Page 29 of Hotwife

He glanced at the door and met my gaze with a devil-may-care expression. “I think we’ve got some time.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my husband?” Sitting up, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his length. My core warmed at the sight of it. I immediately dropped between his legs. We’d had so many mis-fires over the years that I didn’t want to lose him. I couldn’t miss this opportunity. Holding his cock in one hand, I let my lips suck in his tip. A hiss of breath was all I heard before his hands found fistfuls of my hair. I moaned, taking him deeper into my mouth, but he yanked on me gently to pull me off. “What is it?” I asked, trying to keep my stupid heart from sinking.

“I won’t last long, and I want to feel you,” he confessed, breathless. That I could accommodate. Climbing onto him, I straddled him, bracing myself on his shoulders. His hands found my thighs and ran all the way up to my hips and around to my ass. He gave it a hard squeeze. “I’ve missed this,” he murmured.

I was already throbbing with need as I reached down and pulled aside my thong to allow him access. Lowering slowly, I took in his breadth. Truthfully, I was still sore from Desmond. The fact that my pussy was sore from another man while I slipped my husband inside of me was naughty and sexy. It sent my skin tingling in all the right places. A sharp exhale answered his groan. His hands greedily pulled me lower until I gasped at the full feeling of him. Grabbing onto the sink for leverage, I began riding him harder.

“Ah fuck, Dot. You’re so wet,” he groaned. Sliding his hand between us, his thumb found my clit, while somehow, his index finger entered me. The stretch and pull of both his cock and his long, expertly skilled fingers sent me into a fast and hard orgasm. I continued riding out my waves of pleasure, sinking him into me deeper until he jerked my dress down, exposing my breasts and allowing them to hang free. I yelped as he bit at my nipple and then lapped it with his tongue.

“God, Cedric, I’m going to come again.” He sucked my nipples, not forgetting for a moment he was also finger banging me as I fucked him. The skill, the precision.

Marry a surgeon. The hours suck but the hands…

Crying out again, I buried my face in his neck, panting through my climax. He then picked me up, not wavering in his strength, and sat me on the counter. Wrapping my legs around him, he quickened his speed, each thrust harder than the last. Gripping the back of his hair for balance, I peppered kisses along the side of his sandpaper jaw.

His release tore through him and he groaned loudly, letting it echo off the tiles, meeting my lingering sound of waves of bliss and whirling together. I went slack in his arms, feeling sufficiently sexed. “You like bathrooms,” he whispered, grinning in my ear.

Oh, my god. When did this happen?

“Who the hell are you?” I laughed as he helped me down and fixed my dress. “It’s ruined now,” I sighed, taking in the wet and torn material.

My husband’s reply shook me into the deep reserves of my black, undeserving soul.

“Nothing’s ever ruined beyond repair.”

ten

Speeding home in Cedric’s black Porsche had me feeling twenty-years-old again. His James Bond good looks and confidence. The way we laughed. We flew out of that restaurant like we’d done something illegal. I think sex in public technically is illegal? Still, it felt like I had my husband back. Like we could put the past year behind us.

There was only one issue.

The other man. The one who’d came into my heart like a bulldozer over my carefully constructed walls. Ignoring the buzz in my clutch, I followed Cedric inside. We showered separately, and everything felt a bit… awkward between us. Like the outdoors had been a different world with different versions of us. As soon as we walked through our familiar front door, unease set in.

Bundled in my robe, I tiptoed down the hall and peeked into Cedric’s room. His lamp cast a dim, orange glow around him as he sat up in bed in plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt. Wet, clean hair slicked back and glasses on the edge of his nose. Looking up from his book, he smiled and reached out a hand. “Come in, my dear.”

Taking hold of his invitation, I jumped onto his bed and curled up under the covers. His laugh vibrated through the blankets. “You’re so cute,” he said fondly, sitting his book on his nightstand.

I pulled the blanket over my head and took a deep breath. “Cedric, I should probably tell you something. There’s-”

“Dotty,” he interrupted. “You know when the incident happened? Do you remember that day?”

I pulled the covers down, exposing my face. He never talked about this. My interest was piqued and my own confessions put on hold. “Yes, you were a wreck.”

He snorted. “I smoked two packs of cigarettes that day. Drove down to the lake and sat for a long time, just wondering what we were going to do. Here I was, I’d just promised you the world. Married you, and suddenly I thought I’d lose it all.”

“Cedric,” I soothed, putting a hand on his forearm. “I wouldn’t have left you even if everything did fall apart.”

“That’s the worst part, though. Because you know what? Someone died. She died because of me, because of my error. And I went to the lake to smoke and contemplate how my life could be over.” He shook his head. “The selfishness of that has rocked me to my core ever since that day.”

Sitting up straight, I grabbed my husband’s face between my palms. “Ced, forgive my Bible-speak, but you are the most righteous man I’ve ever known. There isn’t a selfish bone in your body.”

His answering smile was forlorn and told me he didn’t believe me. “Her name was Wren Simpson. She was twenty-one, brought in with a mild concussion after a swimming accident and a fractured femur. Easy surgery. I got cocky. Let my guard down.”

I willed the tears to stay behind my eyes. This wasn’t about me and my pain. This was about my husband and his immense hurt he held away from me for so long. The gift he was giving me now was greater than the gift of sexual intimacy earlier. This was deeper.

“Wren Simpson loved people. She was a psychology major. Her dog’s name was Axel and her boyfriend’s name was Peter. Her macaroni salad recipe went famous on the internet and on the weekends she liked to swim.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I didn’t even catch the brain bleed while she was on the table, Dot. Negligence. Fucking negligence. Her family was right to sue me.”

“Accidents happen, Cedric,” I tried to comfort him, but I knew my comfort sounded weak. There was no reprieve from such complex feelings of regret.

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