The Domville 5 (The Domville #5)
Read The Domville 5 (The Domville #5) Online
Authors: C. J. Fallowfield
The
Domville 5
C.J. Fallowfield
Kindle Edition
ASIN: B0129IKBC2
Version: E
Copyright © 2015 C. J. Fallowfield
All Rights Reserved Worldwide
Any unauthorised reprint or use of this material is
prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form,
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission
from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, organisations and places or events, are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
I am a British author and write in British English
Image Copyright © 2015
Editing by Karen J
Proofreading by Jasmine Z
Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design
Book content pictures purchased from Dollar Photo Club
and iStock
Written as standalone
quick erotic reads,
The Domville
novellas are told in alternating points
of view of the hotel guests.
My
website
holds the most comprehensive
information about me, as well as my current and up and coming releases.
The Domville 5
is dedicated to Tracy Gray, who has
been a supporter of my work from the moment she fell in love with Gabe Austin,
The Austin Series, soon after I released the first book. How she finds time to
read and review, when she has a demanding global job and a family, is beyond
me. She’s my idea of Superwoman.
I was lucky enough to meet her recently, on two occasions.
Once at the Second City Signing event in Birmingham, UK, then again in Chester,
where we were able to spend more time getting to know each other. To say Tracy
gives good hugs is an understatement and she is a very generous lady too. It
was a pleasure to meet her both times and it’s something that I hope we can
repeat soon. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for all that you do and the
support you’ve given me from day one. I’m truly grateful to have your
friendship.
CJ x
Chapters
Mr.
Domville
The Domville chain of six star hotels is my pride and joy.
It took me years of hard grafting to build up to the opening of the flagship
hotel in New York, but it set the benchmark for all other hotels. I now have
one in every major city in the world. All hotels aspire to offer the level of
comfort, service and extra finishing touches that have become standard in my
chain.
Luxury is a word that has become synonymous with The
Domville and I intend for it to stay that way. Especially in my Signature
suites, the crème de la crème of hotel penthouses, affordable only to the rich
and famous. They are protected by bullet proof glass and the interiors are
adorned with suede and calf leather walls, eighteen carat gold trim, and
priceless works of art and artefacts. We also only use luxurious 1200 thread
count Egyptian cotton sheets, embroidered with 22-carat gold, at $2,400 a
sheet. What really sets us apart though, are state of the art heat signature
cameras, to enable staff to observe and come and go undetected, to clean up and
replenish supplies.
My staff are only appointed after a long and vigorous
assessment, our customer service has to be second to none and when it comes to
our Signature suite guests, nothing is too much trouble. Nothing is impossible.
As for my guests, well they come from all walks of life, but
the one overriding common denominator is money. My guests are people of means.
They pay top dollar because they expect the best and that’s what we offer, no
exceptions. While my clientele may be financially secure, it goes without
saying that their private lives can be somewhat risqué. If only I had normal
cameras to capture what really happened in my hotel suites, then I truly would
be the richest man in the world.
There’s a well-known saying that most definitely applies to
the guests of The Domville, no matter which country they may be staying in.
No one knows what
goes on behind closed doors.
Tracy
‘Anthony,’ I tutted under my breath. I picked up his
discarded wet towel from the floor of the en-suite. Fifteen years of marriage
and still he hadn’t learned to take an extra five steps to the laundry bin,
open it and drop his towel inside. I dumped it in myself with a shake of my
head. I mean really, one step every three years shouldn’t be beyond his
learning capabilities. It was our wedding anniversary in a couple of weeks and
he’d promised to take me away for a long weekend. I’d even been out and
purchased some new sexy lingerie and lace top hold-ups to try and spice things
up a bit. After fifteen years we had a routine, usually once a week on a
Saturday night, in our bed. While both of us came each time, it was far from
the sex crazed, panting, clawing at each other’s clothes that it had been when
we first met. We’d been so in lust, we hadn’t been able to keep our hands off
each other. Fields, bus stops, swimming pools, the beach, uni classrooms, even
the gym! I wanted some of that spontaneity back.
I wanted some of that excitement back.
At thirty nine years of age, fast approaching my
fortieth, I needed to feel desirable and wanted again. I went and stood in
front of the long mirror on the back of our bedroom door, sweeping an
appraising eye over myself, and sighed. I looked anything but desirable right
now. My overlong, dry and dull looking blonde hair was scraped back into its
customary pony tail, because I couldn’t be bothered to make an effort seeing as
how I stayed at home every day. I actually still had a great figure, though no
one would be able to tell given I wore a pair of sweat pants and a baggy
t-shirt to pad around the house, do cooking in and just for chilling out. I
couldn’t remember the last time I’d put on any makeup, or painted my finger or
toe nails. Anthony was a barrister based in Birmingham, so he had to get up early
to travel down the M6 to work each day, returning late each night. On top of
that, he was a part-time district judge, covering the East Midlands, meaning
more travel and hours spent at work. Most weekends he was so tired, our social
life had petered out as well. I had no reason to dress up anymore and I was
sick of it. Life was passing me by and this wasn’t how I’d envisioned myself
when I hit forty. I’d been the attractive, vivacious, party girl that everyone
either wanted to be, or wanted to have. I scowled at myself in the mirror,
annoyed that I’d let it come to this. I couldn’t blame Anthony for the state of
our sex life, not when he was working so hard. If I wanted it to be different,
then I’d have to take matters into my own hands. Nothing was going to change
unless I made it happen.
I grabbed my tablet from my bedside cabinet and
did some research into the top hairdresser and beauty salon in Birmingham,
screen printing the numbers. It was time for a makeover of drastic proportions.
Making my way around to Anthony’s side of the bed, I picked up the phone from
its cradle and dialled the hairdresser first, shocked to find that they were
booked up six months in advance.
Was that normal?
My usual hairdresser
could fit me in at the drop of a hat. Then again, judging by the state of my
hair, no wonder. Edward Scissorhands would probably do a better job.
Why had
that never bothered me until now
, I wondered. It only took me a few seconds
to realise why. Sabrina bloody Wills! The perfect barrister’s PA with the
perfect figure, gorgeous face and to top that off, as if that weren’t enough,
she was super-efficient to boot. “
Sabrina did this today, Sabrina suggested
I do that,
” Sabrina, Sabrina, Sabrina, was all I bloody heard from the
moment Anthony got home. I’d even thrown a plate at him last week and suggested
if he loved his PA so much, why didn’t he go and marry her. She got to see him
when he wasn’t exhausted after a long day. She got to go out for lunch with him
and his clients. She got to go out to company functions with him, “
in case
her expertise of a case was required
.” I’d started to wonder if he was
having an affair with her, he spoke about her that much. Well I’d be damned if
I was going to let my husband be taken off me without a fight. We’d been together
for twenty years, having met at college. We’d been so in love, I thought we
were still in love, in spite of the day to day irritation of living with each
other’s unchangeable habits and no longer making an effort when it came to
romance. No, Sabrina wasn’t getting her hands on him quite yet. If he was
overworked and overtired, I was going to pull out all the stops to drag our
marriage out of the humdrum and back to one to be envied by anyone who knew us.
I decided to use Anthony’s connections to some powerful
people to my advantage and dropped a few names to the hairdressing
receptionist, saying how disappointed they’d be to hear that their suggestion I
use this salon hadn’t worked out. I was in luck. At the sound of one name, the
receptionist did an about turn and asked if I could hold while she re-checked
the diary. Minutes later, I ended the call with a huge smile and an appointment
with the senior stylist for a cut and colour the Thursday before we were going
away. I made an appointment for the day before that for a leg, underarm, chin,
lip, eyebrow and bikini wax. Talk about deforestation, someone would be
starting a
Save Tracy’s Body Hair
campaign at this rate. I also booked
in for a facial, body scrub, mani-pedi and makeup lesson. I was so out of practice,
I needed all the help I could get. I cursed as I accidentally dropped the phone
on the floor while trying to stretch to replace it on his bedside cabinet.
Bending over, looking under the bed between my legs to find it, I was surprised
to see a large white locked wooden box with a big silver padlock.
I retrieved the phone, putting it back on the
cradle, then sat on the floor and pulled the box out. I’d never seen it before,
but seeing how we had a cleaner who came twice a week, why would I look under the
bed? I bit my lip as I stared at the combination lock. Why would he have a
locked box under the bed? Part of me knew that I should respect his privacy,
part of me was desperate to know what was inside it. He shared so little with
me nowadays, this just seemed like another thing to add to a growing list. I
reached for it and used his birthday, but it didn’t budge. I tried the pin
numbers I knew he used on his bank cards, but they didn’t work either. I tried the
kids’ birthdays, to no avail, then as a last resort my birthdate, not expecting
that to magically open it, but to my surprise it did. I hesitated as I held the
opened padlock in my hand, wondering if I should really lift the lid and
inspect the contents. What if he had a load of butt plugs and anal lubricant in
there? He wasn’t using them on me. Could he be seeing a guy behind my back? The
thought that there might be child pornography or something equally distasteful
ran through my mind, making me shudder. No, Anthony would never have something
like that. No matter his faults, perversions like that wouldn’t be one of them,
I was sure of it. What if he had women’s underwear in there? If he liked
wearing it under his robes at work? Sharon Ashton, one of my book club friends
from down the road, had told me she thought her husband was having an affair,
as he kept scratching his privates and they weren’t having sex. After employing
a private investigating company, it turned out he was wearing her undies around
the house while she was out and he was allergic to the fabric softener. It just
proved you never really knew anyone, or what went on behind closed doors. I
made the decision to open it, with one eye closed as I squinted through the
other, not sure if I’d prefer to see silky underwear, inflatable butt plugs or
naked pictures of perfect bloody Sabrina.
‘Wow,’ I breathed as I stared at the contents,
finally plucking up the courage to open both eyes fully and take it all in.
There were loads of XXX rated DVDs and
magazines. I grabbed one of the DVD cases and pulled it out, praying he didn’t
have a rubber or baby fetish or the like, and raised my eyebrows as I looked at
the description and pictures on the back. I put it down and pulled out another,
then another, before leafing through the odd magazine and letting out a sigh of
relief. It seemed my husband’s kink was one of the less kinky I’d been
imagining. Everything in the box was about threesomes, male-female-male and female-male-female
ones. I squirmed on the spot as I looked at the pictures. Having two men at
once was most women’s fantasy. A man and a woman? I’d kissed a girl back in
college, we were both drunk. We’d snogged for hours, along with a bit of over
the clothes groping, but nothing else. I’d imagined us taking it further back
then, which had given me many erotic dreams of the two of us together at the
time, but then I’d met Anthony. He was so handsome, with his headful of dark
wavy locks, that deep masculine voice and those luminous moss green eyes, that
sex with him soon became all I could think about. I’d not had a girl-girl
fantasy in many years, but after looking at these pictures, I had a feeling I
might be having one tonight. I mean, a threesome! What girl hadn’t idly wondered
what it might be like to have another man fuck her while she was sucking her
own man’s cock? Or to have another woman lick her pussy? Surely women, already
knowing what they liked, would give head way better than a man? Four sets of
hands had to be better than two.
‘Tracy,’ I scolded myself, fully aware of how
turned on I suddenly was. The kinkiest Anthony and I had been was him using a
vibrating cock ring or vibrator on me while we fucked. Even those additions
hadn’t been out of my own toy box in a long while. I tucked his items back in
the box, keeping one particularly dirty looking DVD to one side, before locking
the box and sliding it back under the bed. I then retrieved the phone and rang
my friend Sharon to ask if she could come over later to help me do my hair and
makeup. Today was going to be given over to a pamper day. I was going to
surprise Anthony tonight and break the monotony of our Saturday night quickie.
Anthony
I rapped my index fingers on the steering wheel
as I sat in yet another rush hour tailback on the M6. The only thing that got
me through this weekday ritual was the thought of seeing Tracy at the end of
the journey. Twenty years we’d been together, coming up to fifteen as man and
wife in a couple of weeks. I still loved her just as much as, if not more than,
the day we’d said our vows. I felt guilty. I’d been so involved in my career
for so long, believing it was the be all and end all of my life, that I’d
neglected her. We rarely went anywhere together anymore, not even grocery
shopping, let alone on a date. When she’d fallen pregnant, not long after we
got married, I’d insisted she give up her banking career to be a stay at home
mum. I was earning enough money for a comfortable lifestyle for us, but lately I’d
come to realise that she had suffered through not having any intelligent
interaction day to day with her work colleagues. She’d considered going back to
work when Caleb started nursery, but then she fell pregnant again with Rosie,
and somehow over the latter years, her time was consumed with cooking and
homework. Not to mention her job as a glorified taxi driver, with school runs
and numerous evening activities and clubs, or monitoring of sleepovers or
parties. Instead of dressing smartly and making an effort with her appearance,
she constantly wore sweats, or jeans, and went without makeup. She still looked
damn attractive, but I missed seeing her making an effort or wanting to
sexually titillate me. We were down to once a week on a Saturday night, in bed
with the lights off. I was only forty years old, was this what it had come to?
I hadn’t been that bothered about our sex life
having almost fizzled out, until my old PA Nancy had retired and I’d replaced
her with Sabrina. Jesus, having her around me, dressed in short tight fitting
clothes that showed off her sexy, curvaceous figure, had reignited my sexual
desire and made me feel like I was missing out. Her come on signals hadn’t been
that subtle, but much as I was flattered, and part of me would have loved to have
taken her up on the offer, I was married. I couldn’t live with myself if I
cheated on Tracy. I knew how devastated I’d be if I found out she’d gone and
fucked someone else behind my back. Besides, Sabrina didn’t have anything that
Tracy didn’t. Both were seriously attractive blondes, with curves and a bit of
flesh to grab hold off. I liked my women with a good pair of tits and an arse
that wobbled when you fucked them from behind. Tracy just didn’t make the
effort anymore, that’s all, that’s the only reason I’d started to notice
Sabrina. I also didn’t have twenty years of deep rooted love for my PA and she
hadn’t given birth to my two kids. That meant something.