Madeleine Wakes (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book One of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 7

  What was she thinking about as she touched herself, as those sensual sighs turned to gentle moans? Her husband? Probably not. One of her co-workers? Her boss? Her crush across the street?

  Hugo felt darkness inside him at the thought that she was picturing rival as she slipped two fingers inside her tight pussy. A guy built along the same likes as the tall Latin guy at the bookstore.

  As he thought about it, and the pangs of jealousy snapped at his insides, a big part of him seemed to like the idea of Madeleine fantasizing about being with such a man. It was the naughty streak inside her, the wicked insatiable harlot in there, which perked up his own libido. There was something primal about Hugo’s own feelings, he was sure of it. He was responding to the danger of her infidelity by becoming more sexually powerful himself—to give him more firepower to spread his genes rather than allowing her to carry those of another male.

  Was Madeleine getting off on her exhibitionism, or her thoughts of infidelity?

  All the questions spinning around his head almost meant he missed seeing her reach for the bag she’d left down there on the floor, then retrieve something long and lilac colored. Once again, Hugo found himself gasping for breath as he spotted the shape of a fairly large vibrator.

  Oh. My. God.

  Heartbeat suddenly quickening, his pulse audible as his body fought to keep up with the adrenaline now surging around his frame, he watched as she turned back to the windows, sex toy in hand.

  She glanced over towards the bedroom, and Hugo felt a sudden moment of shock, afraid she’d spotted him.

  But then she simply turned away from the window, presenting her back to the glass, swinging her legs off the window seat.

  Hugo had to stifle another gasp as she edged a little further forward, opening her thighs, showing him everything. It made him think that for so long in their relationship, he’d never really just looked at his wife naked before—never really appreciated her beauty. Sure, she’d probably never allowed him to just look—there had always been a pressure to get to where they were going next, to find the shortest route to orgasm.

  But here she was now, balanced on the edge of the window seat, switching on the vibrator so its low buzz pierced the still air, brushing it over her breasts and trailing it around her nipples.

  Oh God, he could smell her arousal. That earthy, musky, dark scent. Despite the fact she was across the room from him, it infiltrated the air, and filled his nostrils, spurring on his heart rate to ridiculous speeds. He almost lost it there and then, but he was trying desperately to be silent. Even to the point of restricting his breathing.

  Another glance his way. Had she seen him sitting there in the darkness, watching her?

  He had to keep his breathing under complete control as she slid her vibrator down over her mound, its humming tip gliding along her outer lips, then in along her glistening folds, sliding through her groove.

  Madeleine was so exquisite, rocking her hips back and forth gently as she stirred the little humming shaft around and inside her wet pussy.

  Back when they were first dating—eight years ago—Hugo remembered her allowing him to watch as she’d touched herself. The first time any girl had, it was seriously hot—God, how incredible she’d looked showing him how she made herself come. That kind of foreplay had faded from their repertoire since then.

  She’d never ever shown him anything involving a vibrator, though.

  Although she was already warmed up, Hugo was surprised how quickly the little thing took her from quiet, sensual sighs up to desperate, urgent cries as she circled it around her sensitive lips, touched the shaft down against her pussy, kneaded the flesh around her clit, pushed the head inside her tight hole.

  No man could compete with this, he thought with a smile.

  But when she slipped it inside her pussy, penetrating herself with it, was she imagining another man sliding into her, another cock squeezing into her tight slit?

  She was so wet, her scent so strong in the air, it was driving him crazy—and yet Hugo felt unable to do anything but press his hand against his stiff cock—any movement could have him discovered. To see him there, Madeleine would be outraged—feeling justifiably violated, her personal privacy rights shredded.

  Hugo took a deep breath, trying to push away the cold claws of guilt again—he’d stop. This would be the last time, Madeleine did not deserve to be spied on, for all her flirtatious carrying on with other men.

  For now, though, he watched her pull her knees up under her chin, her little cries becoming a constant whimpering as she lodged the buzzing stick in her slippery groove, pressing its length hard into her lips so that it touched her pussy and clit, oiled by her arousal.

  He saw her body tremble, her hips tense up, her movement becoming jerky, out of control as she neared a thunderous climax.

  “Oh yeah, oh yeah…” she was crying, her whole frame quivering as a tumultuous conclusion rippled through her flesh.

  Hugo very nearly came in his pants, without even touching himself.

  Eight

  He had an open invitation to the next evening event at Madeleine’s bookstore, but in the days leading up to it, he saw that she was quietly making assumptions that he wasn’t going to be there.

  Knowing work, knowing the way something could spring up at the office any moment, he didn’t raise her hopes that he would be there, either. After everything that happened after the first one, however, he saw this one as a must attend event.

  Frustratingly, on the Monday Hugo found himself unable to escape from a business trip right across the country. They were supposed to make a pitch to a sudden hot prospect—Ray and Lowego would be going with him.

  “And it has to be this week?”

  “It’ll impress them that we can drop everything and just go,” Lowego was very enthusiastic, dead certain they’d get the business this way.

  “And we’d definitely get back Thursday? There’s this thing I have to go to—”

  “We head out on the Tuesday night, pitch Wednesday, there’s a flight Thursday gets in a lunch time—you’ll be back for the afternoon.”

  It sounded okay to Hugo, though he was a trifle concerned about the potential for flight delays.

  *

  Lowego wasn’t at the airport when they all met up for the morning flight to San Diego the next day. Ray was laughing about it, and Hugo was a little surprised he was taking it humorously, since this was Ray’s big pitch and Lowego was supposed to be the good cop to Ray’s bad in the presentation. Davis just wasn’t as good as a stand-in.

  “He picked up his wife’s phone by mistake this morning,” Davis was explaining to Hugo, as the last to arrive at JFK, since apparently Ray was spluttering and chortling just a little too much to recount the tale.

  “He had to go back for his?” Hugo asked.

  “No. Was going to let it go, let her use his. Only then he got this text message on his wife’s phone while he and Ray were checking in.”

  “Toe sucking!” Ray blurted out among peels of fresh laughter, his whole face red like he was going to burst a blood vessel any minute.

  Davis seemed much more sympathetic to whatever plight Lowego now found himself in. The perpetual stand in for this little team, Davis appeared in touch with the downtrodden.

  “Looked like the message was from some other guy,” he said. “A couple more came through as he was trying to figure out exactly what it was, what it meant.”

  “Another guy who thought he was texting Lowego’s wife?” Hugo asked, trying not to provoke Ray into a further barrage of giggles.

  “Exactly. I guess she’s not been entirely faithful. Hell of a way to find out.”

  “She’s a dirty bird,” Ray said, trying to calm himself. “He’ll do well just to walk away.”

  “What if he still loves her?” Davis asked him, apparently trying to control a hint of anger at Ray’s lack of empathy. “They are married, you know.”

  “Marriage is overrated. He’s got a good o
ut, now.”

  Hugo didn’t know Lowego all that well yet, but the sense that a guy’s marriage had just imploded was heavy, whoever it was. Would he really walk away from it? Could he forgive his wife? As they drifted onto the plane, found their seats, buckled up, Hugo couldn’t help but try to imagine how he would feel in Lowego’s place.

  What if he returned from his trip early to discover her in bed with someone else?

  That thought made him feel a strange mix of out-and-out horror and dizzying excitement.

  Why on Earth should he feel that way?

  It was like being pushed out of an airplane. The rush of the air as he plummeted toward the ground making him feel exhilaration despite the massive fear of death that gripped him.

  *

  Checking into an empty hotel room at the Hilton on the Bayfront made Hugo miss Madeleine intensely. It had only been a few hours—and it would be only a couple of nights away from her—but he felt such an empty hole where she should have been.

  The view out of the window was pleasant enough, with the sparkling blue of the bay, the white boats in the marina and the towers of downtown San Diego just past the great expanse of exhibition center. But he didn’t want to stay here, dwelling on things alone.

  Hugo was only too pleased to meet up with the others after a quick change, to prepare for an evening dinner with their prospective clients. The distraction was highly welcome.

  Davis and Ray seemed to have forgotten about Lowego—more important things had come to the forefront of their attentions now, as they built up to the pitch meeting the next day.

  All through dinner, though, as they all tried desperately not to talk about business, to gel with their potential business partners on a personal level so that they’d all be so much more receptive to the pitch—Hugo kept finding his mind drifting off, wondering what Madeleine was up to at that moment.

  Working at the bookstore again?

  Or having dinner with someone?

  He had to stop himself from thinking that stuff. A visit to the restroom saw him splashing cold water all over his face, telling himself that it would be just far too much coincidence for Lowego to be facing the prospect of a straying wife, only for Hugo to face exactly the same issue at the same time.

  After that, he tried to focus on that thought: Madeleine doesn’t need anyone else. She wouldn’t do that to him, not after all the support he’d given her through the dark times. He tried to ignore that small part of him which, deep down, had begun to hope that Madeleine was considering seeing someone else, if that was what it took to guarantee her happiness and her full recovery from such debilitating depression.

  And later, when he called her, and she was quite clearly—from the background noise—lounging in front of the TV watching Conan, no doubt in her sweatpants, it brought some relief to him. Her relaxed tones while she asked about the hotel, about dinner, about his hopes for the pitch meeting the next day—that also helped calm him.

  That strange little part of him, though, felt mildly disappointed that he had caught her at home, doing the usual thing for a weeknight.

  God, he was a mess.

  *

  The pitch went well, though it wasn’t very inspiring work. Telling a sportswear manufacturer how they might be able to get journalists excited by a new kind of sports shoe had never been part of Hugo’s career plan.

  On the way back to the hotel, Hugo only wished that they could be flying back this evening, so he could be certain of attending Madeleine’s event the next day. It made him feel a little guilty to be thinking he should be there to see what happened.

  He did trust her. He didn’t need to check up on her. He didn’t need to make sure she gave in to Lucy’s suggestions and went a little beyond flirting. He didn’t need to be there in case he had to step in to pull his wife away from a predatory suitor.

  So why did that strange, dark part of him actively want to know other men were openly attempting to seduce Madeleine? Thinking of her responding with batted eyelids and coy blushes, making faint suggestions that if they kept up, and they said just the right thing, she might be tempted to stray.

  He took a hot shower to try to take his mind off things.

  When he stepped out, he decided at the very least, he ought to call her. It was already late—she would be ready for sleep. If he was going to call her, it had to be now.

  God, he was trembling as he picked up the phone, touched on her name on the dial. Why couldn’t he just talk to her? Tell her how he felt?

  The line was not good as they were finally connected. Over the crackle and fizz of the poor link-up, Hugo almost thought he could hear the low hum of people socializing.

  “Hey sweetie! How did it go?” Madeleine shouting into her phone, and not merely because of the weak connection. “You guys win the contract?”

  “I think so!” he said, raising his voice since he suspected she was in a bar or restaurant from the background noise.

  “Can’t really hear you very well, sweetie,” she yelled.

  “You still at the store?”

  “We came out for a few drinks after work,” she said. “They wanted to celebrate because head office wants to attend my event to see if the idea would work at other stores in the state!”

  “That is incredible, honey—well done!”

  Hugo felt the warmth of pride swarm through his system again.

  “Are you gonna make it tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure, honey, I’ll try—there aren’t too many flights unfortunately, so it’ll be a tight squeeze. If there’s any kind of delays—”

  “Hey, if you can’t make it, there will be others!” she said. He thought she sounded okay about him missing the event. Was it still the sense that he’d prove a distraction at the book signing, or because he would see her with other guys, particularly her crush?

  “Hey... the phone... reception’s really bad—” Madeleine said, her voiced breaking up.

  “Of course, honey—just wanted to hear your voice before I went to bed,” he said, adding: “Don’t you stay out too late, not the night before your big day!”

  “I think we’ll be heading home soon!” she said, her voice so cheerful, she was making him tingle between the thighs again.

  The way she said ‘we’ when she talked about going home sent a hot flush through Hugo’s system, his paranoia reacting to the indication she might be subtly referring to her intentions that night for warming her cold, lonely bed.

  Why was he tingling all over at such a thought? At the idea of some colleague of hers being unable to keep his hands off his sexy wife, Madeleine tipsy and full of mischievous, lustful energy at the clear signs of adoration from another man.

  “Okay, have a good time anyway,” he said. “And I hope everything runs smoothly tomorrow if I don’t get the chance to talk to you before.”

  “Oh, it’ll be okay—I’ll see you tomorrow, whatever time you get in,” she said.

  Then as Hugo was in the middle of saying: “Love you”, the phone line finally died. He was left in an uncomfortable silence, sitting there on his own on the edge of the bed in a luxurious but empty hotel room. Did he call her back only to say goodbye? Would she think him pathetic?

  They’d been married five years, she knew he loved her. He didn’t need to call her back just to say it and then goodbye. She’d think he was ridiculous.

  A text came through—Madeleine.

  > Sorry we got cut off! Love you! Get some good sleep, can’t wait to see you tomorrow night!

  It gave him a sizable sense of relief. He texted back:

  > Love you too, sweetie, see you tomorrow!

  His dreams that night were of Madeleine, naturally enough. Of her beauty, of her happiness, of her raw sexual power. Images of her slowly, sensually removing her clothes, displaying herself for an unseen audience across the street. He saw flashes of Lucy, half-remembered from their time at the Globe or even as far back as their wedding. Lucy giggling with Madeleine, Lucy encouraging
Madeleine to cheat on her husband. Madeleine blushing at some faceless guy, nodding consent at whatever dangerous offer he was making.

  Madeleine taking the hand of another man, allowing herself to be led away to some exhilarating illicit seduction.

  Madeleine sighing and moaning as she was penetrated by a vibrator, which in Hugo’s dream suddenly turned into a frighteningly real live erect cock.

  When he awoke in the morning, Hugo found he’d had the first wet dream he could remember having since his teenage years.

  Nine

  After a long day spent flying, even though a good three hours was simply stolen by the time difference from West to East Coasts, Hugo felt pretty tired as they finally got into JFK.

  By the time he’d gotten home and unpacked, he hardly needed to look at the clock to know he could still make Madeleine’s soiree. He just felt it in his bones.

  He decided, after a quick change into something smart but casual, that he would duck into the event, and perhaps try to keep a low profile. Madeleine didn’t need to know he was there—he could tell her afterwards, if it felt right.

  Madeleine’s bookstore was down in a little street close to NYU which had a surprisingly cutesy feel, with little shops and a couple of half-decent looking bars. Bathed in the slow twilight of a summer evening, it took on a Disneyfied air that made Hugo think he was walking onto the set of a movie. This was the kind of scene to which Internet retail was putting an end, he thought as he approached the little store that had somehow resisted both the challenge of the Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, scourge of independent stores as well as the more recent Amazon-backed slow demise of the physical bookstore.

  Shelf Indulgence—it even had a cutesy name.

  The party was already spilling out onto the street as Hugo drew near. He was impressed—he was happy to admit it—he was already really impressed. The place seemed quite full, very lively.