The Accidental Sleepover: A Reverse Harem Novella ( The Accidental Hotwife Book 2)

by Sadie Somerton

  Contents

  The Accidental Sleepover

  Afters: More from Sadie Somerton

  §

  Join Sadie Somerton on Facebook, Amazon, or on the web at www.sadiesomerton.com.

  Sign up for the Sadie Somerton mailing list for all her latest news and offers, including a free hotwife story!

  Published by James Grieve Press

  © Sadie Somerton 2018

  Cover image © Porechenskaya, with design by James Grieve

  This ebook is copyright material and no portion of it may be reproduced or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law.

  THE ACCIDENTAL SLEEPOVER

  A Reverse Harem Novella by Sadie Somerton

  §

  Publisher's note: although this is the second part of a four-part serial, they can also be read as standalone novellas.

  Earlier in the series:

  The Accidental Date: Book One in The Accidental Hotwife series

  Available from: Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk

  §

  §

  Harry

  It was a strange, disturbed night for Harry Novak, but not nearly as strange as it would get.

  He lay on his side, unable to settle, trying not to move too much and disturb his wife, Anna, who lay behind the curve of his spine, her hip pressing gently against his ass.

  Outside, the storm blew hard. Wind howled and whistled, and the rain hammered like drums on this old house’s shingles and windows.

  He realized he had his eyes open, and forced them to close. He wasn’t normally so light a sleeper, but the storm and the unfamiliar sounds of Martha and Aaron’s house were enough to keep him awake tonight. In addition to the sounds of the storm, he was aware of the steady hum of something electrical, occasional creaks of settling timbers, and every so often an animal sound from outside.

  He stretched a leg, then settled again, careful not to disturb Anna. They always slept naked, and tonight, in the sultry heat, they were only covered by a sheet pulled down to their hips. Maybe that was playing on his mind, too, a subconscious sense of being exposed in an unfamiliar house.

  So many things conspiring to keep him from sleep...

  One of those things was that light touch of his wife’s hip on his ass.

  It wasn’t that the contact was stopping him settle, as such, but more that it was a hint, a reminder of a frustrated desire. When they’d finally said their goodnights to their hosts and tumbled into this room, Harry had drawn Anna into his embrace and kissed her. Long and slow, one hand cupping her head and the other down at the small of her back, pulling her hard against him.

  She’d pushed back, and his arousal must have been obvious to her as hard met soft.

  But then she’d drawn away from the kiss and tucked her head against his chest under his chin, still holding him close.

  “I’m tired, honey,” she’d said. “It’s not that I don’t...”

  He kissed the crown of her head. He knew she was as turned on as he was – all the signals, while perhaps less physically obvious than his, were familiar to him. But also, he knew she was often this way in other people’s houses, a strange reticence.

  He used one hand to tip her head and kissed her on the mouth again, soft and tender.

  “I love you,” he said, as he broke away.

  And now, he lay in this unfamiliar bed, remembering the kiss so vividly it was as if he could still feel her lips lingering against his in that moment when they drew apart.

  He was hard again now. His dick throbbed against his belly, he was so hard.

  Maybe he’d sleep better if he took care of that, but he didn’t want to disturb Anna, so instead he lay there, his mind drifting. Remembering the kiss, the feel of her in his arms, the way she had moved against his erection, the way she’d curled around his body when they first lay down.

  §

  The evening had been fun. He’d always got on well with Aaron Lester, and Anna had become friendly with Martha recently, too, bonding over an art class they attended together. This was the first time they’d been out to the couple’s house, though, a sprawling place to the south of the city surrounded by waterways and forest – Harry hadn’t been sure if Aaron was joking when he’d warned them about the neighborhood ’gator when they arrived.

  They’d spent the evening in the sun lounge to the rear of the house, plenty of wine and bread to go with the Louisiana boil Aaron had made. The crab and crawfish shells made for a messy but fun meal, and the storm brewing outside as the sun set beyond the trees had only added to the atmosphere.

  The point had come when Harry realized either he or Anna needed to stop drinking if they were to drive home. Indeed, with the wild turn the weather was taking they might even have to think about leaving early.

  “Stay,” Martha had said, when he voiced his concerns. “Come on, we have plenty of room! It’s Sunday tomorrow and none of us has to be anywhere. We’ll do a big brunch and then you can get back home in daylight tomorrow. What do you say?”

  Martha had a way about her. Harry had only started to understand that this evening: the way she could fix a person with those big blue eyes, give that little hint of a pout and... well, that woman was distracting and persuasive in equal, generous measure.

  Harry had turned to Anna and seen straight away that his wife was equally distracted. The two women paused like that, eyes locked, and for a moment Harry felt like an onlooker. He glanced at Aaron, who met his look and gave a little laugh, then said, “You should know that Martha generally gets what she wants.”

  Was he imagining the slight shift in atmosphere then? The suggestion of... he didn’t know what it was, just then. But now, lying on his side in that unfamiliar bed, he remembered that moment when Martha and Anna had shared some kind of connection. Maybe that’s another reason he was feeling so aroused tonight, the hint of flirting between the two women, even if it was only a passing fancy on his part.

  His dick pulsed again, the hardness almost an ache, and he was intensely aware of how every tiny movement of his body was transmitted to his stiff dick.

  He should get up, slip quietly to the bathroom, and take care of it. How could he be so damned turned on?

  He rolled carefully onto his back, felt Anna shift and then settle again. At least she was sleeping soundly tonight, but still he didn’t want to risk disturbing her.

  He drifted.

  A little later, he was somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He knew he had been dozing, and his head was full of random images that might have been dream or memory, asleep or awake. Fragments from the evening, of Aaron and Martha and Anna. Lots of laughter and conversation over that boil. More wine than any of them was accustomed to, once they’d decided driving home tonight was not a thing that was going to happen.

  There had been a moment when Martha had leaned in close to Anna, an arm across her shoulders, their faces close as they laughed at something he hadn’t caught. The easy way they touched... it hadn’t struck him as erotic at the time, but now... Those long fingers on his wife’s bare arm, the glimpse of cleavage as Martha leaned in, the little look she flashed at him, as if she knew exactly where a guy’s thoughts might leap.

  He woke, shifted. Anna was still fast asleep
at his side.

  He was tired now, his dick finally softening. Maybe he would be able to settle at last.

  §

  He drifted again.

  Dreamed.

  That look, that touch. He dreamed of Anna turning her face as Martha leaned in. Of the two of them kissing. The contrast between Martha’s long honey-blonde hair and Anna’s auburn bob. He dreamed of his wife touching Martha, the back of her hand brushing across the other woman’s collarbone and down, knuckles trailing down that cleavage.

  Just that moment, that tipping over from innocence to something that was so not innocent. The touch of knuckle against breast as the kiss drew out, the moment drew out.

  And faded. Drifted.

  Later, the same fantasy started to take a twist, or had he slept more soundly and now dreamed again? Strange how your mind can work like this sometimes, a level of conscious awareness even as you dream.

  A touch. A hand on his thigh. Just resting softly. The skin smooth, a hint of sharp nail where the fingers curled.

  Again, in his head was the sense of that innocence, a delicate touch, no more. The image of that moment filled his head again, Martha and Anna kissing, little more than a light pressing of lips. That hand, turned so the knuckles brushed softly against the smooth skin of Martha’s breasts.

  That ache in his dick again, starting to build.

  Such a sultry, intense night! Even his dreams had reached a new level.

  He sensed a gentle pressure on his dick, his balls. A soft touch bearing down as his shaft filled out again.

  He shifted, a roll of the hips, the shoulders. A brief rise to awareness as he remembered his earlier desire not to disturb Anna as she slept.

  Drifting again.

  And still, that delicious pressure.

  His dick was fully hard again now, flat against his belly, and that pressure bore down. Started to move, started to fold around his shaft, working up and down his length.

  Such a vivid, intense dream!

  He shifted his hips again, an involuntary movement.

  And then... as he started to come more fully awake, the pressure continued, the sensation of tightness around his shaft.

  He didn’t want to wake fully.

  Didn’t want this to stop.

  That tightness moving up and down his length, the slide of skin against the hard core.

  This was a dream that needed to reach its natural conclusion.

  As consciousness took hold, he slowly – far too slowly! – came to realize that this was no dream. Anna must have woken, and for some reason pushed that earlier reticence aside. Must have reached for him and teased him slowly awake, pressed her hand against him and then wrapped her fingers around his shaft and started to work the length...

  He ground his head back into the pillow. So many intense sensations all focused in his dick right now!

  Should he lie back and let this happen, or stop her, take control, steer things in a different direction? He was torn. He desperately wanted to fuck her right now, wanted that moment when he would push deep for the first time, their gazes locked, the intensity so great that sometimes that was all it took to make her come.

  But...

  That hand.

  Its deliciously lazy stroke along the length of his dick.

  That was when he realized that the angles were all wrong. The hand on him, the occasional brush of an arm across his belly.

  If Anna was doing this... There would be some movement, some contact with her arm on his belly from the other side. It didn’t make sense. It–

  He opened his eyes and saw a shadowy figure kneeling by the bed.

  Not Anna.

  Oh my god!

  In the dim light of the room he saw golden blonde hair, saw pale skin, the curve from shoulder to ribs and waist.

  Martha...

  She must have sensed the change in him, the sudden tension. She paused, still holding his dick tight in one hand as she raised the other hand, and pressed a finger to his lips to shush him.

  He didn’t understand.

  For a moment he was convinced this was all some mad dream. Then she started to move her hand again, and he knew it was real. A slow sweep of that tight grip up the length of his shaft, sliding across the swollen head and then drawing back down again until her hand came to rest against his balls.

  He should stop her.

  He couldn’t let this go on.

  His eyes were adjusting to the low light now, and as he looked down, he saw her hand pulling up again, his dick upright.

  When he looked up she was watching him. Studying him. That same look she’d had when she’d leaned in close to Anna earlier at the dinner table, her expression a mix of smile and sexy intensity.

  He had to stop her.

  But every second that passed made this harder to stop, harder to ever claim innocence, because he’d already passed that point... he’d already strayed into the territory of just another second or two, just another, just another...

  He genuinely didn’t know what to do.

  Right until now he’d have sworn he was a hundred per cent faithful kind of a guy.

  But when you wake up like this...

  He had to stop her.

  He made to move, raised a hand, trying desperately to do so in a way that wouldn’t disturb Anna and might still allow them all to escape from this situation with some kind of grace.

  And there was a moment... an instant when he thought she would relent.

  Then he saw a flash of a smile and she dipped her head and he felt the delicious wet heat of her mouth closing around the head of his dick. The dance of her tongue, sliding and flicking against him. And that extraordinarily intense sensation of being enclosed, drawn in, as she pushed down, her wet mouth sliding around him, taking him deep.

  Anna stirred then, and he almost bolted upright.

  She shifted, turned, folded herself against him, and from the way she instantly settled again he realized she must still be asleep.

  Martha started to draw her head slowly up, everything made more intense by the exaggerated slowness of her movements.

  Now Harry was almost swamped with sensations... The feel of Martha’s mouth on him, the dance of her tongue and the tight grip of her hand around the base of his shaft. The press of her bare breasts against his hip, and the image of her body as she leaned in: the silvery ghostliness of her skin, the fall of her honey-blonde hair. And Anna, folded into his side, one hand lying softly on his chest, her breasts squashed against him, her belly and mound against his hip, her legs against his.

  How could she not wake? How could she not know?

  Martha took him deep again, and his back arched involuntarily.

  He couldn’t take much more of this. Either he was going to come hard in Martha’s mouth or his heart would stop, and he didn’t know which would be the most appropriate way to finish.

  He should have stopped this...

  He shouldn’t be lying there, one fist gripping the bed, every muscle in his body tense as Martha drew her tight mouth up the length of his dick once again.

  And that was when it happened. The shift.

  Anna’s hand pressed down on him just a little more firmly, and she pushed against him.

  She was coming awake.

  Waking slowly, as he had done – that drawn-out transition from dozing to awake, the gradual seeping in of consciousness.

  She pushed against him again, and his response was a finely balanced mixture of panic and so nearly climaxing at the feel of his wife’s body pressing against him while his dick was deep in Martha’s mouth.

  “Mmm.”

  Anna. Groaning, her hand moving against his chest.

  Waking up...

  Pushing against him. He could feel the softness of Anna’s mound against his hip, the contours of her belly and breasts, the hardness of a hip, and now Martha ground her face down into his lap, his dick sliding deep so that when she swallowed he felt her throat constricting around his swollen he
ad, and...

  It was too much.

  He felt the surging sensation starting deep in his belly, a tightening within, and then hot juices rushing up to fill Martha’s mouth.

  He held himself tense, not knowing what to do, or what might come next.

  And then, slowly, slowly, Martha drew her head away until his dick flopped down against his belly. She rocked back on her heels and he saw the flash of that smile. Saw movement, her hand reaching out, a finger pressing against his lips again, and then she straightened and moved away into the shadows.

  Anna... Was she awake yet? Had she been aware on any level what had just taken place?

  Her hand moved on his chest, and he covered it with one of his, squeezed.

  He would tell her.

  He would have to.

  But for now, he would savor this moment as if it was the last such moment they would share.

  §

  Anna

  She and Martha had taken to stopping off in La Fontaine’s for a quick cocktail after their art class. It was on the way back to where Martha usually parked, so an easy stop before she headed south over the river, and pretty much anywhere in this part of the city was good for Anna to get a cab home.

  The live music was always good, but never so loud you couldn’t sit on a stool at the bar and hear the person you were talking to. Was that a sign she was getting old, that Anna appreciated a thing like that? Late twenties was probably too early to worry about slipping into old age, but it was nice to just take some time to breathe deep and chat with a friend.

  Not that she was putting off getting home. She’d been with Harry for nearly six years now, married for four, and she still thought it was just about the best thing she’d ever done.

  “Really, you both should come out for dinner,” Martha said one time. Her hand was on Anna’s arm, a brief touch in that way of hers. Martha was always one for contact – a touch on the arm, a hug – and from the start that was one of the things that had made Anna settle so easily into her new friend’s company. “Aaron makes a fabulous Louisiana boil. A great big pot of crawfish, shrimp, blue crabs, smoked sausages, corn, and potatoes, with newspaper over the table to catch the mess. It’s the best dinner party food ever – just roll your sleeves up and dig in. You’re never a stranger to anyone you’ve shared a boil with.”