Page 30 of Dirty Rotten Cheating Husband

That wasn’t something you forgot!

I couldn’t even remember the names of the last four women I had fucked, but I remembered the exact tone of Clementine’s moan, that low, throaty, ragged quality that made me feel so raw and uncontrolled.

Clementine stretched on her tiptoes. She didn’t have very long legs, but damn, did she ever make use of every inch of them. Her tanned skin glowed in the sun. Oh god, her skin was always so soft to the touch. The cords for the security system went slack in my hands.

I had fucked her a lot.

A lot more than was necessary for my undercover investigation.

I tried not to. I just wasn’t strong enough to stay away.

Every week I’d vow to only have sex with her once, just enough that she wouldn’t get suspicious. And I’d stick to it for a few days, even if she kissed me how she always did, sweet and breathy, her soft lips opening up eagerly for me, hearing those little gasps when I put my hand on the small of her back.

Occasionally, I’d text Vivi and meet up at a hotel somewhere, fuck her for a couple of hours and see if it slaked my lust for Clementine.

It didn’t.

I left every single meeting with Vivi the same way, feeling nauseated and unsatisfied.

And I’d feel like shit for how weak I was. I couldn’t stop wanting her. My wife. And I wasn’t supposed to want her. She wasn’t supposed to make me weak.

And I’d break, come home and take Clementine 3-4 times in a row, my mouth almost frenzied on her, kissing her so hard her lips would get deliciously swollen, only falling asleep to wake up in the middle of the night and take her again and again until morning came and my conscience would kick in and I’d feel furious with my own inability to stay away from Clementine.

I took her whenever I wanted, and she was always eager to give me what I wanted.

Clementine turned sideways, and the baggy T-shirt fell off one shoulder, revealing a bright pink bra strap.

Damn, I wanted to slide my fingers under that bra strap again, undo her bra, feel her perfect breasts in my hands.

My cock was so hard it was throbbing, and Clementine wasn’t looking at me.

I tried to ignore her. I tried to go back to the damn security system. But she would not stop stretching her body into those tantalizing poses.

When she bent forward, long ponytail swaying in front of her, her ass up in the air, the outline of her pussy visible against those tiny tight shorts, my hand reached down to my pants.

My precum was literally leaking from my cock, the hard length twitching in agony.

She was going to make me come in my pants and I couldn’t risk her coming inside and seeing a huge wet spot over my crotch.

I would have to take care of it quickly.

Fuck, I wasn’t some creeper jacking off through the window at my stunningly hot and sexy ex-wife.

But it was just to relieve the pressure. Just because my cock was so hard it was aching. It would be quick.

It was almost like she was taunting me too, moving back and forth in front of this window, disappearing for a moment, but never long, as she’d reappear with her ass in the air, tits stretching against her shirt.

Backing away from the window so she couldn’t see me, I eased my cock noiselessly from my pants, my hands stroking it with quick, jerky motions.

Fuck.

How could I concentrate on this job if I wanted her this badly?

I closed my eyes and tried to think of someone, anyone else. The woman I had met at a bar last week. The blonde Instagram model from the gym. It didn’t work. All I could see was Clementine, the curve of her ass cheeks just barely visible as she bent down.

I set my jaw and tried to ignore the vision, but my release was building in my spine.

Shit, I didn’t have anything to catch it in.

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