That Filthy Book

Chapter One

I stared at him, this husband of mine, his naked form rendered a silhouette from the brightness of the sun streaming through the hotel room window. The light filtered through his black tousled hair, glinted off his shoulders, giving him a glowing aura. This was our first time alone together since what felt like forever, what with meeting and having children in the blink of an eye. Ten years had passed—where had the time gone?—and here we were, away for two nights just so we could get back to being who we used to be; why we’d become a couple in the first place.

The sun had hung heavy in a blue swathe of cloudless sky earlier, the fiery orb almost lazy in its placement, as though someone had painted a picture and tossed in the yellow ball, not caring where it landed. Funny how the sky could be deceptive, making a person think it was hot outside when it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Faint, puffy clouds had appeared since I’d first woken, too, and I marvelled at the way my body had gone back to its old, pre-children habits. Waking, having sex, dozing off again.

Now—around noon—it was time to get up, go out and do something, I supposed, but what I didn’t know. I didn’t have any energy for anything much beyond another languid fuck. A tress of my long blonde hair tickled my bare breast, the ends teasing my nipple. It sparked desire inside me again, and I wondered if my body would ever get enough this weekend. God, I’d been insatiable since we’d arrived last night. Perhaps shirking off the shackles of motherhood, of the responsibilities that came with the job, had freed my mind and allowed me to abandon everything. I had become what I once was—a woman who enjoyed a hot night of sex with her man, not giving a hoot whether her screams of pleasure could be heard; whether the banging of the headboard would wake someone.

But I hadn’t shaken them off. Not really. They still lingered, a shadow of feelings, whispers of our children’s laughter, thinking I could hear them calling me… Tess and Lucy, our two wonderful little girls. And then there were whispers of my fantasies, ones I’d held in check since I’d read a sexy book many years ago. Ones that had made me think I was dirty for wanting them. When I’d first met Jacob, I’d shoved away the feelings of guilt and let the fantasies surface, briefly. Our rampant sex had been too enjoyable, too damn hot to allow myself to dwell on whether what we did was right, but as the years had rolled by and I’d become embroiled in motherhood, kinky sex had fallen by the wayside, and the old trappings had moved in permanently. We can’t do this because we’re parents. We can’t do that because of the girls. We can do that because it’s too
rude
…

I stared at my surroundings to force my thoughts in another direction. The room wasn’t much, just a double bed with white sheets and a beige quilt. Low cabinets either side, the perfunctory wardrobe and a sideboard, all in light wood that matched the colour of the quilt and walls. A sea of beige. But it suited our needs. The decoration hadn’t exactly been on our minds when we’d stumbled through the door last night. Ripping one another’s clothes off had been the order of the evening.

“What are you thinking?” Jacob asked, remaining at the window.

And there he was, not even a flicker of movement indicating that he’d turned around. Just him, standing there, a god in front of a glass pane. I studied his reflection instead of responding, squinting to make out the faint, fine taper of hairs that ran from his belly button down to the curly thatch nestled above his cock. A long cock that was semi-hard, heavy-looking, and eminently touchable. I loved the feel of it in my hand, the way my fingers curled around its width, the softness of his skin on mine. A thrill ran through me at the thought of it, and I folded my arms across my breasts in an effort to stop me from fondling them. But why shouldn’t I? Too many nights we’d hurried, coming together in a rush before the inevitable interruptions came. Too many nights I’d denied myself the pleasure of having Jacob inside me.

‘
Mum, I want a drink of water. Mum, I can’t sleep
…’

Stop thinking of them. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do that.

And I had, but casting aside the parental mantle wasn’t as easy as I’d told Jacob it would be. Wasn’t as easy as flicking a switch. They crept in, the two girls we’d created—smiling faces filling my mind, eclipsed by their worried expressions that made me think they weren’t coping well without us.

They’re with Jacob’s mum and dad. They’ll be fine.

My determination that we could do this had persuaded Jacob to come away with me. It had been a big thing, this, leaving the children behind, but if we hadn’t done it now we never would.

“Is it the kids?” he asked.

“No.”

I didn’t lie often, but if I admitted my thoughts then he would tag onto the worry bandwagon and we’d end up going home. I didn’t want that. I wanted the rest of the day, the night, and the majority of tomorrow morning to be just me and him. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Not after ten years of being devoted and never going out to the pub, never leaving them…

“I was thinking about us,” I said, throwing the sheet away from my body and sitting up. I stretched; a fingers-pointing-to-the-ceiling kind of stretch that chased away all the kinks and left me loose-limbed and pliant.

Pliant.

Now there was a word that brought a rush of desire to my cunt. Pliant made me think of suppleness, of legs and arms twisted in difficult positions, of torsos arched and backs curved. Jacob was pliant, always had been, and once upon a time I’d been able to bend with the best of them. But now, after the kids and getting out of my workout routine, a little weight had settled on my bones, preventing me doing all those delicious things I used to do. Like bending over to touch my toes and being taken from behind. Like widening my legs to such a degree it was as though I was being
forced
into that position. Not that I had been forced, but it was something I thought about every so often. Him taking me against my will, a scenario that thrilled me more than it perhaps should have. Just a little fantasy to keep me warm when Jacob worked away. And the book I’d read had planted it into my mind, yet I’d tried to forget what rested between the front and back covers, telling myself it just wasn’t proper to want such things.

“What about us?” he asked, lacing his hands behind his head and jutting his abdomen out until his cock almost touched the glass.

“Someone could see you like that, you know.” I’d avoided his question because…hell, I’d grown shy somehow, grown out of being able to tell him exactly what was on my mind. It made me feel embarrassed to say I’d been recalling the days when we’d fucked for hours, sweat-soaked and sore, falling asleep only to wake for more of the same. My mind had also wandered to the forced entry thing, hadn’t it? A flicker of fast images shooting across the air in front of me as though they were the real thing. Rough and ready sex. Pleasure-pain. Jacob speaking sharply, his hands also abrasive, palms scouring my skin instead of skimming. His cock a relentless shunt instead of a glide. Tongue an insistent probe instead of a gentle exploration.