Hotwife Hotel: A Wifewatching Romance (5 page)

As I sat there contemplating the possibilities, laughter erupted from downstairs in the kitchen. The distant sound of Rebecca's voice sailed up the stairs, over the sounds of the storm outside.

"John! Dinner's almost ready!"

Her voice had that slightly inebriated timbre to it and my stomach tightened as the thought of her with him hardened in my skull.

Andre.

Big, black, handsome, smiling Andre.

The image of the large hand he'd waved and put on his knee and used to pick up his coffee. The image of that hand pressing on Rebecca's fair skin or the fingers of that hand grabbing a lock of her blonde hair made me harden completely. I held my breath and listened. The talking had stopped. My heart thumped. For all I knew they were down there right now, their bodies pressed close whispering illicit things into each others ears and hoping not to be caught.

I could barely take it. A jealousy unlike any other raced through me at the thought of such a betrayal, at the thought of being made a cuckold in my own house. That jealousy was laced with something else though. It wasn't just a healthy rush of protective adrenaline, the kind that would send me barrelling down the stairs to save my wife from our black guest. It was a jealousy fulled by lust.

"John Forrest!" Rebecca cried, sounding slightly more drunk and slightly more exasperated. "Your salmon is going to get cold!"

The irritation in her voice shattered my illusion and made me shake my head. I stood and stretched and flexed every muscle to try and rid myself of the now painful erection I'd acquired. As I descended the steps, that image once again caught me by surprise. His hand pressed against her lily-white, naked flesh. Moving from her back towards one of her secret places, a finger just grazing the curve in her flesh that turned into her breasts. Would her nipples rise at his touch the way the rose at mine?

"John!" Rebecca said as we met at the bottom of the stairs, "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost! Are there ghosts in the attic, John?" she asked, slurring my name. "Sorry!" She covered her mouth and giggled. "I guess I got a little tipsy!"

All that lust had somehow melted into irritation at her inebriated state. Forcing a smile, I pressed my lips to her forehead. "Come on. I've gotta catch up!"

Andre was an extremely nice guy. He liked wine almost as much as we did. He was a musician turned engineer but still gigged sometimes, just for fun. He was well read and well-spoken and worked in beige offices with people of a certain kind of pallor. Sometimes he needed to get away from the vibe there so he would find places like ours and just go and watch the ocean. He was all those things.

But to me, that night, he became an obsession. Because no matter how interesting or charming or nice he was, the only thing I could think of, was what it would look like to see him sink his cock inside my wife.

Chapter 7

"Oh Johnnie, baby I'm sorry, I'm so drunk!"

I'd spent the whole night in an almost paralyzing state of tension, pressing through dessert and drinks afterwards, watching Rebecca become drunker by the minute and wondering whether I should sneak some water into her drinks. We'd been having more sex lately, once or twice a week sometimes, but I hadn't needed her this badly in a long time.

"Well," I said, nuzzling against her neck, "you can just lie there if you want to, I don't mind."

"John! You're silly, I can't do that." I could tell the wine and whisky were working on her head and she was on the brink of passing out. It really wasn't fair. To either of us.

"Okay baby, but I'm waking you up first thing and you are going to do your duty and..."

The sound of her gentle snoring interrupted me in mid-sentence. Okay. I guess I was flying solo this evening. Putting on my bathrobe, I crept out the door and down the hall to the computer room. On the way I had to pass the room where Andre was sleeping. The door, still broken, was ajar. The urge to peer in was strong for some reason. I wanted to see what the man looked like, exposed and at ease. Was he thinking of her? Was he thinking of my wife? I resisted and moved quietly into my office.

I sat down at the computer and punched in my login to the dating site. I took a sip of the half-empty diet soda that I'd left there and almost erupted in a coughing fit when I turned back towards the screen.

The little envelope was red.

Instantly my pulse began to thunder in my ears. My hand almost shaking as I moved the mouse and clicked. Why? I had no idea. This didn't mean anything. It was just a reply to a silly ad I'd put up. I could take the ad down, take my profile down never reply and never log onto the site again. No one would know, or care. In fact, it probably happened all the time.

That wasn't what was scaring me though. It wasn't just about reading the message. Somehow it felt like even reading this message, even clicking on that little envelope to see what was there, was taking this whole fantasy to an entirely different, entirely all-too-real, level.

I couldn't resist the curious impulse to find out who this mysterious stranger was and what he'd written.

Hey baby. Send a picture and some details?

The same surge of adrenaline I'd felt when I'd been sitting at the computer earlier raced through me. This was some guy who'd never met Rebecca, didn't know who she was or what she looked like or what her deal was. Some random guy, just calling my wife "baby."

My cock moved.

I sat there, staring at the message as if it were handwritten. As if, just by staring at it long enough, I could find out more about this mysterious internet stranger who was interested in coming here and trying to fuck my wife.

The insanity of it all smacked me in the forehead. What was I thinking? How did I think this was going to go down? Even if I did drag some poor bastard out here, he would clue in that Rebecca wasn't into it the first time she mentioned it. Of course she would just ask someone that came in here hitting on her what the fuck his deal was and that would be the end of it. Right?

That was the question. Would she push him away? Or would she play along?

Oh, you bet that got me going. What if I could find the right guy? What if I could find a guy that wasn't a creep, a guy that could play it super cool when I was around? What if I could write the next message in a way that made it clear how smooth he'd have to be? It was stupid. I shouldn't have even contemplated it. Sometimes people are stupid though, I guess.

So I started coming up with possible ways that I could ease her into my little trap.

What if I were around them all the time? So the other guy barely ever had a chance to say or do anything, what then? What if he could only communicate intent through glances when my back was turned? She'd just think he was a total creep, right? Right?!?

I sat there wishing I knew the answer to that question. I sat there wishing I'd paid more attention when we still lived in civilization. What did she do around other men? How did she behave? Did she enjoy their attention? Did she crave it?

I'd worked myself up to such a state of heightened arousal I wasn't sure whether I would be able to fall asleep again. Ever.

I had a beautiful wife. We were happier together every day. We were starting this business. There was no reason to start mixing things up with this.

But now that I'd taken it this far, now that I'd gone to all this trouble and now that I'd seen what it did to me? How hard it made me, thinking about it? I really wanted to know. I wanted to know what she would do and I wanted to know how
that
would make me feel.

The sound of a crash downstairs made me jump. It sounded like the china hutch had fallen over. Leaping to my feet I bounded down the hall and down the stairs and almost crashed into Rebecca as she turned the corner in her bathrobe.

"Jesus!" I hissed, hoping the noise hadn't woken Andre. "What happened?!?"

She pressed a hand to my chest as I tried to move past her to see what the damage was.

"Shh! I just knocked over a chair," she whispered, her eyes looking less bleary than before.

"A chair? It sounded like the kitchen collapsed!" I said, trying to push her out of the way.

"Stop being dramatic," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Come on. Let's go to bed."

It really had sounded like much more than just a chair falling down. I looked down to see her thigh peeking out from her bathrobe and realized she was only wearing the shirt she'd fallen asleep in, under it.

"What were you doing down here?" I asked, something shifting in my thinking.

She raised an eyebrow. Like I was crazy. She held up the glass. "Getting some water. Come on. Before we wake Andre."

"I think I want some water too," I said, standing to one side to let her pass.

"Have some of mine," she whispered, passing me the glass.

Now my heart was racing again. Had she really just gone down to get water? Had that really just been a chair falling over? Was I being crazy? How long had I been sitting at my computer?

"I think I want some of my own," I replied, the feeling of needing to know what had really happened downstairs welling inside me.

Her eyes went wide. Aha! My pulse was racing now. She was going to try and keep me from going into the kitchen and seeing him there, I knew it!

"Okay weirdo. Go get some of your own," she said, stepping past me and walking up the stairs.

Oh. Okay. Maybe I needed to check my imagination a little. I looked up to see her bum swaying up the stairs and another possibility occurred to me. Perhaps she wasn't able to sleep? Perhaps she needed some assistance? Turning, I headed up the stairs and after her into our room.

Chapter 8

It turned out she was able to sleep. She was able to sleep quite well after the water and didn't need my assistance. The excitement had made me tired too, though that didn't keep me from trying to have sex with her again.

"Tomorrow John," she whispered, curled into a ball on her side of the bed. "Go to sleep."

Okay John. She's just drunk. Don't worry about it.

I couldn't stop worrying about it. Sure, she didn't want to have sex every night. Why didn't she want to have sex
this
night? Why had she really gone downstairs? I couldn't take it. I eased myself out of the bed, into a bathrobe and crept downstairs.

Nothing. There was nothing there. No broken dishes. No dishevelled blankets on the couch. Nothing.

Okay, maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was just being crazy. I let myself do the crazy thing for just a few minutes more. I went upstairs and peeked in Andre's room.

He was there. Sound asleep. Snoring a little. I breathed a quiet sigh.

Take it down a notch John Forrest. Just relax.

So I did. When I woke up the next morning with a hard on, she was already gone.

As I rounded the corner from the steps into the kitchen, I saw Andre with his back to me, looking out over the now still ocean, a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. Rebecca was facing him from across the counter and smiling, probably recounting some story. I stood there, looking at them like that and my mind began to drift to all kinds of strange places once again. When she saw me, she smiled. My smile.

"Good morning!" I said, walking up and pouring myself a cup of coffee.

"Morning," Andre replied, turning to me with a smile. Rebecca leaned over the counter and kissed me gently on the lips. I smelled toothpaste over top the booze on her breath.

"Sleep well?" I asked him, sipping from my steaming mug.

"Very well," he answered and I caught him glance at Rebecca, then down at his plate and smile.

I felt the smile leave my own lips and an emptiness fill my insides. What was that? What was that smile? What was that look they'd shared?

"Andre
loved
the mattress," Rebecca said, touching my arm. "I was just telling him about what we went through to get it here. How we almost sank it off Sam's boat?"

A tension left me and I felt the muscles of my face relax again. What the hell was wrong with me? Of course that was what the smile had been about. Why on earth would I think anything different? I needed to get a hold of myself. I was making myself crazy.

"Well, I'm off," Andre said, picking up the cap on the stool next to his and standing. "Thanks for the delicious breakfast and the lunch. I expect I'll be back before supper. Before dark for sure."

"Where're you going?" I asked. There really wasn't much to do out here beside hiking.

"Going to walk the cliffs," he replied, picking up the bag lunch Rebecca had made and putting it in his backpack.

"Andre's a photographer," Rebecca offered, smiling.

"Cool. Well, have a great day! We'll try to go a little easier on the wine tonight, I promise," I said taking another sip of coffee.

"That would be disappointing," Andre said, waving a hand and stepping out the front door. When it clicked shut, I turned to face Rebecca and the lovely smile that was still lingering on her lips.

"You're up early," I said, moving around the counter and pressing myself up against her back. I nuzzled into her neck and closed my eyes at her delicious scent.

"Yup. You know John, one of the things running a hotel requires is taking care of the guests. Did you know that?"

"Oh come on," I said, leaving a trail of kisses along her soft skin, "you're not going to get all uptight about this whole hotel thing are you?"

"John!" She turned around and smacked me on the arm. God she was delicious.

"I'm joking. Thank you for doing that. Are you feeling okay?"

"Feeling great," she said with a coy smile. "Why don't we go upstairs and I can make good on my promise."

My cock moved just at hearing her say it but I checked myself. She was obviously not talking about what I wanted her to be talking about. Rebecca wasn't like that.

"What promise?" I asked, a tiny part of me hoping I was wrong and that she was in fact talking about sex, but most of me knowing she wasn't.

"You know," she purred, moving closer and peering up at me with wide eyes. "Last night? I said tomorrow? Well, tomorrow's today!" She threw her hands up in the air. Ta-da!