underwear, a plunging, halter-necked sapphire slip which set off the vivid blue of her eyes. She had stopped at a blow-dry bar on the way home, which she knew was crazy. Sooner or later, Ronaldo was going to see what her hair actually looked like without someone deftly pinning in rollers, taking them out again and running their hands through the curls to separate them out, creating a series of cascading tresses which were beginning to look like Charlotte’s now that Bella’s hair was growing longer. The blow-dry bar’s efforts didn’t last more than a couple of days, but as long as she looked beautiful for her lover, she didn’t care.
She looked at herself in the little window at the top of the screen and saw a glowing, vibrant woman. She was still a plumper version of her sister, but now she was just as stunning in her own way. It was the first time Bella had ever thought that she didn’t need to lose weight to be equal to Charlotte as far as their relative attractiveness went. Now, however, she realized that being slim was not an essential requirement. The curves of her full breasts, revealed as the robe slipped open, pushed up by the well-cut slip, which cupped and gently lifted them, were opulently sexual: certainly nothing that her athletically toned sister could offer.
Ronaldo swallowed so audibly that she heard it over the microphone.
‘Wow,’ he said, his hand going down to stroke his crotch. ‘Yeah, I’m not feeling all that jokey any more. Baby, put your hands on your tits for me? Let me see you get your nipples hard, like I’d be doing if I were there right now. Jesus, you’re getting me so excited. You’re like napalm. You set me on fire.’
When they had started Skyping, Bella had been worried about being self-conscious, acting awkwardly or clumsily, making a fool of herself in front of a man she was obsessed with. But Ronaldo had immediately swept those doubts away without her even having to voice them. He was just so good at this. His dirty talk was world-class.
Holding his eyes with hers, she slid her hands over her breasts as he wanted, pinching her nipples, letting him see them harden, watching his lips part in a long moan.
‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, like that. God, you have great tits. So big and round, just perfect.’
‘See, I have big bags too!’ she said; she was even confident enough to joke now during sex, and he rewarded her by throwing his head back in a laugh.
‘Show me,’ he said, still laughing. ‘Show me those big bags, baby!’
Bella reached back and untied the wide silk ribbon straps of the slip, which were fastened in a bow behind her neck. Letting them fall, she pulled down the top of it, revealing her breasts, cupping them once more in her palms as if she were offering them to him.
‘Ah, fuck,’ he moaned, starting to unzip his trousers. ‘I want to rub oil over them and get you to hold them just like that while I push my dick between them . . . did we do that yet?’
She shook her head.
‘Wow, I must have been crazy,’ he said, kneeling up, slipping down his trousers and his boxer shorts. Her mouth went dry as she saw his penis springing free, fully erect already: she must really be napalm, burning him up, getting him to this state of excitement just by showing him her breasts. ‘Why did I never do that to you? God, I could come right now thinking about it . . . feel my cock sliding between your oiled tits, watching your face, holding out as long as I can before I finally shoot all over them, all over your big tits . . .’
He was pulling on his cock now. He had a hand towel beside him, which he must have taken from the hotel bathroom, and with the other hand he pulled it in front of him, getting ready for his explosion.
‘I hate that you’re going to come over a towel and not my tits!’ she said, massaging them, running her thumbs in circles over her nipples, more porny than she had ever been with anyone and loving every moment.
‘You’re going to come first, baby,’ he said. ‘I can hold out. Get that finger buzzer I sent you and put it on. I want to see you spread your legs and come for me. I want you to pump that ass up and down again and again and call out my name while you do it.’
Her face flushed with excitement that tingled like electricity running through her, Bella scrabbled frantically in the bedside drawer, pulling out the little battery-operated gadget that Ronaldo had FedExed to her in Sydney. It was amazingly effective. She didn’t want
to know which previous girlfriend had used this same device, where he had learnt that this one, with its subtle ridges, was miraculously designed to deliver just the right pressure where she needed it.
Sliding it onto her finger, she shrugged off the robe and lay back on the bed, hoicking up her nightdress with barely any embarrassment, letting its folds drape over her stomach, so that all the good parts of her – breasts, thighs – were revealed, and the tummy which pooched out was not. Later she would prop herself up on the pillows, but for now she was fully immersed in bringing herself to orgasm, and she would come faster without his eyes on her. She still wasn’t as sophisticated as Ronaldo: she couldn’t stare directly at her lover while letting her body let go completely, falling apart under his lustful gaze.
His voice, however, spurred her on. He told her how amazing, how beautiful she looked, how delicious it was to see her damp pussy, her legs parted for him, her hips pounding as she came, hear her moans and wails as she let go and thrust herself against the clever little buzzer again and again. He cheered her on, encouraging her to keep going, telling her how hot she looked like this, how he’d been looking forward to seeing her pussy during his long days of work and business travel.
Bella was in a different dimension. Her eyes were closed, her only sensations the touch of her finger between her legs and the sound of Ronaldo’s voice. He was incredible. It was the greatest fantasy, a man who could talk dirtily but eloquently, like something from an erotic novel.
‘Okay, baby, hold your tits together for me now?’ he asked finally. ‘Really press them together, good and tight for my big cock. Can you feel it? I’m sliding it up between your tits – fuck, that feels so good, your tits are amazing, so big and round! Oh baby, this is so good. My cock’s right between your tits now, you’re reaching forward and licking my head, oh yeah, your tongue feels unbelievable, you’re so good at that – I’m so close—’
Just then, three things happened at once. Bella scooched back, up on the stack of pillows at the head of the bed, so that she could watch him in turn, moving awkwardly on her elbows, as her hands were still squeezing her breasts tightly together for her lover. Ronaldo started making the unmistakable sounds that meant he was about to come. And downstairs, the front door banged and Thomas’s voice could be faintly heard calling, ‘Bella? I’m home!’
Then it was all a blur of frenzied activity. Bella jerked up, her face red, her eyes panicked as she dragged her nightdress over her breasts, grabbed for her robe. On-screen, Ronaldo let out a bellow as his cock started to spurt an impressive fountain of come onto the towel.
‘Fuck, yeah!’ he groaned. ‘Fuck, yeah, I’m coming on your tits, your big beautiful tits – Bella, you’re amazing, look how you’re making me come, I’m shooting so hard for you – I’m covering your tits with come—’
Bella half fell off the bed, so desperate was she to get to the laptop. Then she tripped over the trailing robe and nearly went flying. Only sheer, panicked determination got her across the room; fabric ripped, but she kept going, frantic to slam shut the MacBook and stop the stream of words and come that were pouring simultaneously from her lover. Never had the click of the screen meeting the keyboard been more welcome.
Panting, gasping, she caught sight of herself in the full-length cheval mirror and squeaked in horror. Her face was lobster-red and damp with sweat, her eyes glazed with lust. It could not have been more obvious what she had just been doing. Frantically, thinking fast, she threw herself back onto the mattress again, snatching at the folds of her robe to cover her body, and jamming her hand between her legs, so that when her husband ran enthusiastically up the stairs to find his wife, he opened the bedroom door to see her apparently enjoying a moment of happy self-pleasure.
As the door opened, Bella screamed out of sheer nerves. Though she knew perfectly well that it was Thomas, it still felt as if the villain of a horror film had suddenly burst in on her, complete with ski mask and chainsaw. Never had Thomas seen her masturbating; they did not have that kind of sex life. If Bella had been in any state to take in his expression, she might have burst out laughing, because he looked thunderstruck: absolutely, comically amazed.
And then his head jerked back as if he had been slapped. He looked wildly around the room, ran across it to the dressing room beyond, could be heard tearing open the wardrobe doors and rifling inside. When he did not find what he was looking for, he tore into the bathroom, the leather soles of his handmade shoes slapping on the tiles, and promptly exited again.
Bella sat up, made sure her nightdress was tied again at the nape of her neck, gathered her robe around her and exclaimed, sounding as surprised as she felt: ‘Thomas! What on earth are you doing? Why are you even here? I thought you were in Berlin!’
Thomas appeared in the doorway, breathing hard. He dropped to his knees and looked under the bed.
‘Where is he?’ he demanded.
‘What do you mean?’ Bella felt she was on very strong ground. ‘Have you gone mad? Who are you talking about?’
‘The guy who was here!’ Thomas yelled, standing up again and looming over her.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’
She waved her right hand at him and realized with horror that the little vibrator on her finger was still buzzing; hastily she turned it off.
‘This is the guy, okay?’ she shouted, pulling off the pink bit of plastic and throwing it on the bed. ‘Got it now? I was on my own having a good time, which you’ve completely bloody ruined. Thanks so much!’
She climbed off the bed and faced him, the mattress between them, both their chests heaving with fury. Too exposed in her nightdress, she belted the robe around her; covering up her cleavage instantly made her feel less vulnerable.
‘Got it now?’ she repeated, pointing down at the vibrator, since taking an aggressive tack seemed to be working. ‘You’re acting like a madman! Why are you back here, anyway?’
‘I thought I would surprise my wife, who’s been asking me for years to come home at weekends!’ he said, his eyes darting back and forth, clearly trying to work out if there were anywhere else at all that a man could have concealed himself. But there wasn’t. The house was built on clean modern lines, no nooks or crannies or priest holes, and the open bedroom door was flat against the wall; it was clear that no one could have concealed themselves behind it.
Suddenly an idea struck him. He dashed over to the windows and, with a dramatic flourish, dragged open the heavy floor-length curtains to reveal nothing but the fake-Tudor panes beyond.
‘There’s no one here!’ Bella yelled. ‘Oh my God, I was having a wank! What is wrong with you?’
Thomas rounded on her, the curtains falling back into place.
‘Really?’ he said accusingly. ‘Dressed up like that, with your hair and make-up done? I don’t believe you!’
Fuck, Bella thought. This had not occurred to her. Thomas had not become extremely successful in a very competitive industry by being unable to read a situation fast and accurately.
‘In fact, I’ve never seen that – get-up!’ he continued, gesturing at the cream silk swathing her. ‘I know all your night clothes! It’s new, isn’t it?’
Bella put her hands on her hips and fired back: ‘So what if it is? I got it when I was travelling, because I wanted something to make me feel nice on the road! You’re acting like a maniac!’
But just then, Thomas’s eyes fired up. He had never stopped looking around the room, as if he could somehow magically conjure up a hidden cupboard in which Bella’s lover could be concealed. His stare had passed several times over the MacBook lying sleekly on the dressing table, such a familiar sight that previously he had taken it for granted. Now, however, an idea had clearly occurred to him with blinding force.
Bella saw the idea hit him, and they sprang into action at exactly the same moment, both of them racing to grab the laptop. She was closer, and made it to the dressing table first, dragging it into her hands, pressing it to her chest as she backed a
way from him towards the door.
‘So I was looking at porn!’ she screeched at him. ‘Is that what you want to hear? I was looking at porn!’
‘Bullshit!’ Thomas yelled, and she flinched, because her mild-mannered, avoidant husband had never shouted swear words at her before. ‘That’s total bullshit! You were talking to someone – having virtual sex with someone, whatever they call it—’
‘Leave me alone!’ Bella screamed. ‘Just leave me alone! I was having a really good time and you’ve ruined it – I’ve humiliated myself begging you for sex for years, and finally I’m taking care of myself and not bothering you. You should be grateful, instead of badgering me and yelling at me!’
‘So it’s true? There’s someone else?’
Bella hesitated for a moment. She’d wanted to have this conversation after the CEO decision, and that would still be infinitely preferable. Jeffrey had violently turned against Conway for cheating, and Thomas, she felt, was by no means above sabotaging her own chances by telling her father what had been going on.
‘So there is!’ Thomas bellowed, taking her silence for tacit agreement. ‘I knew it! You whore!’
‘First of all,’ Bella snapped furiously, ‘whores do it for money! I never get why people use that as an insult to people who’re doing it for fun! It’s completely the wrong use of the word!’
Thomas’s mouth opened and stayed open in shock. Never had Bella corrected him like this, never had she pushed back to this extent. He had expected that she would crumple entirely at his accusation, confess everything, promise never to do it again; he had thought he would have a hold over her for the rest of their lives. Instead, she had taken his insult and used it to correct his vocabulary.
‘Who are you?’ he said in disbelief. ‘Where’s my sweet, gentle Bella?’
‘Fuck your sweet, gentle Bella!’ she yelled. ‘Which you hardly ever do, by the way! So, secondly, how dare you throw a huge scene about me watching porn and having a wank when you hardly ever have sex with me? I’m only thirty-four and I like having sex and if you’re barely going to fuck me yourself, you don’t get to complain if I have to take care of myself on a regular basis!’
Bad Twins Page 21
