Page 2 of Blackmail
Who says kids don’t pay attention these days?
“Take it anyway. Like I said, long day. My assistant ordered dinner, but I didn’t have time to eat.”
He tries to hand it back again. “You might want it later, though. Or maybe Tony and his friend want some?”
Interesting. “Tony’s got a friend visiting?”
My husband’s last text said he planned to have a quiet night doing some accounting work for his event planning business.
“Yeah, I think so. We shared an elevator ride when I was coming back from the pool. I don’t know his name, but I think he’s been here before. Blond hair. Dark eyes. Kinda short, but, like…super ripped.” Jacob’s cheeks flushed pink.
I don’t know anybody who fits that description. My hands tighten into fists. “Keep the food. We’ll play cards soon. Promise.”
Dread settles over me as I let myself into our condo. No. Mine. It’s my house, and whoever’s trespassing needs to get the hell out.
When I get inside, the place is quiet—no activity in the kitchen or the den.
I toss my jacket on a chair and flip on the hall light as I pass the living room and then my office. I’m about to push open the door to our bedroom when I hear it:
Breathing. Gasping. And…thumping.
Tony, you bad, bad boy. I push the door open.
I study the scene before me. It’s a good thing I gave Jacob my takeout. I’m not hungry now, and I might need my hands free.
Tony makes sounds that tell me he’s close to finishing. The other guy, the one Jacob saw in the hall, murmurs encouragement like “Oh, baby, that feels so good. Right there. Just like that” as he takes it from behind, only he sounds about as enthusiastic as a person making small talk with their dentist. Tony doesn’t seem to mind.
Well, this is…interesting.
My blood rushes to my dick, to my skull, not sure where to settle. If this was porn and one of the guys on the bed wasn’t the man I married, I’d be tempted to pull out my hardening cock and get to work. Part of me still isn’t sure whether my fingers are clenching out of a desire to touch myself or throw a punch.
Especially when the guy getting fucked moves his head to the side. The bedside light hits his short blond hair, prominent nose, and razor-sharp cheekbones in profile. A glittering gem in his ear adds a touch of elegance. Not to mention those full, pouty lips. I can almost feel myself sliding between them.
And then there’s my husband’s ass, carefully sculpted by hours of Pilates and regular visits to the Belle Argo MedSpa, flexing in time with each grunt. My husband, whom I’d thought was a strict bottom. Then again, right up until this moment, I’d also thought he was faithful. We had an agreement.
It’s the other guy who keeps grabbing my attention. Braced on hands and knees, I can see the muscles Jacob mentioned from the bedroom doorway. The ripples in his back and the bulges in his shoulders and biceps as he holds himself up, the long line of his bent neck. His back, covered in a sizable grayscale tattoo of what looks like a mirror that’s been shattered, is a work of art.
He is a work of art.
As I consider how I want to handle this, my hip bumps the open door and sends it into the wall. The bottom’s eyes fly open. He turns to look over his shoulder, pegging me with a curious stare—a slight smile forms on his lips.
Lost in the throes of his release, Tony is still wholly unaware—no passionate throes for the bottom.
Tony murmurs something about what a tight hole the bottom has, and the other guy responds with, “You didn’t tell me you’d invited company.”
In the wake of Tony’s clear confusion, I add, “Yeah, Tony. You didn’t tell me you’d invited company. You said you were doing accounting tonight. Is this Accounting? Because you’re doing it wrong.”
“Shit.” Tony’s attempt to spin around while pulling out results in him toppling sideways and right off the bed.
He lands on the carpet with a satisfying thump. Very. Satisfying. Then he pops back up with his flaccid, rubber-covered dick flopping around.
“At least you wore a condom.”
“Bas.” Tony’s mouth works momentarily, opening and closing with nothing but a high-pitched wheeze. “This isn’t… I don’t…”
“If you’re planning to suggest this isn’t what it looks like, you should know I was at the door for two minutes before you noticed me.”
“Don’t worry then, you didn’t miss much,” the blond chirps. He’s off the bed and tugging on the pieces of a discarded suit. Poor bastard didn’t even get off. Not that I care, but if I were him, I’d have some complaints.
