The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing) (3 page)

Perhaps that was his hesitation in making the move. Except there was something about the way he referred to himself as her
beta tester
, with a slight rise of his brow, as if they were talking about more than her metals tracking program. Oh yeah, he’d gotten her innuendo, but she answered the question he asked. “I won’t have anything to do with that. It will be between your production control and purchasing group and our sales people and programmers.” She tipped her head. “I’ll simply be your reference.” She raised her brow, adding the double entendre to what she’d said.

His mouth twisted in a wry smile.
Gotcha.
“How long have you and your husband been doing this?”

“About three years.”

“And how did it come about?” He pulled back a bit. “I can’t imagine how you’d even bring up something like that.”

“It started out as a fantasy.”

“Yours? Or his?”

Funnily enough, most men didn’t ask for those kind of details. Men generally fell into three types: the ones who excused themselves and ran like hell, the ones who wanted into her bed but didn’t want any phone calls or photos—in which case she waited until they were gone before she contacted her husband—and the ones who were totally into cuckolding another man, getting off on the phone calls and the pics. Of course, no one besides Keith ever had possession of the photos. One gentleman had actually let her make a video that Keith still liked to watch, though he complained that it was one long scene, no camera movement. Well, hell, all she’d done was set the camera on the bedside table. What else was she supposed to do?

But really, how had all of it started?

“It was his fantasy.” They’d used fantasy a lot during their marriage. Keith had always gotten extremely excited when they made up a naughty role play.

“I’m not surprised. It doesn’t seem like something a woman would come up with.” Spence looked at her a long moment. “At least not usually.”

“It was pretty hot. As a fantasy. Then”—she raised a brow—“I imagined what it would be like to do it for real.”

Of course, she was skipping a lot. Keith’s interest in sex had waned, while, being fifteen years younger, her libido had been on the rise. The fantasies about her with other men had been an attempt to get their sex life back on track, until they’d finally had to admit things had changed physically. He’d tried the various remedies, Viagra et al., but he couldn’t handle the massive headaches that were a side effect for some men. So what was the solution? Marriage wasn’t just about sex, there was so much more, but she had needs. So did Keith, for that matter; his need for kinky stuff grew even if he couldn’t perform the way he used to. The extracurricular activities were an answer for both of them. She actually believed it kept them together.

“And so,” she said, cutting out all the justification, “when I went on a business trip, he told me to do it.”

“How did that feel? Emotionally. Mentally. The whole bit.”

Now that was a question no one had ever asked, not even Keith. She rolled her lips between her teeth despite the effect it would have on her lipstick. Then she gave him the truth. “It was incredibly exciting. And terribly frightening. For some reason, I couldn’t have an orgasm. Afterward I just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.” She always went to the man’s room, never took him to hers. “I didn’t call my husband until it was over.”

“And then?”

She never got this in-depth. Most men didn’t ask. Most of them didn’t care; they got some hot nookie on a business trip, then they were gone. That was fine with her. She didn’t ask if they were married, but she did choose men who weren’t wearing wedding rings. But how much to tell him? This wasn’t dirty talk. It was deeper, revealed more about herself. “I made myself come while I described every detail for him, and it was the hottest thing I’d ever felt. I’ve discovered the best part is when I tell him about it, his reactions, and then it’s really all about us and not the other man.” Maybe that was saying too much. She smiled, trying to take the bite out of her confession. “Does that make you feel like a sex object?”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’ve never been a sex object before. It might be interesting to try.” He paused to drink his beer. “How many men?”

“Only ten.” Ten one-night stands in three years. It felt kind of slutty.

“You do this only on business trips? Never at home?”

“Just on trips. That way there are no complications. It becomes an event.”

“I’ve never been a woman’s event.”

She’d always thought green eyes were especially expressive, but she could read nothing in his. And nothing on his face. “There’s always a first time,” she quipped, sorry the moment the words were out. It sounded ingratiating. Or flip. Or…hell, she didn’t know how it came off to him, except that she was growing more self-conscious. Perhaps this discussion was a bad idea.

“Have you ever done it with more than one man at the same time?”

“No.” Nor had she played around on
every
trip. Sometimes she didn’t meet anyone who excited her. She traveled mostly to meet with suppliers, sometimes with customers, and she didn’t cross that boundary. It was usually someone she encountered in a hotel restaurant or bar, or if she was sightseeing in a city that interested her. Men seemed to love approaching a woman who was eating alone. But she’d never had two men hit on her at once.

He tipped his head, gazing at her steadily, and now there was definitely a blaze in his eyes. “That would be amazingly hot. To call up your husband and describe everything to him. All that down-and-dirty visceral language only one man can use with another. Maybe I’d have to send him a video.”

Zoe had to wet her throat with a long sip of wine. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.” And yet…

He dropped his voice. “But it intrigues you, doesn’t it,” he said softly, not questioning, knowing.

Beneath the bodice of her dress, her nipples tightened. “Yes.” The word was little more than a whisper.

“We would search for the man together. Not this conference.” He waved a hand. “Another hotel. I would already know your likes and dislikes. I would instruct him, make sure he did it exactly the way you want it.”

Her breath caught in her throat. It was like all the nights she’d fantasized with Keith. When she was planning a trip and while she was gone were the best times between them, better than when she returned home and Keith secreted himself in his den to look at her photos. He’d work her up before she went away, to the point where, upon her arrival in whatever city she was visiting, she’d start scoping out available candidates. But she’d found this man on the plane. Suddenly, she had to tell him the things Keith had said the night before she left for Daytona.

“My husband made me bring my vibrator. He wants a man to use it on me. To take me that way the first time.”

“Where? In front of the window overlooking the ocean? Or on the bed?”

“Anywhere. Both.” Somehow they were leaning in to each other, their faces close enough for her to smell the yeastiness of beer on his breath. She wanted to kiss him, right here, taste him, sip the beer from his lips.

“What else does he want?”

“A picture of your cock in my mouth.” She didn’t usually get so explicit, but no man had ever gotten her to this point so quickly.

He smiled slightly. “I guess not having kids at home saves the hassle of someone stumbling across any photos.”

“It certainly does,” she agreed, breathless that he was willing to play the game.

“I’d have you on your knees,” he described for her, “my hand fisted in your hair.”

“He’d love that. Keith likes humiliation pictures.” She’d acted it out for Keith, posed in ways he wanted. He would love what this man described. “I want it,” she whispered without meaning to say the words.

Chapter Three

Spence wanted her more than any woman in a very long time.

“Your room or mine?” Then he answered himself. “Mine. It’s on the twentieth floor. I can have you in front of the window.” He didn’t wait for her to pay the check but threw some bills down on the table.

“But—” she started.

“Is it enough to cover it?”

“Way more than necessary.”

He rose, held out his hand. “Are you game?”

She’d propositioned him, but he’d taken over. Now she was the one who had to agree.

Without uttering a word, she placed her hand in his. He didn’t care if anyone he knew saw them. He wanted what she offered. Badly.

They traversed the expansive marble lobby to the waiting crowd by the bank of elevators. He recognized conference attendees by their badges, but couldn’t place any of the faces. Still, she pulled her hand from his.

The only obstacle had been the ring on her finger. She’d blown that one out of the water with her tale of hotwifing. She was one hell of a hot wife. It was almost unfathomable that a man could send his wife out to have sex with other men while on business trips. He had so many more questions, most of them too personal to ask on such short acquaintance. Still, he was going to be the other man anyway, despite that same short acquaintance.

His blood was pumping fast, the beat of his heart a staccato rhythm in his chest. Oh yeah, he was going to have her, call her husband, do everything the man wanted, everything
she
wanted. It was too hot to resist.

An elevator car came, disgorged its occupants, and they shuffled on, pushed to the back by the crush of bodies entering behind them. He ran a hand down her side, settled his palm proprietarily on her hip, leaned close to breath in the sweet flowery scent he would associate with her forevermore. And something more, the hot, sizzling perfume of a sexy, aroused woman.

One night. She’d implied that’s all he’d get. He was for damn sure going to make the most of it.

The occupants of the elevator thinned the higher they climbed. By the eighteenth floor, they were alone. The doors closed, and he was on her, his hands braced against the wall on either side of her head.

“You smell good,” he murmured. “How do you taste?”

Before she could utter a word, he swooped in to kiss her. No, he devoured her, forcing her lips open, tasting the tartness of the wine she’d drunk, falling into her, plundering the sweet recesses of her mouth.

Until the car lurched slightly and the doors opened with a whoosh. His equilibrium readjusted itself. She stared up at him, mute, as if she’d also lost her equilibrium in the kiss.

This time he wrapped her beneath his arm, held her tightly. The elevators were in an alcove, rooms along hallways to either side.

“Down here.” His was the fourth door on the ocean side. He fished the card key from his back pocket.

She still hadn’t said a word. Maybe nerves were starting to get to her.

“Shit. Your vibrator.” He kept his voice low so the words didn’t travel the length of the hall. “I forgot about it.”

For the first time since they’d exited the bar, she smiled. Sultry, sexy, secretive. “I’m always prepared.” She patted the purse hanging from her shoulder. “Now unlock the door.”

Suddenly the aggressor, she pushed him inside.

The room was a standard layout, bathroom and closet to the left of the short hall. He’d forgotten to turn off the bathroom light when he left. He didn’t do so now, letting the illumination guide them to the interior. A combination desk, bureau, and entertainment center lay ahead along the right wall, with two chairs and a small round table positioned in front of the sliding glass door leading to the balcony, while dominating it all was the king-size bed.

With the sun setting, the room was bathed in deep shadow. The furnishings were plush, the carpet thick, and the bedclothes soft.

Without preamble, she shoved him flat onto the end of the bed, climbed on top and braced herself on her hands above him. Her take-charge attitude made him harder still.

“Here are the rules.” Her dark hair fell like a curtain around him. “We use condoms. I don’t spend the night. And tomorrow in the exhibit halls, we pretend this never happened.”

He wrapped her hair around his hands. “I can pretend. I’m not sure you’ll be able to.”

“Aren’t you the cocky one.” She smiled, her lipstick gone. He’d eaten it off.

“Very cocky.”

“Then you’ve got a lot to prove.” Her legs spread over him, she pushed down, rotated her hips, mimicked the act they would soon perform. “Oh my. I think something’s happening down there.”

“Fuck, yes,” he whispered, pulling her down by her hair, taking her lips again. This kiss was slower, gentler, more exploratory. He released her hair to run his hands up her thighs beneath the sundress.

“Jesus,” he uttered. “Where are your panties, woman?”

She laughed. “I left them in my room.”

“So you were hunting tonight?”

“More like I was allowing myself to be hunted.” She rocked on him. “I was hoping you’d come into the bar.”

“And if I didn’t?”

She gazed at him a long moment in the relative darkness of her cascading hair. “I knew you’d come.”

He didn’t deny it.

“So,” she said, leaning close to caress his cheek with the tip of her nose, stopping to whisper in his ear. “What are you going to do to me first?”

With little effort, he rolled with her, trapping her beneath him. “The vibrator. I want to make you come.”

“I like the sound of that.”

He stood, pulled her with him. “Vibrator and phone on the bed. Does your husband have a speed dial?”

“Number three,” she said, rummaging through the purse. The vibrator bounced in the center of the comforter. Her phone was in a separate side pocket for easy reach. The woman was certainly organized. Then she handed him a small box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

“You are definitely prepared.” He stepped sideways to lay the package and lube on the table next to the head of the bed.

“I have to count on myself.”

That stopped him a moment. “Aren’t you ever afraid?”

She reached once more into her magic bag and pulled out a can of pepper spray. “I carry every kind of protection.”