After a delay, I followed suit, shaking out of my sweats while I took my shirt off over my head. I felt her hands helping my sweats along.
When I got the shirt off my head, she was already climbing back onto the bed, over me… but she was facing the opposite wall, her back turned to me, her magnificent ass toward my face.
She crawled backward toward me, moving her ass closer to my face. I was leaning against the headboard, so when she lowered her head and tilted her ass toward me, her pussy and puckered hole blossomed open in front of my mouth.
Her mouth was on my cock again, and the message was clear. We would begin here, and I leaned in a little, unsure how best to proceed. I started at her cunt, tasting the excitement that was practically flowing from inside of her. I drew her sweet juices up to her other hole.
She was sucking on my cock in long, slow strokes, which I was grateful for. Now that my tongue was running along the ridges of her eyelet, tasting the faint metallic taste of her, my mind fertile with images of this same hole spreading open, taking in the thick inches of Max Riley’s cock as he dominated my wife completely, I would have come in a second if she had moved even the slightest bit more quickly with her talented mouth.
I ran my tongue in circles around her hole. I delighted in the low hum that came from her throat, the way her hips shifted in circles of obvious pleasure. Her pussy drained against my chin, unable to hide her obvious delight.
I put my hands on either side of her ass and pulled her open, allowing my tongue to dip in to center of her. I was unsure of what I would find, exploring her like this. The metallic taste was stronger, and my tongue found the familiar silken heat that I had felt with my fingers. Megyn moaned against my cock, and it was all worth it.
I pushed her forward and then to the side. We moved quickly, and she ended up facing the headboard. She moved into a submissive position, her head down, her arms over her head, folded back over, tangled in her hair. Her ass was lifted high in the air, a gift to me, her body throbbing with the desire to feel me inside of her for the first time.
I played with her ass with my tongue a few more times, getting her to wriggle delightfully with a new, previously forbidden pleasure. Then my cock overrode any further foreplay: I needed to be inside of her.
I drew her juices from her pussy with my fingers and rubbed her ass with them.
“You should get your cock wet,” she said.
The statement was so foreign, so vulgar in its implications, that I froze, thinking maybe I was hallucinating.
But I pulled myself together quickly when she looked back at me, gyrating her ass and urging me on.
I slid slowly into her pussy and then slowly out. I was close to coming, and she must have sensed it because she didn’t move a lot or try to grind against me when I did this.
“I’m ready,” she said. “I want you to do it now.”
I pressed the crown of my dick against the pucker of her ass. When I pushed against it, it seemed for a moment like a locked vault. I could feel the very center of it opening a little, but the rubbery sphincter pushed against me and my hard, swollen cock bent slightly. I paused, and she gasped, “just do it, please.” So I tried again.
There was another moment of the same push-back, and then I felt her open up, her tight rosebud almost sucking me in to the dark, superheated flesh of her ass.
“Oh, wait, no, no...” she said, and I stopped. I started to pull out, but she reached back and grasped my thigh, pinching me hard. “No, don’t stop, keep going.”
I felt her relax around me, and then I had little more to do than to sink forward as my cock was sucked deep into her tight, hot hole.
When my balls ran up against her dripping pussy, I stared down at the scene in front of my eyes. Around my dick, her body rippled and squeezed. She was grasping the duvet on the bed, and her mouth was hanging open, her eyes squeezed shut tight.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“Just stay there for a minute,” she said.
She shifted onto her shoulder to bring her fingers – I could feel them grazing against my balls – up to her pussy. I felt her pry apart her lips with expert ease, find her clit, and begin to stroke it.
As she did, her ass tightened around me and she gasped. The temperature of her body, tight around my cock, seemed to rise. I felt her twisting with the pleasure she was giving herself, twisting around my prick, stroking me without even moving as she squirmed to the rhythm of her own caresses.
I tried to endure the torturous pleasure of holding still as she had asked me to for as long as I could, but soon I was able to withstand no more. I had to move, and as soon as I began to saw into her, intending to do it slowly, I was overcome by the most primitive need. I began to pound into her, and my ball sack slapped into the sloshy mess of her cunt while she wailed in a mixture of pleasure and shock until at last my cock exploded in her ass.
I felt her legs twitching next to my thighs, and her ass began to spasm around my cock, squeezing in wave after wave as she moaned into the pillow. Finally, she relaxed, and I slowly slid out of her.
I stared at her ass for the few seconds she remained in the position she was in on the bed, her bottom in the air, displayed for me. In the center of her flesh the stretched red center of her once-virgin hole, my cum welling up from its dark center as her ass throbbed deep inside and pushed it out to dribble down her thighs.
She fell onto the bed after a short while, and I moved down to lie next to her. She turned onto her side and we spooned. I pushed her hair from her face, where it clung in sweaty strands. I kissed her ear and noticed that the corners of her eyes were wet with tears.
“Oh no,” I said. “Was that too much? Did I hurt you?”
She smiled. “It hurt just a little… but I was expecting that.”
“Did you...”
She smiled secretively again. “I liked it,” she said, and her eyelids were closing, as though they were too heavy to even lift. She yawned. “Not all the time… just…” and she drifted off to sleep.
It was only then that I realized she must have been utterly exhausted, since she’d been up all night with Max.
I lay down next to her and closed my eyes, but I had gotten some sleep, even if it wasn't very restful, and I was too wired to take a nap. It was lovely lying there, inhaling her scent, but I started to worry about all kinds of things, like when Max would call her and if she would hear the phone. Then I started to wonder if they had exchanged any texts, any phone calls, and what they were saying.
Megyn was fast asleep. I blew on her neck and whispered her name, but got no response.
I deliberated a bit more before reaching to the head of the bed, where the contents of her purse had spilled out and gone unnoticed with all the activities we had been involved in. Her phone had been gleaming at me, beckoning me, ever since I had thought about the texts she must have been exchanging.
And though it was a violation of sorts, I realized, I couldn’t help myself. I knew I could have just asked her if I could see them and she would have given them to me, but there was a certain kind of urgency to my need, and a certain kind of thrill that came with doing it without her knowing.
So I found the sleek silver phone with my fingertips, and without even having to move my arm, I held the phone up and swiped my thumb over the lock in the same pattern as my own phone.
A message icon was displayed in the upper left hand corner of the screen. I would figure out if I could get it back later, I decided.
It was Max. M Riley.
I read the first message on the screen – the last one he had sent – with my heart kicking rapidly inside my chest.
[M Riley]: text me when you wake up sleepy head
My heart felt squeezed, as though by a vice. For a moment I couldn’t breathe. The familiarity of it, the cutesiness of “sleepyhead,” struck at my very core.
But what had I expected? That the man would fuck my wife and not find her as endearing as I did?
A cold anxiety cut thro
ugh me, and then I scrolled.
I noticed, first and foremost, that Megyn had deleted most of her texts from M Riley. The conversation I had seen before was gone, and there were no messages from yesterday, which I knew was impossible.
I lingered for a moment on all the delicious possibilities: my wife deleting her messages from Max Riley and never sharing their contents with me. A tiny edge of betrayal in the act, just enough to be delicious; not enough to really hurt.
I read them from the beginning:
[M Riley] u look tired. want to cut out and get some sleep
[Me]: hmmm… my boss is very demanding
[M Riley]: maybe you can make it up to him later
[M Riley]: I wouldnt want you to be too tired to do your work
I noticed that between this text and those that followed, there was a significant amount of time. It seemed that Megyn had deleted some of the texts, perhaps trying to cover up something she had said.
I made a note to ask her about it.
The messages picked up with:
[Me]: okay im off for a nap
[M Riley]: rest up. I have a lot of things I want to go over with you tonight
There were no further messages. Surely she hadn’t left things like that? Maybe she had deleted the messages, or maybe she had been standing somewhere close to him. Close enough to lift her eyes and meet his, give him a sultry, knowing look. Wink, even.
I re-read the messages, letting all the possibilities within them, between the lines, play out in my mind.
Megyn was still asleep.
Before returning the phone to its place among the spilled contents of the purse, I played around a little with the setting, trying to get the message to look unread. I couldn’t find any immediate way to do it, and I tired of the activity. I realized I’d probably tell her I had looked at her phone anyway, and confront her about the missing texts (I had already decided that she had gone through and selectively deleted some).
My cock was hard again, and I wondered if I could talk her into another round of sex when we woke up.
Then I closed my eyes, and tried to doze off, which I may have accomplished because the next thing I knew, the hotel phone was blaring and we were both sitting up in alarm.
I looked at the clock: 6:37pm.
I had that terrible feeling that always seems to accompany a nap in the afternoon: I had no idea where I was, or what time it was, and for a moment I felt the panic of a late morning. Megyn looked at me with the same sense of urgency.
I reached for the phone.
She stopped me at the last minute, grabbing my hand. “It’s my room, remember?” she laughed, and it all came rushing back to my consciousness.
Oh yeah.
“Hello?” she said, and her voice was dreamy and sultry sounding. “Oh, he-ey,” she cooed next, and my spine tingled. She was talking to Max, talking to him like he was a girlfriend of hers.
She reached for her phone, and swiped the screen. “Oh, my god,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything. I’m… huh?”
She looked over at me while Max Riley purred in her ear. It seemed to me like he was talking forever, talking in that deep baritone, growling all kinds of nonsense into her ear. She smiled, but more for me than at what he was saying – I don’t know how I knew, I just did. And then she winked at me as she turned back to face the nightstand. “That sounds lovely,” she said. “I just got up, I might be a little late...”
Another pause, and then she said, “of course,” and hung up the phone.
She turned back to me. “Good news,” she said. “He’s taking some of the crew out for dinner and dancing, I guess – including me of course.”
She stood up, gathering her hair in her hands and holding it above her head as she did.
I reclined, leaning on my elbow. “How’s that good news for me?” I said. “It doesn’t sound like he’s going to be banging you in front of the whole crew.”
“No,” she said casually, poking something into her hair to hold it up. “No, he’ll probably do what we always do when we’re together, which is stand really far apart and pretend we aren’t fucking each other. But...” she trailed off, smiling mysteriously.
She walked into the bathroom.
I raised my eyebrows, and when she didn’t finish her sentence but instead turned on the water, I got up and followed her into the bathroom. She was stepping into the shower, and water was streaming down her statuesque body in shiny rivers.
“But, what?” I said.
She shrugged, closing her eyes and leaning her hair back into the stream of water. “I don’t know. I feel like I could… convince him to loosen the rules a little. Somewhere. Maybe you can think of something I could do, that would make a man do something dangerous?”
Hundreds of thoughts flew through my head all at once, and since I couldn’t settle on any one thing, I tried reaching into the shower to squeeze Megyn’s breasts.
“Shhht!” she said, slapping my hand. “I have to get ready.”
She jerked the curtain over my arm. “Go think of something. And get out a really good outfit from the closet.”
I returned to the wardrobe in the main room, and opened it up. I was semi-surprised to find that Megyn had ordered her clothes very neatly on hangars, but then I remembered that she was no longer a woman who worked at home. She was a professional again, a woman who sent her clothing to the dry-cleaner, who had to keep up her immaculate appearance for the occasional cameras and videos.
I slid through the numerous suits and dresses – far too many for a trip of this length. She had brought the original red dress from her date with him, but it seemed too warm for this weather. The idea of her wearing it and actually having sex with Max this time was appealing, but I passed it over.
The last dress in line was a gray cocktail dress I had never seen before. It had a thin belt just above the waist, giving it a sort of hipster-ish quality (I don’t know. Fashion isn’t really my thing). The appeal of the dress was its high hem, and the low cut of the front. My eyes floated down to the shoes in the wardrobe, almost like I had been programmed to go there. Some knee-high black boots – also new, a pair I had never seen – caught my attention.
A little warm, but maybe not for night-time. And perfect.
I wandered back into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet.
Megyn peeked out from behind the curtain. “Did you find something?”
“A gray dress. Have you been shopping?”
She ducked behind the curtain. “Well… obviously.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said.
“I thought you wanted me to seduce Max?” she said defensively.
That was true. I was a little irritated, though. I wasn’t sure why.
I changed the subject. “Hey, so… I broke into your phone while you were sleeping.”
There was a silence on the other side of the curtain.
“And… I have a question -”
Megyn jerked the curtain back. “You what? You broke into my phone?”
“Well, not exactly ‘broke into,’” I said. “I have the code.”
Megyn rolled her eyes. “And? Why did you do that?”
She disappeared behind the curtain again.
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “So… did you delete messages from Max?”
There was a long, lovely pause. It was just a little too long to be the pause of surprise alone. Or the pause of recollection.
No, this was a pause while someone thought of a lie. Or weighed her options.
“I deleted a few of them,” she said plainly.
“Huh,” I said. “Why’s that?”
Another pause.
“It’s a professional courtesy, I guess. He’s the one who told me to do it.”
I judged her tone. Was she lying to me? This was a perfectly plausible explanation for deleting messages. I reminded myself that Max was a movie star who in all likelihood would do that very thing, tell a mistress to delete her messa
ges.
Especially a married one.
To avoid any scandals.
“So what did they say?” I asked.
Megyn turned off the water. She sounded exasperated and as though she had honestly forgotten about the topic of conversation as she pulled the curtain aside again. “What did what say?”
Her body was dripping wet, shiny with beads of clear water that ran together into fat beads and then paused, perched on her nipple or her above the landing strip of sparkling red hair, before plunging into her dark and secret places as a river.
“Ahem,” she said.
I noticed then that she had her hand extended and was requesting a towel. I handed it to her.
She looked at me expectantly as she toweled off.
“Oh,” I said. “The texts. The ones you deleted. What did they say?”
Megyn bent over, and wrapped her hair up in that turban-thingy that all women seem to know how to do. “I see,” she said.
She saw what?
She lifted her head and motioned to me for another towel. I took in the nice view of her body one last time, wondering how much of an idiot I was for letting another man have his way with her, before she wrapped herself up.
She grinned at me. “They say what they say,” she said mysteriously. “You know, flirty stuff.”
“Dirty flirty stuff?” I asked. “Or average?”
Megyn sighed. “Probably average.”
“Like what?” I pressed. I wasn’t really so much interested in what the texts said as in getting Megyn to tell me what they said, I realized.
She stepped out of the tub and leaned toward the mirror to wipe it off with a face-cloth. “The gray dress, huh? I wonder if it’s fancy enough...”
I stood up and put my hands on her hips.
“I don’t have time...” she sang.
I nuzzled her neck. “I know. But I want you to answer me. What was in the texts?” I looked at her in the mirror, and moved my hand up and under the towel. “Otherwise… I’ll have to treat you like the very naughty girl you are.”
I found her slit, the silky folds there in all the bare flesh between her legs. Her skin was squeaky-clean, and the idea of pushing her over on the counter again, but this time catching her off-guard, pushing into her rubbery, unready cunt and feeling her slowly well up with excitement, overcame me.
Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel Page 18