The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing) (9 page)

“She was probably spying on us.”

The thought was provocative. God, she was becoming a kinky exhibitionist.

Then he was pushing her back on his thighs, unsnapping his shorts, tugging down the zipper. He’d gone commando, and his cock, hard and pulsing, practically sprang free. “Stroke it, baby.” His words were half order, half plea.

Zoe curled her hand around him, bathing her fingers in the drops of pre-come, using them to lubricate her strokes.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

She leaned close, put her lips on his, whispered, “Do you want to be inside me? Do you want me to ride you? To fuck you until you scream?”

The rain pounded the roof, and the humidity rose inside the car. It wasn’t the weather, it was them, their breathing fast and harsh, their temperatures rising, the windows starting to steam.

“Yeah, I wanna fuck you, be inside you, stay there forever.”

She tore the condom, held it out to him. “Put it on.”

He rolled it down. She’d always found this part embarrassing, an intrusion, pulling her out of the moment, but the way he touched himself was sexy as hell.

“Ahh. Ready.”

“I’m going to fuck you now,” she told him, pushing his hands aside, taking him in her fist, guiding him. She rose above him, centered, and slid down, a sigh falling from her lips. She was so damn wet she didn’t need lube.

The fit was perfect.

* * * * *

Her long hair flowed over her shoulders, her face rapt, eyes closed, lips plump. Spence held her hips, but she did the riding, slow at first, stroking her G-spot, taking her pleasure.

Her body’s tight grip on him stole his breath, but he wanted it this way, slow and sweet, so he could watch her. Her face tensed, she gasped, bit her lip. “Baby, baby, baby,” she chanted.

Perspiration beaded on her chest, rolled down between her breasts. He bent to lick it away, took a taste of nipple, too, then a nip of her flesh.

“Oh God. Spence. Yes.” She reacted to his love bite, rocking faster, rising and falling, squeezing him deep inside her.

“Fuck,” he whispered, laying his head back against the rest. Eyes closed, he concentrated on the feel of her. Her breath puffed across his cheeks. The cacophony of rain on the car drove him higher, became a part of the pleasure, a part of her. He was a teenager again, in the backseat of his daddy’s car, when everything was ahead of him, when hormones made it all so fucking intense. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, ever had. He’d waited almost thirty years for this. He lost himself in her, the sweetness of her flesh, the weight of her breasts in his hands, the hot, tight fit of her pussy around him.

“Fuck me, Zoe, fuck me, Zoe, fuck me, baby.” The voice didn’t even sound like his, but he owned the emotions welling up inside him. Just as she owned him in this moment.

Her movements became near frenzied, her bottom slapping his thighs, her fingernails deep in his shoulders, her breath, her gasps, moans, and cries, her inner muscles working him with her climax until he tumbled into ecstasy right along with her.

* * * * *

The rain had stopped. Their bodies were plastered together in the car’s swampy atmosphere. Her ears practically hummed with the silence around them. Or maybe that was her blood pressure thrumming in her ears. Pulling away, her skin sticking to him a moment, she leaned over to turn the key enough to activate the window buttons and rolled the passenger side down. Fresh air washed over them, slightly cooler than the humidity they’d created inside.

She settled against him, letting the outside air cool the perspiration on her skin. His cock pulsed deliciously inside her. He stroked up and down her back, then along her thighs, up again. She felt too damn good to move.

She hadn’t called Keith in the middle of it. She hadn’t called him last night the second and third time Spence had taken her. There were no pictures, nothing to share with her husband. Which was supposed to be the reason she did these things.

But Zoe didn’t want to share this.

“I’m starving,” Spence said against her hair.

“Didn’t you have lunch?” she muttered into the salty skin of his throat.

“Yeah. But you just gave me one helluva workout.”

“You’re so romantic.”

He pulled back, his eyes glinting. “It’s totally romantic to say you wore me out, baby.”

She should have been insulted, but he delighted her. She’d worked up an appetite, too. “All right, food. We can see if the road’s open.”

Before she could scramble back into the driver’s seat, he held her face in his palms, laid his lips on hers and whispered, “That was too fucking good for words. You took my breath away, baby.” He ended with a long, drugging kiss that melted her insides.

Once she was in her seat again, he climbed out to get rid of the condom. Zoe grabbed her panties and wriggled into them, then buckled herself in as he slid into the passenger side.

He’d thrown the condom somewhere outside. It was probably considered littering, yet there was something elemental about it, a proud proclamation that they’d just gotten down and dirty on an off-road track in the middle of a steamy Florida rain shower. She found it incredibly sexy. And somehow freeing.

They discovered the road was still blocked. “How long can it take?” she groused.

“We were only twenty minutes.”

“No way.”

He shot her a wicked grin, held up his watch, and tapped the crystal. “Hot, fast, and sweet.”

And that was sexy, too.

“So much for Ocala.” She headed back to Daytona.

They'd taken all afternoon and hadn’t even made it to Ocala. Zoe didn’t care. What they’d done in the car with the rain and the trees all around them had been the best sex she’d ever had. Okay, well, last night had been pretty damn good. And the night before that.

It was close to four-thirty when they stopped at a Chinese take-out place on Daytona’s main drag and ordered several dishes because they couldn’t agree on just two or three. The food filled the car with delicious scents that made her mouth water.

Back in his room, Spence flipped on the TV and tuned to an evening news program. A bag of pressed laundry lay on his bed.

She moved it aside. “Didn’t you bring enough clothes?” Hotel laundry was expensive.

“No. Just my carryon stuff.” He smirked. “Enough for three days.”

She stared at him, her lips parted. “You were supposed to go home today, weren’t you?”

He nodded.

“And you changed your flight?”

He nodded again.

“Just so you could stay and fuck me?”

He was on her in a second, his hand at the back of her neck, holding her only inches away, his slightly crooked nose right in her face. “You don’t play at home. Only when you’re away. So no way was I going to waste two more days with you.”

He’d stayed for her. He wanted her. He’d driven to Ocala with her, taken her out in the forest. There was something immensely powerful in being wanted like that.

She wished now that she’d propositioned him on the beach Tuesday night. They’d have had five days and five nights. She’d cheated herself. Because Spence was right, once she got home, it was over.

His eyes seemed to burn. “Now take off your pretty little dress and panties and get on that bed. I’m hungry.”

Chapter Eight

Sitting naked in the middle of the bed, they’d eaten out of the cartons as they watched the evening news.

She’d called her husband while she rode Spence reverse cowgirl style, a special request from the man. In the end, Spence had grabbed the phone and tossed it aside, saying it was interrupting her concentration.

The truth was he didn’t want to share her. These were
his
two nights. The husband would get her back on Sunday.

When she’d tried to slip out of bed in the middle of the night, he’d clamped an arm around her waist. Then he’d taken her from behind, pulling her leg over his thigh, spreading her, filling her slowly until she moaned his name. The best thing about the position was being able to stroke her clit while he fucked her. A slow sensual assault that drove her crazy.

She hadn’t tried to sneak out of the bed again.

In the morning, he’d ordered room service. She’d had blueberry pancakes with whipped cream on top. Spence had taken a scoop of the cream, pushed her back on the bed, plopped it on her pussy, and licked her clean until she shuddered with climax.

And he still hadn’t had enough of her.

At eleven they’d checked out of their rooms. The hotel clerk hadn’t charged them for cancelling the last night when Spence explained that they only had one night left and were dying to see St. Augustine, the oldest city in the new world, the pearl of the Florida coast. He’d even gotten the woman to book them a bed-and-breakfast right on St. George Street, which she claimed was the best site, with a view of the Castillo de San Marcos.

“You are such a charmer,” Zoe said as he herded her into the garage elevator. “And that woman fell for it. She didn’t even ask why we’re checking out of two rooms but getting only one up in St. Augustine.”

He hugged her close to his side. For once they had an elevator to themselves. “She doesn’t care if you’re fucking around while you’re out of town on business.”

He didn’t know why he kept making denigrating comments. It didn’t bother her, though.

“She wished
she
was going to St. Augustine with you.” She rubbed against his side like a cat. “But you’re all mine.”

He squeezed her perfect ass. “She couldn’t handle me. It takes a sexy, mature woman with few inhibitions.”

The doors slid open, and she pulled away to roll her suitcase into the garage. “Mature?”

He followed. “I wouldn’t have looked twice at you if you were some sweet young thing.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she eyed him. “And I adore older men.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

He wanted her again, right here, right now, despite all the times he’d had her last night and this morning over breakfast. But this time he’d wait until they were in their big fluffy bed on the top floor of the B&B with the balcony doors open over St. George Street.

While she’d showered and dressed, he discovered St. Augustine on the Internet. He’d talked her into the excursion with amazing ease by saying they could do some house-hunting along the way.

Opening the driver’s door, she looked at him over the roof. “Are you okay with me doing all the driving?”

He shrugged. “It’s your rental car.” Her question made him wonder about her relationship. Maybe the husband was dictatorial. “Besides, I enjoy being chauffeured around.”

Since they’d had a big breakfast, they made it all the way to St. Augustine before needing lunch. Crossing the Bridge of Lions to enter the town, they passed the Castillo, packed with summer tourists.

They parked in the guest garage at the B&B. Though they were able to check in, the room wasn’t ready, so they left their bags in the car and found an outdoor café down one of the promenades. Several of the old roads were open only to foot traffic and lined with shops selling taffy, jewelry, leather goods, pottery. Nestled amid the stores were historical points of interest, like the wooden schoolhouse and an old water wheel. Picturesque and quaint. There were Old Town trolley tours, ghost tours, museums in historical buildings, and shopping, lots of shopping.

It was hot, but comfortable in the shade of a huge tree outside the café. Though the patio was crammed with tables, people, children, strollers, and shopping bags, Spence managed to snag a table at the base of the tree. He wiped a daub of mustard from the corner of Zoe’s mouth.

He couldn’t stop touching her, though this time he hadn’t found an off-road track—or a closet—to have his wicked way with her. Instead, he’d let her talk in the car, learned more about her career, her family. Besides her husband’s kids, she had a couple of brothers and a sister, and her parents were still living. She wasn’t a woman with hobbies, but she liked to garden for relaxation. She and the husband did quite a bit of hiking, which meant he was in relatively good shape. Zoe certainly was.

“Yum. I needed that.” Zoe shoved away the sandwich plate.

“So what would you like to do?”

She raised a brow. “What if I said shopping?”

He didn’t groan. He’d do whatever she wanted. “It says in the guide”—he tapped the sightseeing brochure they’d picked up—“that there’s a big outlet mall just north of town.”

“Please, I didn’t come to Florida to go to the same stores I can find in California.”

He couldn’t resist looping his pinkie through hers, just to touch her again. “All right, so what do you
really
want to do?”

“Don’t laugh”—she did the grinning herself—“but I want to get a stamp for my park passport over at the Castillo de San Marcos.”

Okay, that wasn’t what he’d expected. “Your park passport?”

“Yeah. The national parks each have a special stamp. You know, like with an ink pad,” she added when he raised a brow. She pulled a small book from her purse. It was divided into regions. A lot of the pages were still blank as she flipped through, but the Pacific region, which included California, was stamped on every available inch. “I’ve got a lot from Georgia because my brothers live there. And a bunch of the national monuments in DC from a business trip.”

“So this is what you do when you’re away on business?”

She leaned close, giving him a sly look. “Besides picking up hot older men in bars?”

He winked. The whole idea of her hotwifing activities seemed to delight her. “I’m surprised you have time for both.”

“Usually I don’t. But I carry my passport in case. Always prepared,” she said as primly as a school teacher.

“Well, we can’t have you leave Florida without getting a stamp then.” He rose, held out his hand, and hers fit perfectly in his.

They wended their way through the summer crowds. She was a fast walker, and half the time she was leading him, finding gaps in the stragglers, around this family knot, zigzagging through until they found a less populated alley leading out to the road fronting the Castillo.