DAMAGED - A Bad Boy Romance (5 page)

“It’s gross to eat in the room all the time,” she said, “let’s just go downstairs to the restaurant at least.”

“Fine.”

We freshened up and headed downstairs for dinner, the heavy red carpets of the lobby seeming at that moment to be everything wrong with the world. We ate in silence, and I tried to convert the Euros in my head as she picked at a dessert, eventually complaining how she hoped it wouldn’t make her fat.

Then, god bless him, someone stepped in and ended our misery.

He was a good-looking guy, around our age, sitting alone at a table at the far end of the restaurant. He was seated facing our table, and it became clear to us quite quickly that he was staring at Tanya. A lot. Her eyes flickered to meet his and he smiled.

Interesting.

We sat there a little longer, being fabulously obvious. He wouldn’t look away, and every time Tanya noticed this she blushed and looked elsewhere …before looking back at him again.

I was a little miffed. At first.

“Having a nice time flirting, I see?” I hadn’t actually decided if I was insulted or not. Tanya was a beautiful woman, anyone could see that. She had always turned heads. Ordinarily, we skirted around that fact with all the tact married couples are supposed to have, but this time, something in me was …curious.

She looked at me, trying to decode my expression. Surprisingly, I felt a faint flicker of pleasure at the idea. I
had
called her a slut so often these last few weeks. Well, here she was, opening up again. To someone else. Like a slut. What I did next …well, let’s just say it took me by surprise as much as it did her.

I turned to look at the guy again, and then gestured for him to come over to our table. A quick flash of panic appeared on his face but he stood up and walked over. I swear I could feel the heat of my wife’s body increasing as he approached the table.

“Hey man. Want to join us?” I said, indicating the empty seat next to her. God, I was such an alpha male in that moment, I was turning myself on. It was more like an order, more like a challenge than a friendly invitation.

I had no idea what I was doing.

Instantly, Tanya extended her hand and burst off into prattle about this and that, her small talk covering up the awkwardness of the moment. Once or twice, she shot a glance in my direction, as if to ask me …something. Permission? For what?

The guy seemed cool enough, and was answering her questions, smiling and asking his own.

I sat quietly.

He had two tanned arms resting on the table, and to my surprise, Tanya lightly brushed her fingers against them, just once, just for a split second. He noticed this. I noticed this. We all noticed each other noticing. For the first time, he looked at me, with a questioning look echoing the one she had shown me moments before.

I smiled and said nothing.

We ordered a round of drinks together and chatted some more, but with each little touch of Tanya’s fingertips, here, there, she was slowly ramping up some strange new tension at the table. I noticed, very faintly, that her fingers were shaking, but then I remembered her devilish face that day on the side of the road, her hungry insistence, her utter disregard for whoever drove by that day… no, she knew exactly what she was doing here, I was sure of it.

The guy, seemingly content that I had given some sort of go-ahead, was focusing his attention more and more on her, his eyes flickering lower down over her body every time she turned away or looked at me.

Then, she did something: when a plastic coaster fell noiselessly to the floor, she instantly bent down to pick it up, lingering at the bottom so the billowy top of her blouse gaped open and flashed him an ample glance of the tops of her breasts.

She came up again, to a mood that had changed even more. She cleared her throat.

“So, like I was saying, the views are beautiful here, really. We’re very cramped at home so it’s lovely to see so far to the horizon. The view in our room is actually the best I think,” she said.

“What, better than
this
view?” he replied, referring to the beautiful sculpted gardens all around us.

“Oh yes. Much better. You get to see
so much more
…”

“Really? Probably not.”

“No really. Wanna come see?

And that was that. The form of the rest of our evening was beginning to snap into shape. She had been snaking along, looking for some sort of hook in the chit chat, some gap to wedge in some insinuation, some suggestion. And this was it.

Now, I’ve told you that I’m not too good with picking up on subtle social cues, but it did strike me that all this hinting and flirting was probably unnecessary, given how quickly and eagerly he responded.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come up,” and he flashed another pointed glance at me.

“Yes, come up, she’s exaggerating the view, I think, but let’s go up. We have whiskey in the mini bar, too, I’ll pour you another.”

And with this flimsy premise of looking at views and drinking whiskey, we all got up and headed over to our room. Tanya, thank heavens, filled all the intervening moments with more small talk (I am constantly reminded of why I married this gorgeous woman) and we found ourselves in the room, on this last night of our trip, when suddenly
something was going to happen
and I didn’t quite know what to think about it yet.

As she flung off her shoes, Tanya threw me an intense, pleading look, one that even I could tell was imbued with a million hidden messages.

She wanted me to do something.

I kicked off my shoes and it dawned on me: I would have to be the one to instigate whatever happened here. Were we actually just meeting up for an innocent drink with a stranger in our hotel room? No, of course not, we were already well committed, surely. Right? Nobody could say that any of this was innocent. The guy was handsome, too, and you certainly don’t go around looking that handsome without fully intending to… to what?

I tried to decode the look she was giving me. She had been so grim about everything almost from the first day of this trip, and here she was, all naughty looks and stolen glances. I had played around with the idea, once or twice, of her with another man, but it never really held my interest. Did she want to fuck him? Was I OK with that? I would have done anything to please her, but something sore and unhappy stirred in me at the thought of sharing her. She was mine, wasn’t she? And I hers?

She plunked down on the bed and I went to make us a trio of drinks; whiskey in tiny etched hotel glasses, one for each of us. Three. An unstable number, that.

He had seated himself on the edge of a chair next to the bed, leaving the bed as the only remaining place for me to sit. A few sips of whiskey, and the whole thing seemed fun, amusing even.

They continued to chat, and I watched by idly, interjecting here and there or nodding.

She had on one of her usual sundresses, this one a little more chaste than our famous roadside number; it had a few fussy bits around the neckline and a slightly longer hem, a hem I had noticed shifting higher and higher up her thighs.

My mind was all over the place, and their words kind of washed over me – I was listening to the change in pitch of their voices, to the way they seemed to be moving closer to each other.

She playfully smacked my knee and then leaned in for a playful snuggle, which unexpectedly turned into a kiss. A lingering kiss. We kissed right up to the point of decency and then went past it. She seemed to wait there, half opened lips touching mine, deciding what she would do. She leaned in further and give me one long, slow, almost obscenely intimate kiss, one that sent her little tongue deep into my mouth, her lips hard against mine. She drew back, playful, a drunk little look in her eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind a little public affection,” she said to him, never breaking eye contact with me.

He laughed, taking a swig of his drink. “No problem. We’re not really in public anymore, so…” his voice trailed off, and their eyes met.

This
was
kind of hot. She looked beautiful. I loved this, showing her off like this.

He put his glass down on the side table and leaned in a little, placing a tender hand on her bare thigh. We all three looked down at this hand. That sore, unhappy place in me twinged a little, and I interrupted, pulling her head towards mine.

“Kiss me again,” I ordered her, and we were both surprised by how much force was in those few words.

She obeyed, and, with his hand still on her leg, she leaned in for another deep, slow kiss. This time, I grabbed her firmly, with a grasp that seemed to say
not him, me
. I angled her head to the side and kissed her roughly; her body went limp in my hands. Out the corner of my eyes I saw his hand, still there, stroking her skin faintly. My cock twitched in my pants. I kissed her harder. She tore her lips away from mine and looked over to him, to see whether he was OK with any of this or, she probably hoped, actually thrilled with it.

He had the same glassy, drunk look to his eyes as she did, and he only stared straight ahead at us, at her lips, his hand still stroking her thighs. She looked into his eyes, then down at the rest of his body, then back into his eyes.

Some secret bit of communication happened in a flash between them, something quick and dirty, and all at once she snapped her attention back to me, smiling and parting her lips a little to invite yet another luscious kiss.

His hand was still glued to her; impatiently, I grabbed her around her waist and threw her more fully on the bed, away from his hand, her hair fanning out all around the pillows. This gesture seemed to shock both of them. He moved back in his seat, and picked up his glass again, somehow sensing that I wasn’t ready to share her. Not yet, anyway.

Good.

This woman belonged to me. If anyone was going to fuck her, I was the one.

She writhed around on the bed a little, alternating delicious looks with me, then him, then me again. She was doing that hot little thing she did with her hips when she was horny. Oh, she was far drunker than I had originally thought.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, chuckling. He was slouching in his seat now, legs spread wide, with one casual hand balancing his drink on his knee, and the other held under his chin, as if he was carefully considering some new argument he had never heard before.

I placed my own crude hand on her thighs, as if to reclaim her, spreading my full fingers out over her skin and squeezing hard. With an almost deliberate vulgarity, I shoved my hand further up under the dress, then threw open the fabric, revealing a pair of pale pink panties. She squealed and giggled, making the most ineffectual attempt to pull it down again.

“Take this thing off,” I said to her, not quite knowing that I meant to say that until the words had already left my lips and were hanging there, between her and me and our new friend.

Her face was pink. She had that same dangerous, loosely reckless look on her face, one that I was gradually growing accustomed to. She wanted to break the rules? Little slut. Fine, I would call her bluff. She wanted to get fucked here, right now, in front of this stranger? Fine, I would show her.

She wriggled out of her dress and I grabbed it and flung it aside. Her bra went, too, and eventually the little panties as well, till she was completely naked in the bed, me towering over her and him watching on, fully clothed and taking slow, disinterested sips of whiskey now and then.

This was
fantastic
.

‘Show him your pussy,” I said, and grabbed each of her legs, forcing them apart. She made a show of resisting me, but I spread her legs open, and she turned her head to the side, bashful, hiding her face in her loose hair. Slowly, she lowered two hands down over her torso and then down to her inner thighs, slowly, slowly pulling her thighs up, giving our guest the most unimaginably filthy view.

He sat, unmoving, eyebrows knitted and mouth pulled tight. My cock twitched again. I wanted her. By the looks of him, he wanted her too.

I reached over to her again, but she sprung up, standing on the bed now above both of us, playfully pulling her tongue out at me. She stood tall above us both now, completely naked, her two little nipples tight and that particular shade of dark pink they turned whenever she was
really
turned on.

Man, she was wasted. Looking down at us both, a slow, naughty smile slid over face and she giggled, then raised both her slender arms up and tossed back her head. Arching her back and snaking her arms up overhead, she began to dance a little, rhythmic and slinky-like, something part prima ballerina, part strip tease.

We watched her, neither of us breathing or breaking our focus on her lean body. She dropped her hands down and slid them over her body, stroking herself from top to bottom, then back up again, but not before teasing a little between her legs. Astonishingly, she dragged a single middle finger up over her bare belly, leaving a slick wet trail. I could not believe how wet she was. The arms went up overhead again and she writhed side to side, throwing her hips this way and that way, the tight muscles of her belly moving underneath her velvety skin.