Out of His League: A Hotwife Novel Page 6

  I put a finger to her lips to silence her. “Not yet,” I insisted, begging her not to end the fantasy. “Not yet.”

  The corners of her mouth curled upward into a mischievous grin—surprised, but loving the fact that I was as into this as she was. As into being made jealous as she was into making me jealous.

  As she perched on the edge of that counter, I pulled off her bra and sucked one of her breasts back into my hot mouth, and she moaned, flashing me another beaming smile. I slid down her body and parted her legs, unable to resist more of her sweet nectar, and the fact there was so much to go round.

  I did believe her, that she wouldn’t cheat on me. It did make me love her more. In my head, I fought against the inevitable disappointment that came from hearing her either lying to me or actually declaring that she was purer than pure.

  I clung on to the fact that we were playing this game. She was playing the cheating wife, and I was playing the outraged—but horny—husband.

  I led her through to the bedroom, and now she was on her knees, dragging my pants down my legs, gasping at just how hard I really was.

  “Will you forgive me?” she asked me, taking my hardness in both her hands, massaging it, bringing it down to her pretty, red-stained lips.

  “Forgive you?”

  She sucked me deep into her hot mouth, and I nearly lost it right there and then. Then she withdrew it, said, “Forgive me for being so weak... for giving in to temptation...”

  “I guess we all give in to temptation occasionally...” I said, getting back into my role.

  “You’re so hard, honey...” she breathed, genuinely amazed by what she felt, it seemed, by the difficulty she had in stretching her lips around my cock.

  I could only moan by way of reply.

  Sounding like some femme fatale in a 1940s film noir, she said, “I don’t know why I ever had eyes for anyone else... you’re more than enough man for me...”

  It wasn’t the fact that she was pledging her allegiance to me that got me going. It was her stating that she’d had eyes for someone else. I ushered her up and onto the bed, pushing her onto her back, pulling open her legs before thrusting my stiffness straight into her sopping wet pussy.

  In our role-play, I was the aggrieved, enraged husband reclaiming my wayward wife—forgiving her, but apparently putting her actual transgression largely out of my mind. But as I fucked her, and again managed to bring her to a juddering, trembling climax in an astonishingly short time, I was actually thinking what Courtney might think if we repeated this particular role-play—and I demanded to know more of the details of her actual infidelity.

  She could tell me... and I could pretend to be incensed by it... and perhaps she’d never need to know I enjoyed the thought of another man stealing her for a night or two.

  What a night. We showered, and when we returned to the bed I was inside her again, this time taking her from behind like some kind of desperate beast.

  I think Courtney got the message. Past midnight we collapsed on the bed and she said, “What would you have done if I’d really had an affair?”

  The question startled me. Shocked me.

  It was, of course, a natural opening for me to confess to everything, to get all of the lurking darkness off my chest. To tell her how I really felt, and thereby dispel at least some of the secrets from our marriage.

  But I simply mumbled, “I... I don’t really know...”

  “You were so hard, sweetie...” she said in a kind of awed whisper. “And we’ve never... I mean, God, we were like teenagers tonight.”

  I laughed at that, but still felt surprisingly uncomfortable talking about this subject with her. Why couldn’t I just say? Honey, I love the idea of you cheating on me.

  Well, the obvious answer is that I didn’t want to give her the idea that it was all right just to go out there and cheat on me. Especially with Harry Richards. She was hot, she was sexy, she was clearly turned on by the thought of making me jealous, but I didn’t want her lying to me, I didn’t want her treating me with that kind of contempt.

  “I guess the lingerie worked on me,” I said.

  She laughed. “And me!”

  Courtney reached for her Kindle, which was there on her bedside table as it always was. “Look,” she said, switching it on, swiping on the screen to open up the ebook she’d been reading.

  It was some kind of self-help manual, I could tell instantly from the layout. I’d used enough of them myself when I’d dropped out of college to flip my first house when the tuition money ran out.

  This one, though, was entitled: “Evening Up The Score” and was written by one Martha Wynn-Thomas. My eyes skipped down the page to a subhead that read: “5. Make yourself feel gorgeous”. I skimmed through the paragraphs that urged women to pamper themselves and wear nice clothes to build up their self-confidence when facing tough business environments or particular anxieties in the workplace. And there was the suggestion: “It’s your secret, but some sexy lingerie under your business attire could make you feel powerful even though you have no intention of actually showing it off to anybody.”

  I laughed. “Seriously?” I said. “This was what you were doing?”

  She shrugged. “You know how nervous I get about all that business stuff.”

  “I suppose so...” She had a point. Usually the night before board meetings she was as jittery and nervous as a high schooler before her SATs.

  “The medicine... the physio... I can handle. Get me in a room full of suits scouring the paperwork and the power points, and I’m terrified.”

  “So did it help?” I asked her, and fished out a scrap of lace from beneath my pillow that just happened to turn out to be her black lace thong.

  “Hey!” she said sharply as she realized what I had.

  “Would you do it again?” I demanded to know, teasing her by holding her underwear up to my nose, inhaling it as though I was some kind of connoisseur sampling a wine’s bouquet.

  “Yes... I probably would...” She was almost indignant about it. Then she broke into another broad smile, “And you know... if it makes you all jealous... that’s another nice plus.”

  Chapter 7

  [Me]: Sorry, running behind. Will be there in about 15.

  I was late. For my own birthday dinner. I’d taken Charlie’s advice and hired a few guys to help me out. We’d made up enough time that I’d actually lost track of it. That still meant that I needed to grab a shower and get dressed. Courtney was coming from work, and we’d planned to meet at the restaurant separately.

  [Courtney]: Take your time. I’m at the bar, and there’s plenty to entertain myself here.

  The seat of my pants tightened as I read her text. Since the night a few weeks back when she admitted to me that she liked making me jealous, she had not done much to demonstrate. She didn’t bring up Harry. She didn’t come home later than usual, or tell me not to come by. She’d been good. But there was a new kind of energy buzzing beneath the surface, unspoken yet electric. It came out when we made love, when she moaned as I fucked her from behind, when we lay together, sweaty and exhausted, and drifted off to sleep.

  Plenty to entertain myself. I couldn’t resist.

  [Me]: Yeah? Run into someone you know?

  My heart started crawling up my throat as I waited for her to respond.

  [Courtney]: No one I know...yet.

  That lit a fire beneath me. I drove just a little faster, cut the lights a little closer, drove a little more aggressively. I kept my phone open on the passenger seat, checking it for more texts every reasonable chance I got. None came, which was somehow worse.

  Despite all the rushing, I got so snarled in traffic that I arrived at Paloma’s almost a half hour later. I used the valet, just so that I wouldn’t have to deal with searching for street parking, and hurried into the restaurant.

  Paloma’s was in an immediate suburb of the city, within a neighborhood that I could see Courtney and I one day moving out to when we decided to have c
hildren. I’d turned a house over out here, a couple years back when it was still transitioning to the upscale spot it was now. Paloma’s itself occupied the first floor of a mixed-use high rise, and took full advantage of the non-urban space. The ceilings were high and the room was open, sectioned off by long, dramatic drapery.

  At seven-thirty on a Friday evening, the bar space was packed with office workers and suburbanites getting home after a long week. Despite that, though, it was easy to find Courtney in the crowd—and when I did, my breath caught.

  She was seated on a stool at the bar, her legs crossed, flanked by two guys who seemed to be vying for her attention. One would speak, she’d listen with a smile and a flirty nod, she’d laugh at whatever joke he made, and then before she could speak, the other was trying to outdo the first.

  I started to raise my hand to wave, but stopped for some reason. All that electricity that had been humming beneath the surface these past few weeks was back, strong enough that my teeth chattered.

  Courtney was a true beauty, but most of the time she downplayed it. She wore only a little makeup and hid her body beneath jeans and flowy blouses. Her dark hair was usually pulled back in a ponytail more times than not. When she wanted to dress up, though, Courtney could transform herself. Tonight, for my birthday, she’d transformed. Her hair was done up in an elegant twist, accentuating her graceful neck and the glittering pendant earrings that dangled from her dainty lobes.

  Her gray dress wasn’t particularly tight or low cut—in fact, in coverage alone, it was conservative, ending just above her knees. But it was tight enough that it left little to the imagination, hugging her slender curves and outlining her high, perfect swells. A slit up the back of the dress left just enough of her black-stocking clad legs to draw the eyes—and these two guys were looking every chance they got.

  As I watched, she covered her mouth and laughed at whatever Guy On Her Left had said, immediately looking at Guy On Her Right. The man looked sheepish, shrugging and nodding as she stared at him with wide eyes.

  Just then, she looked out across the bar and found me standing there, overheated and dumbfounded by the entrance. Placing one hand on each of their arms, she stood and seemed to apologize to them both. They followed her eyes to me, looking like she’d just diagnosed them with something serious.

  Courtney didn’t appear to be sorry about it at all. There was no sincerity to her apology. She laughed musically, thanked them for their time, and then sauntered toward me. Her heels were tall, I noticed, forcing each step to be deliberate, her hips sashaying in a sexy way that was uncharacteristic for my wife.

  Glancing behind her, the guys were following her hips, too, pining for the sexy beauty that they almost had, but had ultimately lost. To me. She’d left those two, successful and handsome guys for me. Confidence and pride shot through me.

  “You finally made it,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her body against me. I could smell vodka on her breath and wondered just how much she’d had to drink.

  “Sorry. Traffic.”

  She searched my face with those sharp irises of hers. I recognized that look. She was horny. “It’s okay, I told you I found some entertainment.”

  I looked over her shoulder, where the two guys were commiserating over their beers. “I see that. You have fun?”

  “So much fun.” Her eyes flashed. She leaned in and kissed me softly. “Come on, let’s go see if our reservation is still available.”

  I stared at her as she moved away from me. While the dress reached her neck in the front, from behind it left a swath of her creamy back bare—enough to tell that she couldn’t have been wearing a bra beneath. Not only that, but the tight dress, made of some crushed velvet material, hugged her ass enough that I wasn’t sure she was wearing anything beneath. My cock surged, and embarrassed by the bulge, I caught up to her.

  “My husband and I had a reservation,” she was saying to the ma?tre d’. “Party of two for ‘Haute’.”

  The poor man visibly swallowed as he processed what she’d just said. After a confused moment, he realized she was talking about our last name, then nervously scanned his books. “Yes, we, um, still have your table.”

  He led the way as Courtney flashed a smile at me. I put a hand on her lower back, my fingers searching for the outline of her panties. I didn’t feel one. “This is quite a dress,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’re the third man to tell me that today.” She laughed silently at whatever shocked expression splashed across my face. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. It’s just hard to get out of the mindset after teasing those two guys like that for almost 45 minutes.”

  “They looked pretty disappointed when I arrived,” I said. The host showed us to our private table, pulling the seat back for Courtney. I noticed his eyes stray down her sheathed body as he did so.

  “Thank you,” she said to him.

  “A server will be with you shortly,” he said, and hurried away.

  “You think they were?” she asked, crinkling her nose cutely. Insincerely. “Disappointed?”

  “You really do enjoy this, don’t you?”

  She looked up at me quietly, considering her answer carefully. “I’ve had two cocktails on an empty stomach—your fault, by the way. I can’t be held accountable.”

  Her confession emboldened me. I reached across the table and took her hands. “Those two, poor guys are going to go home thinking about how close they were. And that turns you on.”

  Her face twisted into a smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t feel too sorry for them. They did ply me with drinks and then invite me back to their place for a threesome.”

  My jaw dropped. So that’s what had shocked her there in the end. Before I could formulate a reasonable thing to say, our server showed up and introduced himself as Rick.

  “Can I start you with something to drink?” Rick asked.

  Courtney looked up at Rick, meeting his eyes, and asked, “I’m in the mood for something rich and earthy. Feels like a night for red, don’t you think, Rick?”

  The young man, broad-shouldered and fit, returned her flirty smile, despite the fact that I was right there. “I know just the thing. We’ve got an excellent Cabernet that just came in from Napa. Let me bring you a tasting.” He took a step back, then seemed to remember me. “And you, sir?”

  I could see Courtney’s grin out of the corner of my eye. It made me smile, too. “I’ll try the same.”

  “I’ll be right back.” He seemed to stumble away.

  “Now you’re being mean,” I said to her.

  “Don’t be sorry for these guys. Trust me, I doubt they sleep alone very often.” She glanced off at the server. “I mean, if I were single...”

  I shifted in my seat, trying to adjust my growing cock.

  She shook her head, seeming to come out of whatever spell had overtaken her tonight. “But this is your birthday. We’re here to celebrate that.”

  Rick the server came back over, and this time Courtney was much more reined in—much more her usual self—as he poured her a small sip of the Cabernet. She nodded, and he filled both of our glasses, took our orders, and left.

  “I think he’s got a crush,” I said.

  Courtney held up her hands. “I didn’t do anything to encourage it that time.”

  “You didn’t need to. He was hooked from the moment you asked him about the red wine.” I picked it up. “Cheers. To my birthday.”

  Courtney must have been sobering up, because she actually looked a little bashful, pink creeping up her cheeks. “Happy birthday, honey.”

  “It’s already been an interesting one.”

  She took that as a negative, which I wasn’t sure that it was. “I’m sorry about that. I promise, it was harmless.”

  “That happen often? Guys just come up to you and...offer you threesomes?”

  Courtney covered her mouth as she laughed unexpectedly. I laughed with her. “No, I would say that’s more of an ‘occasional’
occurrence, not often.”

  It was a joke, but even the idea of that not being her first time was thrilling. “Have you ever done that?” I shivered as the question came out, and even more when she hesitated before answering.

  “Um, you really want to know?”

  Yes! I wanted to scream. “I think you just answered it,” I said, proud that my voice didn’t crack. “Did you like it?”

  Courtney studied me carefully, her expression stuck between embarrassment and curiosity. I could feel her picking me apart, analyzing why I was asking, studying my reaction. Did she see my own flushed skin? Did she know I had such a huge erection hidden beneath the table?

  “Sure, it was fun.”

  I released a pent-up breath. She really had done it.

  “But it was a long time ago. I’m not that person anymore.”

  Her caveat was somehow even more thrilling. “What does that mean?” I blurted.

  Courtney sipped her wine. “Um, I mean... Okay—I probably shouldn’t have said it like that. I just mean that back then, before I met you, back in college, I was much more...” She trailed off.

  “Sexually active?” I offered.

  “No, not quite that.” She played with the stem of her glass, thinking of how to approach this conversation. “I don’t talk about my past much because... I’m not really proud of who I was back then.”

  “You know you don’t have to be ashamed of anything, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

  She held my gaze for a long time, wrestling with whatever demons she held in her past. My gut churned as I filled in those details, imagining Courtney going off with those two guys, being stripped between them, dropping to her knees as she took turns sucking on their cocks.

  We were shaken from our silence by Rick returning with our food. “Can I get you anything else? Another glass of the Cabernet, perhaps?”

  I hadn’t realized that we had both finished our glasses. “Not for me, but my wife will take another,” I said.