A Week at the Beach: A Hotwife Romance (7 page)

We didn't talk about it the rest of the day. We walked into town. She bought trinkets. We had fish.

I wanted her again that night but by the time I'd emerged from the bathroom, she seemed to be already asleep.

I crawled into bed beside her. Sleep wouldn't come. The only thing I could think of was him.

Chapter 9

I did sleep, eventually but it was a fitful sleep, filled with vivid dreams. When I woke, she was gone.

I sat up and looked around, confused for a moment about my bearings. The song of a warbler atop the whisper of the ocean reminded me of where we were.

I turned and felt Samantha's side of the bed to see if it was still warm. It wasn't. I sank back down onto my pillow, yawned and allowed myself an indulgence in paranoia.

Perhaps she'd gone out in the middle of the night, while I was sleeping? Perhaps she'd so fancied our host the other night that, with my insistence, she'd gone out to fulfill my fantasy? The thought sent a rush of nerves through me. Closing my eyes, I let the image creep in.

There she was, in the middle of the night, crawling through the resort, her eyes wide, her nightie open, white skin silver in the moonlight. She was searching. Searching for him.

My eyes snapped open. Searching for who?!? I'd seen him. In my mind, I'd seen his face. I wondered whether I could bring myself to think of it again. There he was. It was Bastian.

My insides sizzled with a jealous lust. I saw him, his hand, reaching out from one of the doors in the hallway, just down from where we were staying. A big, black hand reached out and it surprised her. She didn't scream, but she gasped as she watched it pulling her into the room. In my mind's eye, I followed her inside.

It
was
him. He was standing there, almost naked, holding her by the arm and smiling that charming smile. What would she say? How would she react at being kidnapped and dragged into the room by a handsome, black stranger? Ignoring the anxious jealousy that was welling within me, I let the dream go on.

He was just as gracious as he had been at dinner last night. He let go of her arm and swung his massive palm in, towards his suite. There was champagne there and gentle music playing. I urged her inside. She listened.

She was wearing that same red dress, from the night before and looking just as stunning. Her walk took on an air of confidence as she relaxed around him, comfortable knowing what a gentleman he was. He glanced at her round, swaying ass as she passed. I saw a glint in his eye.

A wave crashed noisily against the beach outside. The ocean was coming to life. I pushed a hand beneath the covers to feel my hardness there. I wished Samantha were beside me. Her absence sent another electric shock through my nervous system, singeing my body with lust.

His hand was on her now, on the small of her back. It made me ache to be inside her, that vision that I'd conjured up. I started to stroke myself.

"You are a very beautiful woman," I heard him say with a smile. His hand travelled down, rounding the curve of her ass and cupping it. She seemed to startle.

"Chef Jones!" she said in mock surprise. "I have a husband..."

It didn't sound like she was arguing, though. It sounded like she was toying with him.

The sound of her voice shook me back into the room and my eyes opened wide.

"Andrew Smith! You
are
being a naughty boy, aren't you?"

She was standing there, her brow glistening with sweat. She had on her tights, the ones she used to run and was holding a fresh, pink drink in each hand. She looked spectacular.

"Where were you?" I asked, pretending to be bleary-eyed and still half-asleep.

She gave me a sly smile. She looked down at herself, then back at me with raised eyebrows. "I was at the shops. Trying on dresses. Can't you tell?"

Cheeky. Something had definitely changed in her. Samantha wasn't normally one for sarcasm. I took the drink she was offering and took a sip. "How was your run?"

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed, sitting down on the bed beside me.

Wonderful. I stole another glance at her perfect body. I wondered how many men had turned as she ran past? I looked up when she turned back towards me. There was something...more relaxed about her smile.

"Come here," I growled, setting down my drink on the bed table and pulling her towards me.

"Andrew! I haven't showered!" she replied. The objection seemed half-hearted. I decided to roll the dice.

"We'll have them change the sheets," I said. Setting her drink down for her, I pushed her down onto the bed and pressed onto her body with mine. She didn't resist.

I leaned close and kissed her on the lips. Her usual taste, with a hint of salty sweat. I yearned to fuck her that way. Good and dirty. When I pulled my lips from hers, she was looking at me, as if searching for something in my eyes.

"Andrew," she purred, narrowing her eyes. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

A shock tore through me. She remembered. I stared at her, wondering what she thought of it all.

"What did I say, my beauty?" I asked. I needed to be sure what she was talking about. Maybe she'd forgotten.

"What you said last night about me? With another man?"

It was so incredibly unlike her, to ask such a thing so directly. It was thrilling. I pressed my lips against her neck. I smelled the ocean air on her skin. She didn't push me away. I thought she'd push me away. I thought she'd want to talk about it. Instead, she tilted her head, letting me trail kisses down her neck and towards her chest.

My cock hardened. Good God, was she seriously contemplating this? I opened my eyes and lifted my head from her neck. She was still staring at me that same, searching stare. The sincerity of her question knocked me off my game.

"Uh...I...Samantha..." I stammered, unsure of what to say. She saved me by bursting into giggles. Giggles. At the thought of fucking another man.

"I thought you might not have been," she said finally. "I think we were both quite drunk!"

Adrenaline surged through me at the thought that she'd even been thinking about it. I couldn't just let the moment go. "No wait, let me explain." I pushed myself up on an elbow.

She was curious, her eyes still searching for the truth behind mine.

"Samantha, ever since we've met I've thought about it. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"Thinking about what?" she asked. Even her questions seemed more confident here. Like the salty sea air gave her courage.

I breathed deeply, braced myself for the confession. "About James."

Her brow furrowed. "James?"

"James, Samantha.
Your
James."

Recognition spread across her face. "My James?" she whispered.

Even hearing her say it was a thrill.

"He's not my James any more."

"I know Samantha but he was then and I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. Since the day we met."

"But it's all in the past now," she replied, confused. "I know it was unfortunate, the way things happened, but it's all in the past. I've spoken to him, you know that. He doesn't mind."

"I know," I replied, racking my mind for how to explain it, "but it's not that. It's not that I feel bad about coming between you two. It all turned out for the best, I know. It's something else, something I've wondered."

"What?" she asked, plainly. As if she wasn't scared at all, to hear what I had to say.

"After we met, you and I. After we met at that party and talked that night, before we got involved. Before things got messy. Did you..." I trailed off, sinking back into my thoughts. I wondered if anything would change if I said it out loud. It didn't matter. I had to say it now. "Did you make love to him after that?"

It felt like she looked even more deeply into my eyes then. Like she needed to see for herself what it was that was inside me, making me ask these questions.

"I suppose we did," she answered softly.

My cock flexed against her leg.

"But Andrew, we weren't together yet. It wasn't for a few weeks that..."

"I know," I cut her off. I didn't want her to think I was accusing her of anything. I didn't want her to think I was accusing her of cheating. "I know it's just that...I find that incredibly exciting."

"Incredibly exciting?" she whispered. "That James and I made love?"

God, how I wanted her just then, hearing her say those words. "Samantha, I don't know why it is or how it got stuck in my mind. But I haven't been able to get it off since then."

"Since we met?" she asked.

"Since we met."

I have to say, I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd played out this conversation in my mind so many times. Every time it ended the same way. With Samantha crying, not understanding anything. But whatever about her was different here, it had given me the courage to speak. I was glad I had.

I watched her eyes wander up and down my face, then turn to look out the balcony. She was doing it again, rolling the idea around in her mind. When she turned back to me it was with another question.

"Is it because he's black?"

It made me wonder myself. As much time as I'd spent thinking about it, I didn't know whether that made a difference or not. "I'm not sure," I answered, still thinking.

"So you don't think about me and my other boyfriends? The nice white boys?"

It startled me, the way she said it. "Samantha, I'm not trying to be racist!"

Her lips into a smile. "So there
is
something about him being black."

I couldn't deny it, there was definitely something that made it hotter. What it was though, I wasn't sure.

"Andrew," she asked quietly, "how often do you do this?"

I looked at her. I started getting nervous. Of course we were close, we were husband and wife. Nobody had ever been this close to me before. Not this far inside my mind. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," I started, rolling away from her. I was still hard. I still wanted her. I didn't know if I could let go enough to tell her the rest.

"Wait a second," she said, not giving in. "You're the one that started all this. You don't just get to stop it like that. It's not fair."

She was right. It wasn't fair. Besides, the part of me that wanted to hear her talk about it was far stronger than the part that didn't.

She was on top of me, her face just inches from mine. Her eyes searching, still.

"Okay don't laugh," I began.

"I wouldn't laugh at something like that!"

"I just mean don't laugh at what I'm about to say."

"Alright."

"You know how you feel with the dildo inside you?"

She burst into laughter. I couldn't help it. I started laughing too. We both rolled onto our backs, laughing towards the ceiling, tears streaming from our eyes. Every time one of us would calm down, the other would start laughing. It went on like that until we both had nothing left.

"I'm sorry," she sputtered in one final guffaw. "I'm sorry, it's just..."

"I know," I replied, "that's why I said 'Don't laugh.'" I smiled at her. Her cheeks looked so rosy from the outburst. A breeze came in off the ocean and blew through her hair. "What I meant is that, when we do that, you seem to just..."

She bit her lower lip. "Lose myself in it?"

Excitement rushed through me again. I couldn't believe this was my wife I was talking to. I propped myself up on one elbow, barely able to contain myself at the fact that she understood.

"Yes! That's it, exactly!"

I felt myself harden. It felt like she was getting it. It felt like she might understand what I had to say.

She looked at me and there was mischief in her smile now. "So, when you think about it, when you think about me with another man, that turns you on?"

I felt her hand on my half stiff cock. I looked down to see her fingers gliding up and down a few times before disappearing into my underwear. Her palm was hot and my cock hardened completely as soon as she touched me.

"I guess so..." she whispered.

She pulled me out.

I couldn't believe this was happening. Was there something in the air? Was there something in the water here that had changed her? Had it been something I had said? Or did she just feel like she could let loose here? There was no accountability, no one was watching. She didn't have to play the prude like she did back home.

Right now, it didn't really matter. There were much more pressing matters to attend.

"I've always wanted to see it like this. In the light of day, I mean," Samantha said. She'd pulled my underwear down and was caressing my cock, watching it bounce under her touch. When she looked up, I saw the same hunger in her eyes. They looked the way they had last night.

"Andrew?" she asked. I thought I might pop just by how sultry she sounded.

"Yes?" I said, breathless at her touch.

"Can I suck it?"

"Oh fuck yes..." I breathed as she shuffled down the bed. I felt her breath on it. It made my cock stiffen again.

"Andrew?"

"Yes?"

"Is this what you think about me doing to James?"

My body could not tell a lie. My cock flexed again.

"I guess so," she said, holding me firmly. "It doesn't make you jealous?" She was a little wary.

"I...maybe a bit," I answered, barely able to contain my excitement. I could feel the cum filling my cock already.

"I don't want you to be jealous," she said with a pout.

All I could think of was watching those lips wrap around the head of my cock, then slide down my shaft.

"It's not a bad jealousy," I explained, aching for her touch. "It's strange...it makes it feel better somehow."

She raised an eyebrow. Just one. The glimmer of a smile returned to her lips.

"So if I told you that I used to suck him like this, that he used to make me suck him like this, it wouldn't make you mad?"

"Ungh!" I rumbled, unable to stifle the groan of pleasure her admission brought. It made her smile crack open.

"I guess not!" she said, seeming very pleased.

An odd sensation ran through me. I wasn't sure if she was telling the truth about her ex-boyfriend or if she was just making things up to humour me. I didn't care right now, but my mind seemed to file the question away for later.