Hotwife Miami

by Jewel Geffen

  “Very droll,” James said, smiling slightly.

  “So is there?”

  “I'm sure it's possible. I suppose it's some woman's husband, most likely. Someone who couldn't handle what was going on and decided they had some sort of vendetta against me. But they haven't done anything yet. They had all those pictures, more than enough to blackmail somebody or get me fired if that's what they were trying to do. So why wait?”

  “Maybe they're hoping for something in particular. I think I know what this break-in was about, though.”

  “Oh? What makes you say that?”

  Scott crossed the room. He opened the cracked glass door of a little case. There was a camera inside. The film compartment was open. A box of unused film canisters had been dumped out and rolled around in the bottom of the case. He picked one up and held it to the light. “He wants his pictures back.”

  “You think he assumed it was here?”

  Scott wandered deeper into the house, poking his nose into different rooms. Whoever'd done this, they had done a thorough job of it. “I think he's desperate. You're the one who grabbed the camera off him, right? I imagine it's a lot easier breaking into this place instead of the Kendall's mansion. He was taking his chances.”

  “But of course the film isn't here.”

  “Right. And I doubt he was especially happy about that.” He pointed into James' bedroom. The bed-sheets had been torn back and there were feathers strewn across the floor.

  “My God...” James said, coming in after Scott and shaking his head.

  “I think it would be a good idea for you to lay low awhile. Not with somebody you know, he'll look there first. You need to get somewhere away from all this.”

  “A hotel?”

  “Too easy to track people down to hotels, believe me, I do it all the time.” Scott sighed. “You'd better come stay at my house.”

  “Excuse me?” James' eyebrows rose incrementally.

  “I don't want anything happening to you. I still need you to help me solve this thing, after all. It has to be somewhere safe and private that isn't connected to you, and that means our options are limited. As far as I know this guy doesn't know about me yet. Best place to keep a low profile.”

  “I'm not sure if that's entirely necessary, Mr. Chapel. This break-in is disturbing, of course, but I-”

  Scott interrupted him with a nod towards the head of the bed. “Dunno if you saw that already, but I know I wouldn't be comfortable sleeping here.”

  James looked. “I... I suppose you might be right. Let me get a few things together and we'll go.”

  “Good plan,” Scott said.

  There was a huge carving knife that looked like it had been taken from the block in the kitchen stabbed deep into James' pillow. If that wasn't clear enough, there was a knife pinned by the blade. Sloppy writing had been scrawled hastily on the torn page:

  You're next.

  Chapter Twelve

  Julie snorted with laughter, blushing and covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh my goodness, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

  “Not at all,” James said, chuckling quietly. “I reacted the same way myself.”

  “Yeah,” Scott grumbled, “hilarious.”

  James had only been at the house for a few hours now, and already he and Julie were thick as thieves, laughing together and trading stories. It hadn't occurred to Scott that they were both teachers, though at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to the ages of their students. They obviously shared an immediately solidarity, however.

  Scott wasn't entirely sure how much he liked that. A part of him was already regretting letting James stay with them. At the time he'd only been considering the case and the other man's safety, which were the most important factors, he supposed.

  He'd never considered the fact that he'd be letting a man who slept with other men's wives on a startlingly regular basis come into the house where his own wife lived. It wasn't that he didn't trust Julie – of course he did. He'd seen how charming and ingratiating James Cain could be, though.

  Julie had been dubious at first when he'd told her that they were having company, but she'd warmed up to James quickly enough. A little too quickly, maybe.

  They were sitting at the little dining room table together eating the meal that she'd made. James had already complimented her on her cooking at least a half a dozen times, and each time it still made her blush and looked away, hiding a smile.

  “So... anthropology. What's that like?”

  James leaned forward. “What would you like to know?”

  She shrugged. “I don't know... anything? I don't know the first thing about it.”

  He set his fork aside and took a drink from his glass of white wine. “I like to say that it's the study of people. No more, no less. How we act and interact. It's about... society.”

  “That sounds fascinating...”

  “Hm, very much so. It's a rich field, no doubt. Very deep, very broad. Endless opportunities. It's almost too much; it can get quite daunting at times. You have to just find your corner of the world and focus on that.”

  “I see... and what's your corner? What do you take particular interest in?”

  “Me? Oh... it's not especially interesting,” he demurred.

  That, of course, only made Julie more interested. “No, I am,” she said, “please. Tell me, I'm dreadfully curious.”

  “Come on, hon, he doesn't want to talk about that stuff right now. It's work. Give the guy a break.”

  “No, it's alright,” James cut in, “I don't mind. That is,” he said, leaning slightly across the table and closer to Julie, “if you really want to know.”

  “I do,” she said, though she sounded a little taken aback by his intensity. Her tone was slightly hushed, as if she were about to hear a great and terrible secret.

  “I'm making a study,” he said, holding her gaze intently in his own, “of human sexuality.”

  The words sounded thick and rich, portentous in the little dining room of Scott and Julie's house. “Really?” she said, her tone slightly awed.

  “That's right. Specifically, I'm interested in the intersection of sex and ethnicity. In the ways that... interracial sexual liaisons occur, and the cultural and social impact of those relations.”

  “That's... very interesting,” Julie said, and she sounded like she meant it. She was leaning in close, her attention completely fixed on him.

  “For example, let's take you and I.”

  Scott's stomach clenched. No, how about we don't.

  “You and I?” she said, spellbound.

  “Yes. Suppose we were to have an affair.”

  “Oh my... that would be something,” she said, and smiled slightly.

  Scott couldn't tell what her tone indicated – if she was amused, interested or repulsed. She was keeping her cards close to her chest, so close that even after all their years of marriage, he couldn't say for sure what she was thinking.

  “What obstacles stand between us? You're married, and I'm not. In some societies it's expected for the man to philander, in others it's acceptable for women to have multiple husbands.”

  She laughed. “Multiple husbands? Goodness.”

  “And then there's the question of race. Is it acceptable for me, a black man, to have an open relationship with a white woman? Not so long ago it was actually illegal, and in some parts of the country it's still as good as.”

  She shifted uncomfortably, and put her elbow on the table to rest her hand on her face. “How exactly do you conduct such a study, if you don't mind me asking?”

  He smiled. “Questionnaires. Anonymous, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Although... I suppose there is an element of practical study. More hands-on, if you will.”

  “Hands-on?” she asked, her mouth open slightly, her breathing coming a little faster.

  “That's right,” he said, “you'd be amazed. Just looking at the one example I gave you... you wouldn'
t believe how many married white women there are who would like nothing more than to have sex with a black man. My job is to ask why. Is it just the thrill of violating social taboo? Or is there something more? Some... primal attraction there?”

  “And... what do you think?” she asked, her breast heaving just a little.

  He smiled. “Well... it's an ongoing study. Perhaps you'd be interested in taking a look at one of the questionnaires I've been using?”

  Scott felt himself flush. He sprang upright. “I don't think that will be necessary,” he said, and reached down to grab Julie's arm. He gave her a firm tug. “I'm sure you're tired, James. Stressed. You've had a rough day. I'll let you get some rest. The guest room is all set for you.”

  “But I-” Julie started.

  “No,” he cut in, “we really should let him go.”

  She rose, clearly reluctant. Scott couldn't help but notice that she cast a long and lingering glance back at the man sitting at their table as they left the room, their eyes meeting for an extended moment.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Scott? Scott, are you awake?”

  He started, groggy and bleary, blinking. He fumbled for the revolver he'd hung from the bedpost for easy access in case he should need it turning the night. Before he got his hands on it, however, he realized that they were alone, just Julie and he.

  She was sitting up in bed, her hands on his chest and her eyes gleaming in the dark. They'd gone to bed only partially dressed due to the continually oppressive heat. He wore nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and she just a lacy camisole. Right now she was running her hands over his chest.

  She felt hot, and there was a strange light in her expression.

  “What's wrong?” he asked, still fighting off the clutching sensations of sleep.

  “Nothing,” she said, then bent down to plant a soft kiss on his chest, then another. She kissed him as she spoke, as if using the gesture for punctuation. “I was just... thinking we... might want to... fool around...”

  He blinked up at her, then turned his head. The door was open a crack, and he could see light in the hall. That meant that James, one door down and not more than fifteen or twenty feet away from them at this very moment, was probably still awake. “Um...”

  “Come on,” she said, a slightly pleading edge to her voice. “I really need it, Scott...”

  His eyebrows rose. “You need it?”

  She bent over him, and bit her lower lip. “I want to feel you inside me, baby.”

  Something felt different to him, something about her behavior that registered as off somehow. But what had changed? The man down the hall was the only thing. What sort of feelings was he provoking in her by his mere presence? He thought back to that conversation they'd had at the dinner table, and at the way her eyes had lit up.

  But then she slipped her hand into his boxers, and all such thoughts fled deep into the distant recesses of his mind.

  He lay back, groaning softly as she started to slide her hand up and down the length of his shaft. Soft wet noises filled the heated night air as she manipulated him, the sounds of skin on skin.

  Then she moved downward, a wicked gleam in her green eyes, and she lowered her head.

  His eyes, which had been drifting shut with a kind of sleepy pleasure, snapped wide open. He stared up at the ceiling, his toes curling. He could feel the wet heat of her mouth on his cock, her lips sliding over him to circle the head, then sliding down.

  He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a blowjob. She'd always said that she didn't like giving them, and out of respect for that he had stopped asking. She'd made a perfunctory attempted on a few of his last birthdays, but her heart hadn't been in it and he hadn't let it go on long before switching to more traditional intercourse.

  Tonight, however, she was going wild. She sucked and licked hungrily at him, eager as a teenager. It felt so good that he could hardly stand it, he thought he might just lose control and cum right then and there.

  He reached down and gathered her copper red hair in his hands, holding her firmly, just in an attempt to slow her pace a bit. He never would have made such an assertive seeming move usually. Grabbing her hair was a good deal more kinky than they tended to get, and he was about to yank his hand back and apologize when she let out a moan.

  She liked it. He was sure that had been a moan of pleasure, and she'd shown no signs of slowly or stopping. This was a side of his wife he'd never before seen, nor even imagined.

  The timid and vanilla schoolteacher he'd married was showing him that her appetites might just be a good deal broader than he'd ever known.

  She lifted her head, gasping slightly, a strand of saliva hanging from her lower lip and shining in the moonlight that came through the blinds. She gazed up at him through her eyelashes with a look of pure lust.

  With one swift motion she tugged her camisole up over her head and tossed it aside. Her full breasts swayed in the darkness as she straddled him. She reached down and guided him inside of her. She was wetter than he could ever remember feeling her, and without any warm up.

  She was more turned on than she'd ever been before. At least, with him.

  He slipped easily inside her tight hole, his cock moving into the warm sweet place between her thighs. It felt like melting butter, or sinking into a hot bubble bath.

  She put her hands on his chest and she started to move, rocking her hips back and forth. He reached up to cup her breasts. They were so soft, it took his breath away just a little.

  “Pinch them...” she murmured.

  “What?” he asked stupidly.

  “Pinch my nipples,” the words were a whisper on her lips, but distinct.

  He tentatively squeezed them between his thumbs and forefingers.

  She shuddered. “Harder... harder, baby...”

  He gave them a harder pinch, then when she asked for more again, he pressed his fingers so tight together that he was sure she'd scream and leap right off him.

  She screamed – more of a yelp, really – but she didn't stop. On the contrary, she started moving faster. “Yes, oh God, yes, that's nice! I love that! Pinch my nipples harder, baby!”

  Scott felt himself blush, and he glanced in the direction of the slightly open door. “Honey, not so loud-” he started to say, but he was cut off when she began to orgasm.

  “Oh God! Oh God! Fuck yes, fuck yes! Fuuuuck! Fuck me!”

  Scott had never heard that word come out of his wife's mouth before in all the years he'd known her. Not once.

  She threw back her head and let out a great shuddering cry, her whole body shaking as she rode him. At that point, Scott couldn't hold out any longer. She didn't let him pull out this time, though, but squeezed her thighs tight on him and pushed against him with all her weight. He could feel her pussy squeezing and teasing at his pulsing cock.

  He grabbed her hips tight and groaned between his teeth, and the two of them came together.

  They flopped down side-by-side on the bed a couple minutes later, both of them panting and gasping.

  “Wow,” he said.

  She giggled, biting her lower lip, and she nodded.

  “Where did that come from?” he asked, reaching over to caress her breasts, his finger moving in a little circle over the nipple.

  “Just something I needed,” she said, smiling – practically glowing – with satisfaction.

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then flopped down onto his pillow, instantly overcome with an incredible sense of weariness. Sleep... sleep sounded pretty damn good right about now.

  Before he drifted off to dream land, Scott happened to glance towards the doorway.

  He saw a hint of a shadow in the hall – or was it just the wind blowing the curtain? – then the light in the guest room was clicked off. Darkness filled the house.

  So... James had heard everything then, he must have. That might make things awkward... But never mind, it had been worth it. Well worth it.

  Scott fell asl
eep with a smile on his face and one arm around his wife's shoulders, and he dreamed of her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Scott touched the little plaque on the wall.

  The Black and White Club it read in neat and understated letters; he ran his fingertips over the engraved surface of the words. He looked over at the dark doorway which opened onto a quiet street, then stepped to it and gave it a knock.

  A little window slit rasped open. “Yes?” There was a man inside, only his eyes visible through the slit, pale blue.

  “I'm here to see Mr. Mason.”

  “No names,” the man chided him. “...you Chapel?”

  Scott grinned. “I thought you said no names?”

  The man snorted and opened the door. It swung heavily in. The doorman was dressed in a sharp outfit, like a waiter at an upscale restaurant. He was a white man, willowy thin with sandy hair and piercing blue eyes and a hooked nose that gave him an imperial sort of countenance. “You're expected,” he said.

  “Nice to be wanted,” Scott said as he stepped inside.

  The hall was hot and close, a strange industrial sort of corridor with unfinished walls and harsh florescent lights.

  The doorman looked him over with a critical eye and a slight twist of his pale lips. “I suppose that's what you're wearing?”

  Scott grinned again. “Is that a problem?” He had on khaki slacks and his duster over a rumpled t-shirt. His tennis shoes were scuffed and dirty. It was a far cry from the doorman's own elegant uniform.

  The fellow just sighed. “Just stay inconspicuous, if you can. We try and uphold a certain standard of attire here at the Club.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “Through that door is the main Club floor. Take the stairs immediately to your right and go up two floors. Mr. Mason's private office is down at the end of that hall.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  “Hm,” the doorman gave him an arch look and shook his head a little, as if to wash his hands of what was going to happen. There was a certain curiosity in his expression. He was no doubt wondering why was this rumpled peasant being allowed into the inner sanctum.