Out of His League: A Hotwife Novel Page 3

  Abruptly, she pulled back. “John, wait...”

  The fear was there in her wide, blue eyes, rich with it, thick and scary. I tried to kiss her again, but she pulled away as she worked her nerves up.

  “Courtney...” I started. Courtney what? I know? I don’t want to know? It turns me on?

  We both jumped at the hard rapping at the door. The spell broke. She slinked out of my arms, and all of a sudden I wanted to melt into a pool on the floor. Instead, I stiffened my spine and went to answer the door.

  “That would be our pizza. Why don’t you hop in the shower,” I said. “I’ll set the table.”

  Why was I giving her a reason to wash away the evidence of what she’d done?

  The knocking came again. I smiled at her, gestured to the bathroom, and turned away. By the time I opened the door for the pizza guy, the shower had cut on.

  Dinner was an exercise in doing everything but talking about her day. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t ready for that confrontation. I was still sorting myself out, which in hindsight wasn’t fair to Courtney, who had her own guilt and demons to battle. We talked about the house I was flipping and some of the problems that came with that. We talked about the crazy election and how wild it was. We talked about television shows that we wanted to watch but didn’t seem to have time to.

  The pizza came and went without incident, and with each passing minute, that fear and the weight of anticipation lightened. The hesitancy waned with Courtney. Wine with dinner helped some—certainly helped me—and I noticed Courtney refilling her glass more than normal.

  “Hey, I was thinking we should go away some time soon,” I said. “Maybe this fall.”

  Like that, the pain was back, the conflict somehow making my wife look more attractive. But rather than start with a John-we-need-to-talk opening, she just asked, “You have somewhere in mind?”

  “I was thinking somewhere where I get to see you in a bikini.” Me and every other guy on the beach.

  She laughed...sadly? “We don’t need to spend a bunch of money if that’s all you want.” There was a forced lightness in her tease. Or maybe it was just me thinking it was forced.

  “Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse for you to get a bikini wax.”

  Courtney covered her mouth and laughed—this time full and hearty. I blushed, smiling along with her. “John, you know we don’t have to go somewhere for that, either.”

  “Really?” I’d suggested from time to time that she do that, but only as a joke. And she’d never taken me up on it.

  Courtney shrugged. “Sure, why not? Vive La Difference, huh?”

  Was it her guilt prompting this? Or something else? Something involving Harry and his own preferences? All of this talk had me hard, and I wanted to finish what we’d started before the pizza guy had arrived.

  I leaned across the table and kissed her. Unlike when we’d first kissed, there wasn’t any hesitancy. She returned it, warm and familiar, her smile stretched across her face. Pulling back, I said, “I love you, baby. You’re too good for me.”

  I don’t know why I do things like that. Just when we’d moved—temporarily at least—beyond the elephant in the room, I poke at it. Courtney’s face fell and her confession once again began to surface. More confirmation that something had happened. More gasoline on the fire.

  Before she could go too far down the road, I stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come on,” I said. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

  *

  “Ohhh, ohh, John! John!” Courtney thrashed on the bed as I stroked two fingers into her trim pussy and danced my tongue across her clit. Her cries drove me, helping me ignore the ache in my tongue and jaw and work her harder, faster. “Yes, baby, eat me. Eat me!”

  Courtney knew I liked it when she talked dirty, but rarely did. Unless she was really into the sex. Tonight, she was either really into the sex, or she was trying to relieve some of her guilt by pretending that she was. That second thought inflamed me more than her cries. If she was pretending now, she wouldn’t be in the end.

  I curved my fingers up, seeking out her g-spot as I latched my entire mouth over her sex. Sucking ever-so-slightly, I swirled my tongue around her clitoris until the cramp was too painful to ignore. It was enough. Courtney clamped her thighs around my head and arched her body back, her pussy tightening around my driving fingers.

  “Uhhhh!” she groaned, raw, guttural, muffled. I kept eating her, kept fingering her, spurring her on.

  “John. John!” she cried, her ecstasy becoming too much. She pulled away, shuddering. I licked her one last time before pulling back.

  I ran a hand through my hair, damp with sweat, and wiped my face. Courtney was coated in a sheen of her own sweat, her lean, unreal body stretched out before me—a sight I’d seen countless times, but because of my curse, could never take for granted. Now, as always, I saw her through the eyes of another man—Harry Richards tonight, but countless others in the past—and it triggered this primal instinct in me.

  My fingers danced over her pale skin, following my groping eyes across her dark, trimmed bush, across her flat stomach and narrow waist, across her breasts that looked so much fuller naked than when she was clothed. Had Harry discovered that pleasant surprise tonight? Or had he just bent her over her desk and taken her from behind?

  I rolled over her still panting body, her eyes still closed, to kiss her lips. She was too limp to return it at first, although I felt her smile.

  “I love you,” I whispered. I drew back enough so that I could watch her face as I guided my cock into her. Her gasp wiped her smile away, silent at first, the moan spilling out on a lag. I caressed her face, her high cheekbones, her slender nose. I kissed her eyes, her forehead, her temples.

  “You feel...so big,” she sighed.

  Was that another attempt to stroke my ego and ease her guilt? I entered her slowly, balancing on the knife-edge of my own orgasm. I was back in the waiting room as the minutes ticked by and Courtney and Harry were somewhere in the back, all alone, and knowing that they were. I thought of the coffee cup I’d dropped in the trash by the front desk, and Harry’s black BMW outside in the parking lot.

  “Ah, John... Seriously, you feel huge,” Courtney said once I’d finally buried it all the way to the root.

  Have you ever considered the possibility that you wanted her to cheat?

  Haven’t just considered, have you, John?

  “I...” I couldn’t tell her that. I didn’t want this. “Maybe I’m just thinking about that Brazilian bikini wax.”

  Humor had always been my escape lever, and I pulled it heartily here. Courtney laughed softly beneath me. “So it’s a Brazilian bikini wax now, is it?”

  This was easier to talk about than my uncomfortable and confusing desires. “Don’t tell me that’s a surprise to you,” I said, beginning to stroke myself in and out of her.

  “No, I guess it’s not,” she admitted. Our eyes met, and even in the dark, I saw how heartfelt she looked. “So you want to see me like a little girl?”

  “Trust me, that’s never going to be a problem.” I squeezed her breast as I thrust into her again. “But seriously, I was just kidding. You don’t have to do that for me.”

  “I know, but I want to,” she said. For someone else? Her eyes widened. “I felt that,” she said. “If it keeps getting that kind of reaction, I definitely want to.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while.” I began to thrust faster, although the image I held wasn’t that of Courtney and her promise of a bare pussy, but of how Harry would react to it. Would he see? Would he make it worth her while, too? Would he get just as excited?

  “Uh, John,” my wife moaned. “Fuck me. Fuck me and think about how smooth I’ll be.”

  “Oh, Court!”

  “Oh, John!”

  The bed creaked with my thrusts. My arms burned as I held myself over her, driving my hips in, in, hard and harder. I stared down at her, where she sighed and moaned, her eyes shut, h
er mind on...Harry? She bit her lip, her brow falling, her orgasm rising.

  Ever considered the possibility that you want her to cheat on me? Yes, I had. Yes, maybe, just maybe, I wanted that.

  I exploded deep inside of my wife. Was I the second man to do that tonight? I...I guess I hoped that I was.

  Chapter 4

  Sex has a hugely reassuring effect on a man. A guy can have all the stresses and strains in the world whirling around his head, but a seriously good bout between the sheets and he’ll just roll over and drift off into a dreamless sleep.

  For me, the effects of a night with Courtney lingered on into the morning, leaving me waking with an enormous feeling of contentment and goodwill. Even my paranoia levels had fallen away to near zero.

  I guess those little cells of mine, ticking away inside, feel all the sex hormones floating around and just cannot reconcile any negativity with the vibrant memory of my beautiful wife moaning as she lay under me, begging me to fuck her, crying out my name.

  Promising to wax her bikini line, just for my own titillation.

  Over breakfast, she was all smiles and breezy cheer, and I was all smiles and bouncy elation, both of us seeming as though we were in some drug-induced haze of self-fulfillment as we went through the usual conversations over cereal and bagels.

  “I saw a really nice bag on the J.Crew website—it’ll be just perfect for Mom’s birthday.”

  “Sounds good. You can never have enough nice bags, huh?”

  “That’s right. You and Charlie have all those football jerseys. Mom and I like nice bags. Oh, I have a board meeting on Thursday.”

  “Sure, honey.”

  “So no lurking round our waiting room hoping to pick me up, right?”

  When she said that, I flushed deep red, and turned away from her to hide my reaction. I knew—or at least, I assumed—she wasn’t actually referring to my drop-by the previous night. I felt certain she couldn’t possibly have known I was there, that I’d left before offering her a lift home, that I’d seen a vehicle in the parking lot that belonged to one Harry Richards.

  Had Shawna tipped her off to my presence?

  Yet Courtney wasn’t asking me what I was thinking going over there when she’d asked me not to that night. Or why I’d gone there and left without talking to her. She wasn’t explaining why that Harry Richards guy had been there with her, alone, when she’d suggested she’d be late because she had another busy public clinic day.

  I had to work on this paranoia.

  “I don’t lurk,” I insisted. “I just like helping you out from time to time.”

  “Yes, sweetie, and it’s much appreciated.” She kissed me as she went by to drop her plate and glass into the dishwasher before disappearing upstairs to finish up getting ready for work. And she sounded completely innocent, completely relaxed and unfazed by my recent stalker-like dedication to her homeward transport.

  Maybe I should relax, maybe there really wasn’t anything untoward going on with her.

  I went off to work on my development, and her smell was still all over me. It just brought to mind constant reminders of Courtney in bed—every time I’d breathe in and detect her scent, little details of our previous night’s sex would crystalize in my head. The image of her arching her back as I touched her. Shuddering under me as I slid my fingers inside her. Thrashing about and telling me urgently to eat her.

  All morning I had those sweet memories to get me through, my efforts to knock down a wall between the kitchen and the living/dining room accompanied by a fairly persistent hard-on, though at least it meant the time flew by.

  Later, after my usual plumbing expert, Todd, came to take a look at the surprise pipe my wall demo had exposed, my afternoon stretched out and I found myself starting to remember how Courtney had been before we’d wound up in bed, putting all our worries out of mind.

  She’d been on the verge of some kind of confession, hadn’t she? Something had been on her mind, and when I’d started kissing her, she’d seemed guilty, she’d been about to tell me something...something difficult.

  I’d been too afraid of her coming right out and admitting to an indiscretion. I’d distracted her, kissed her so she couldn’t say anything at all. Then later, after dinner, I’d told her I loved her, that she was too good for me. That had almost prompted her to confess, too.

  That afternoon, I started feeling regret that I hadn’t allowed her to come out and share whatever was on her mind. Would she really have opened up about what had happened with Harry Richards?

  At the time, I was terrified it would mean our marriage ending. Either because she’d tell me she no longer wanted me, that she had Harry now, and he was more attractive, more affluent than I was, that he could provide everything she needed in life—or because I’d blurt out some jealous order for her to get out of our apartment, to leave me, to never come back.

  She’d made love to me, though, and it had honestly felt like I had nothing to worry about in the world.

  And now, as I worked on that house almost on autopilot, I started pondering what I ought to have said to her, and what I might have said if she had confessed to something happening with Harry Richards.

  As the hours ticked by, more and more I found myself imagining telling her, “It’s okay... I don’t mind... you can have a little fun with him if you like... as long as you come back to me afterward... as long as you still want me...”

  I went through a strange process—I guess you could say I was coming to terms with my own sexual kink. Something had flipped inside my brain like a switch being turned on. After that, I could admit to myself that, yes, the thought of my Courtney being tempted off the true path of marital monogamy did turn me on.

  The thought of my beautiful wife being unfaithful... it did make me hard like nothing I’d ever experienced. And I was married to a woman so far out of my league that my friends had congratulated me when she’d accepted my offer of a date, when she’d accepted my offer of marriage, when she’d said “I do” on a beach in Hawaii, as though I’d done something wholly unexpected that completely defied the odds, like winning the lottery. Sleeping with Courtney had always been the most incredible experience in the world. How could it turn me on more to think of her now sleeping with someone else?

  I wasn’t sure about the details. I had no idea why or how I felt this way. But I could at least be honest with myself and admit that, sure, I just happened to like the idea of my Courtney sneaking away to jump into bed with another man, to enjoy the temptations of strange cock, to indulge in the adoration of someone who was, perhaps, more in her league.

  Someone like Harry Richards.

  I came to terms with my strange urge—that’s not to say it didn’t still terrify me. I still quivered from the thought of losing my wife, to Harry Richards, to some other guy more worthy of her. Whoever. It’s just that I no longer sought to deny to myself that the whole bizarre bundle of risk and reward was the biggest turn-on ever.

  I could go home and hope that she was being kept late in the office by another evening appointment with my new rival, and not feel disgusted with myself, not feel shame.

  Oh, it helped that I did a little online research. I asked Google about men who want their wives to sleep around. It wasn’t so uncommon. There were even biological explanations for it.

  I even found myself thinking about talking it all over with Charlie. Well, he was my friend, but also my shrink. I’d shared so many embarrassing secrets and personal truths with him, what would be the point of hiding this one?

  Those few days that I’d collect Courtney from her Medical Center on time, there would be no signs of Harry Richards around, or she’d text me to let me know she’d be home before me. I was almost disappointed that nothing was going on.

  On the plus side, each night I’d be so horny from a day of thinking about her, and her potential infidelity, I’d sweep her up in my arms and usually devour her even before we had the chance to have dinner together—and increasingly she seem
ed to see nothing unusual about it. She was as horny as I was. If I didn’t sweep her up in my arms, she’d be shoving me against the wall as soon as we got inside the front door of our apartment, to tear open my belt and pull down my pants.

  Our sex life had always been good, but it had never quite been twice, three-times-a-night good. After first meeting Harry Richards, it was that good, and it wasn’t just me being desperate to sleep with my wife every moment I had with her. She was desperate for sex, too, like she hadn’t been since we’d been dating.

  “I looked it up,” I told Charlie on the phone when he called suggesting a few drinks at a new harbor-side bar one of his clients had just opened up. “It’s one of the signs of a cheating spouse. She starts overcompensating because she’s sleeping with someone else and she feels guilty...”

  Charlie just sighed, of course, that I was still going on about this. He didn’t want me and Courtney fighting. He was a friend for both of us, now.

  “She loves you, dude,” he said. “It’s just a sign that she loves you. Maybe work’s going well for her right now, her stress levels have dropped. She’s more relaxed, more self-confident, so she... wants more sex...”

  “She never said anything about work going well, about her stress levels.”

  “Look, you clearly don’t get out enough, John. You’re turning into a complete dipshit. You need to come out Thursday night and get completely trashed...”

  “Okay, okay!” I laughed. “I said it already, didn’t I? I’ll come out. I’ll check out your client’s new place...”

  “Great.”

  “Isn’t it a conflict of interest, you drinking at a client’s establishment?”

  “Nope. The conflict of interest is in the fact that he’s given me a free bar tab whenever I want to use it... but you know... who’s gonna report me?”

  We laughed. It felt right. I realized how much I needed a drink or two away from my usual solitude as a flipper of houses.