by Jade West
I was dithering in the open space, two pairs of eyes scorching me from different directions.
“What now?” I asked, despising how uncertain my voice sounded.
Where was the diva from my bathroom that could take on the world? Where was the woman who’d pictured riding Thomas Heath like a filthy slut while Brett stared on, proud of the seductress blooming strong in his lovely wife?
“Nothing,” Heath said with a smile. “Let me look at you.”
I shrugged like a petulant teenager, catching my own ridiculousness before beginning a slow turn for him. I felt like a fool, and a clumsy one at that, regretting my hooker heel choice in a heartbeat.
“Like this?” I prompted after one full spin.
“Like however you want it to be,” he said, and I forced myself to take a breath.
No big deal. The more time I spent entertaining him with my poses, the less time he could spend double fisting my asshole.
I stopped twirling, instead sucking in a deep lungful of air and settling into my own skin. I parted my legs a little to gain more balance, sliding my hands down my waist to rest on my hips, checking out my reflection in the mirror behind him.
I looked considerably more composed than I felt inside.
I didn’t want to face looking at my husband while I was still wrestling my nerves, so I didn’t. I kept my eyes on my reflection, shifting smoothly from hip to hip as my bare arms goose-pimpled at the scrutiny. I tipped my chin up high and pulled my shoulders back enough to showcase the swell of cleavage his bodice gift was helping with so beautifully.
And then I looked at him. Thomas Heath from North London with his piercing eyes that matched mine in colour behind his geek chic glasses.
There was no smirk on his face. Not even a trace of amusement as his gaze roved up and down the length of me. I couldn’t fight the way my heart fluttered, couldn’t fight the thumping pulse that pounded hard throughout my entire body.
“That’s good,” he said, and his voice was quiet yet commanding. “Relax.”
I took a long breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, wetting my lips — which were drying out even under glossy lipstick — with a quick sweep of my tongue.
“Now take off the dress,” he told me.
My fingers were trembling as I slipped them behind my back to pull down the zipper. The fabric peeled loose from my cleavage and I watched my exposed nipples appear in view, hard little bullets poking over the low cut lace cups underneath.
I shimmied my way out of the red dress, letting it fall to the floor before stepping out. It was one step closer to the man who’d be slamming his way inside me before the night was done and I felt every inch like it was a mile.
The mirror told me I still looked every bit as good in the lingerie as I had getting ready, but my beating heart found it hard to accept.
“A perfect fit,” Heath commented, and I could tell from his tone that he’d known it would be.
“A perfect choice,” I admitted. “It’s beautiful.”
“As is the woman wearing it.”
I sensed Brett shift in his chair and wished, for the first time since agreeing to this madness, that he wasn’t here to watch. My self-consciousness at being so dirty in front of the man who loved me with all his soul was enough to make me rattle.
“Climb onto the bed,” Heath told me. “Kneel up high, thighs spread nicely.”
I did as he wanted, positioning myself in the middle of the mattress, my eyes still firmly on the me in the mirror.
He made no move to join me. No move at all.
“I want you to touch yourself,” he said. “Not for my benefit. No shows or theatrics or fake porn moans, just you, touching yourself however you like to be touched.”
I dared to hiss out a laugh. “I’m hardly one for fake porn moans.”
Even Brett let out a low laugh at the thought. It was strangely comforting.
I looked rigid in my reflection as my fingers swept down between my legs. It was a pathetic attempt at pleasure, my motions barely stimulating the right spot in my awkwardness to do his bidding.
He said nothing, just watched. And so did I. First myself in the mirror, and then his back in the reflection, only daring to look right at him when the glass of wine from earlier settled in my veins.
It was enough. Just enough.
His eyes were sharp and bright. His stance was easy and relaxed, even though he was switched on enough that I could feel the sizzle.
He sizzled.
His suit was glorious on his perfect body. The angles in his face arranged flawlessly.
In other circumstances… in another world… maybe, just maybe I could fall for a man like Thomas Heath.
Or at least have a schoolgirl crush on him.
Definitely a schoolgirl crush on him.
I abandoned the efforts on my clit and snaked my hands up over the gorgeous black lace of my bodice, my palms brushing my tender nipples and rippling the first wave of genuine pleasure back through me.
I tugged at them, pinching in just the way I did in bed at night when the fantasies came calling. I flicked them with tiny flutters of my fingers, breathing long and low as the sensations danced in my belly. And lower.
I shifted my thighs further apart and rocked my hips forward enough that the lace of the knickers gripped me tight. I rolled my lower half in wide circles, sinking into the rhythm as my fingers kept on dancing over my prickling nipples.
And I felt it.
For real, I felt it.
When my fingers slipped back down there was no staged performance this time around. My clit was grateful for the sweep of my hand, my knickers wet with genuine need for more.
I closed my eyes, blocking out the reflection and the room and everyone in it, focusing on the thrum between my legs and the way my clit sparked against my touch. It was slow, torturous, much more sensual than the way I usually strummed one off in a ragged heartbeat with Brett asleep at my side.
I tipped my head back as my breaths turned shallow, one hand still palming my exposed tits as my fingers circled the sweet spot through sopping lace. I didn’t speed up, not even when my body demanded it, setting myself up for an orgasm that rippled right through me, regardless of the witnesses.
I was too far gone to hold back when I finally opened my eyes and met those of the man in front of me. My squirms were all real as I worked my clit into a natural frenzy, the mattress rippling under my knees as I braced for the waves.
My mouth was open when I reached my climax, and so was his, his breaths mirroring mine as I shuddered and came for him.
And then it was done.
I couldn’t hold back the heady grin as I sank to the bed and let my breath calm along with my thumping heart.
Chapter Twenty
Brett
Seeing my wife like that, exposed for another man’s eyes with her fingers playing with the pretty little pussy I knew so well, was enough to boil the blood in my veins. My forehead was tight and tense, my hair slick with sweat gathering from the pressure of staying still, but still I was swollen hard as a fucking bullock.
She was stunning. Breath-taking in the dirty black lace that sonofabitch had chosen for her.
Her nervousness was spellbinding and her excitement was all real. I knew the raspy pattern of her breath as she peaked, the tightness in her shoulders as her fingers worked their magic.
It took everything in me not to charge across that shitty red line and take her as my own, the way I should do, the way we were born to do.
I gripped the armrests with white knuckles as she relaxed in the aftermath, dreading what was coming when the prick decided to make his move. But he didn’t. He didn’t move a fucking muscle, just sat there as though he owned the fucking place, which I guess he did tonight, watching my wife unfurl with a clipped smile on that smug bastard face of his.
“Shit,” my wife breathed, laughing with a ghost of a giggle, her chest rising and falling as she leaned back on her a
rms, her stiff nipples on show, her legs still folded underneath her and those crazy high heels jutting out like lethal spikes against the mattress.
She should be looking at me, but I was almost glad she wasn’t. I was scared of the unspoken words that would pass between us, of her realising that I was seething in my seat and filling up with a torrent of regret that would steal her ease for the rest of the night.
And it would be a long fucking night.
Even more than I wanted peace for myself, I wanted peace for her.
I chanced a glance at the asshole a few feet away. His eyes were fixed on Grace’s. His attention all for her.
I could have stormed him with enough of a surprise to break his neck before he’d even got his guard up. It was tempting.
So was the hard on in my pants, begging me to thrust my seedy hand down deep and jerk myself into a frenzy.
“A beautiful performance,” the cunt said, and I could almost imagine him giving her a round of applause.
It brought her to her senses enough for her shoulders to tense, the colour in her cheeks blooming.
I expected that would be the moment he made his move, but still nothing. His legs stayed easy, his body relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. Still, the night was young. Maybe his stamina wasn’t up to a full nine hours. I could fucking hope.
I could see Grace contemplating what was next, knowing well the way she pinned her lip between her teeth, pondering not slutty. Still, it was horny as fuck.
In those moments I’d usually brush her pretty mouth with my thumb and pull her in for a kiss. But not tonight.
“What next?” she asked him, breaking the silence with nothing short of cute awkwardness.
He made her wait before he answered, and I felt the pause just as hard.
“You keep going,” he told her. “Relax. Lay back. Find your magic all over again.”
Her smile was as natural as her orgasm, bracing for another giggle as she stared straight over at him.
“I can’t, um… not right away…”
“So take your time,” he said, and he meant it.
She kicked off her heels and dumped them on the far side of the bed as she adjusted herself to a more comfortable position. I could see how clammy her thighs were as she dropped onto her back and closed her eyes, her legs spread gently open and bent at the knee.
Her hands lay flat on her stomach at first, moving with her breaths before she ventured to slip them down lower. I knew her body almost as well as I knew mine. Knew how she shuddered when her clit was tender, holding back from more until she could take it, but tonight was different. It had to be.
I watched her eyes tighten at the intensity as she dared to brush her fingers over the lace of her thong. Her other hand was gentle as she grazed her exposed tits, perky nipples pointing at the ceiling and craving round two, even if her pussy protested.
“I can’t believe you’re seeing me like this,” she whispered, and it smarted that her words were all for him.
“Show me what feels good,” he said in that satin fucking voice, urging her on with such calm fucking purpose that I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him.
We must have made it through the best part of a full hour by the time she found her groove for a second time round. It irked me to realise that we never usually left it this long, moving straight from her breathy climax onto different games, games involving her pretty mouth around my dick, or me slamming balls deep inside her, or grinding flesh on flesh, mouth on mouth, more, more, fucking more.
The cunt was skilled and practiced, just as I’d feared in that pit of paranoia in the back of my mind. He knew what he was doing, barely breaking a sweat as he watched her find another frantic rhythm.
I hated how this part of Grace was unfamiliar to me, even after years at her side. Her body movements were known to me, but the tender rapture on her sweet face at the forced patience imposed by a stranger was edged with something I didn’t know so well.
My wife wasn’t a screamer. She didn’t wail and hiss and curse in the bedroom, not even when I ploughed her hard enough to hiss myself. She was reserved in her outbursts, a gentle flower blooming and bursting, all natural in her whimpers and rasps, just understated.
But not now. Not on round two.
Her body couldn’t hold back the shudders as she sought skin on skin and plunged her needy fingers inside her knickers. I could hear the wetness above breaths that turned to low rasping moans, her thighs falling open to give that dirty cunt a better view of his purchase.
“This is… oh fuck…” she whimpered, and my balls tightened like volcanic rocks threatening to fucking explode.
“That’s good,” he said right back at her. “Show me.”
I knew her fingers were dipping inside her pussy without looking. My eyes were firmly on her open mouth as she tipped her head back and spread those thighs even wider, her heels gripping the plastic sheeting underneath her and angling her higher.
Both hands were between her legs, one pushing fingers in deep while the other circled that clit in a blur of motion that made my mouth water. I couldn’t resist looking at him, his eyes greedy on the lace stretched tight across her knuckles.
“Oh fuck,” she whimpered again, and her whole body shunted back and forth, teeth gritting tight as she grunted low.
My Grace fucking grunted, like she was taking hard fucking cock, only she wasn’t. She was taking two fingers at best, lapping up the thrill of two pairs of ravenous eyes on that gorgeous fucking body of hers.
“Good girl,” he told her, and her reaction was explosive. Her body was rigid, back arched as she buckled under her frantic fingers, squelching in wetness as she reached the edge of a second orgasm, so much fucking harder than the first.
She liked it.
She fucking liked it.
And worse than that, so did I.
I couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop my throbbing dick threatening to blow in my fucking pants.
I was transfixed as she murmured and wriggled, and she was lost to both of us, lost to everything but the sensation of those sweet fingers down her knickers.
Until he moved.
Oh fuck, how he fucking moved. Like a cat, stealthy and slick with perfect fucking timing.
I couldn’t have timed it better my fucking self.
He was fully clothed as he climbed up onto the mattress alongside her, positioning himself at her side, his long fucking legs draping down next to hers as she tipped her face to stare up at him.
She couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to, her body was long gone to nerves or reason. Her whimpers were right at him, her mouth open as his lowered to press against her bare shoulder. His fingers were big against her pretty pale tits as he pinched one of those hard nubs and flicked his wrist in the same way she’d done earlier.
And it was enough.
Fuck, how it was enough.
One single touch had her reeling senseless, her fingers bucking in her knickers as his hand slid down and pressed on top.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Now kiss me like you want me.”
She shuddered, holding her breath as the shock of the second wave ripped through her body. It was brutal in its perfection, her feet scrabbling as she reached her peak.
Even in her madness she managed to look across at me before she acknowledged his request.
Her eyes were hungry and wide, and she wanted him.
Fuck, she fucking wanted him, she just wanted me to say it was okay.
A nod was all it took, barely more than a tip of my head was all that I could manage. Her face turned to his in a heartbeat, mouth parting as he came in for the kiss.
She kissed him like she wanted him, because she fucking did. I watched my wife kiss another man with a pain like I’d never felt, right in my gut as my fucking cock kept on throbbing.
And I couldn’t blame her, not for a moment in the madness. Not for one single breath as I dared to pal
m my dick through my own trousers.
Because as much as I hated the man on the bed with my woman, part of me wanted it too.
Chapter Twenty-One
Thomas
She was glorious. A delicious wonder writhing under her greedy fingers as they pumped her to her peak.
The boy in me was air punching, swept away from his usual melancholy to something far more exciting.
It was a victory, beyond all doubt, one that exploded in one brilliant flash as Grace Foster’s mouth welcomed my tongue and sucked me in.
This wasn’t like the slow, steady victories of my professional career, granted after long, concerted and physically draining bouts of effort for years on end. This was an another beast, a rousing beast, a beast that burst forth in me with a strength that took me aback.
She was more than I’d ever dared to imagine as a teenager. Her tongue was a paradox in its movements, both eager and shy in equal measure. Her lips were soft, meeting mine with a gentleness at odds with the force with which I claimed them. My kiss was violent and deep, perfectly timed to meet her own crest of pleasure. She couldn’t fight the shudder of breath against my open mouth, her throat rumbling low enough that I could feel the vibration against my fingertips as they swept down her neck and onto the sensitive swell of her gorgeous tits. I shifted against her, pressing the hardness of my dick against her hip, throbbing even through the thick fabric of my suit trousers.
I loved the contrast of our attire. Pretty Grace Foster dressed for my pleasure, exposed in unfamiliar garments with her dainty fingers frantic in her wetness. Me, still suited for a day playing hardball in the boardroom.
It was more than the simple divide of the clothing. There was a psychological resonance echoing through our differing appearances, undeniable in its vibrancy, and it was making my dick as hard as all hell.
