Brett

 

He didn’t show his face back in the bar that evening. Grace kept looking, eyes flitting to the doorway at every sign of movement. Only a short time ago that would have grated me to my core, but not now.

I knew she was mine, heart and soul. I just needed to prove her body was mine too, and not just with the testament of the ring on her finger. I needed to prove it to that smarmy sack of shit upstairs.

Our customers were early-nighters in the main, the bar almost empty by the time we started wrapping up for the night and planning to make a move. The final couple finished up their drinks at shortly before ten and headed to their rooms semi-drunk smiles on their faces.

They were off to get some, it was beaming all the way through them. Just as it was beaming through my Grace.

She’d breathe out a puff of an exhale every time our eyes met, conveying nerves I knew were all genuine and no doubt strumming her body like a tight-bowed violin. There was more to it than that, though. The husky glint in her stare whenever it crashed into mine. The way she brushed against me every time she passed, hovering close for just a moment, the heat of her firing my skin up through my shirt.

She wanted it. Now more than ever.

Wanted us both. Wanted him.

She’d wanted that slimy prick from the very minute he’d first laid his sleazy deal on the table, but now it was deeper, darker, entwined with her own fractured ego crisis and her desire to do better next time.

That was the one remaining issue that vexed me deeper than the others. The others I could fight head to head, but this one, the way she held herself so responsible for his feigned indifference in bed with her, this one made me blister.

Tonight should have been purely about two men facing off in their quest to thrill my beautiful wife, not about my beautiful wife doubting her abilities to bring off a man who’d made it his mission to deny her.

He wouldn’t be denying her this time around. Not when the head to head pushed him outside his comfort zone. He’d be vulnerable just as much as we were and I knew it. He’d have to be. Winning’s done that way — pushing yourself outside your comfort zone and giving your all, and Thomas Heath fancied himself every bit a winner, just as I did.

Grace’s nerves came right to the forefront as we got ready for the imminent replay. She was dithering between outfit choices as I stepped out of the shower, holding up her favourite lingerie sets to her naked body one after the other.

“Which one?” she asked, a deep scarlet lace bra and knickers set in one hand and a white satin basque and thong in the other.

I wouldn’t be drawn into expressing an opinion, knowing full well that my stunning wife would look divine in whatever she went with. I wanted her to seek out her own truth, and gravitate toward the option that would feel most like her own skin.

“You already know the answer,” I told her. “You just don’t know you know it. Which one is it going to be?”

It was red. I could tell before she said it, guided purely by the way her eyes moved over her reflection in the mirror.

She fastened herself into the push up bra as I watched her, shifting those beautiful milky tits into perfect position in the lacy cups. It took everything I had not to rip her straight back out of it, my mouth already watering at the prospect of the feast.

She shimmied into her knickers, pulling them high enough on her hips that the pretty red fabric packaged that silky mound like a birthday gift. No stockings, no slutty crotchless invitation for a prick like Heath. This was all her. Beautiful and chic, while being naturally understated. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she slipped on a tight black minidress and tugged the skirt down around her thighs. It didn’t come low, hugging the curves of her ass like it was sprayed right onto her body.

She teetered as she stepped into black gloss stilettos, arms held out for balance as she found her footing. She settled into her groove in a beat. Her shoulders pulled back and high, her tummy up and under, showcasing those perfect tits like a dream.

“Will I do?” she asked, with a hand on her hip, and I smiled. How I fucking smiled.

“You’ll take his breath away,” I told her. “Just like you’ve taken mine.”

She waved my compliment aside like I was bigging her up for the sake of flattery, but I saw the glow of pride as she gave a final turn to the mirror.

I found I was dressing up for the occasion myself, picking out one of my finest black shirts from the wardrobe and pairing it with my best pair of dark jeans. I sprayed myself with quality scent — the stuff Grace bought me the Christmas before last.

She breathed me in as she joined me at my side, slipping her fingers into mine as she pressed up beside me. “You smell good enough to eat, Mr Foster.”

“My mouth’s the one watering,” I told her. “Soon you’ll have him slavering over a main course of Mrs Foster too.”

“Shall we take anything?” she asked, nodding over to the now chaotic heap of sex toys on permanent display since I’d found my rhythm.

I shook my head. “No.”

No props. Not tonight.

Just him, and me.

I could hear her every breath as we left our private turf and made the ascent. Her hand was trembling in mine, but I was solid, unmovable, jaw gritted firm at the prospect of what was to come. My rap of knuckles on his door was as fierce as I felt, thumping loud in the quiet of the corridor before I stepped back to face him square.

When he answered it was with the same fire, swinging the door open wide and seeking out my glare with his for a full, hard second before stepping aside.

“Punctual,” he said. “Just as well, since I don’t tolerate timewasters.”

His eyes were eating my Grace up as she stepped on through. I wished she could see how much he wanted her, but her shyness kept her head down low, her smile so self-conscious that it panged my gut.

“Let’s not waste any fucking time then,” I told him, and he stopped in his tracks on the way to the minibar at the other side of the bed, smirking like the same callous sonofabitch as always when he gave a single nod.

“Have it your way.”

“Always,” I said.

Grace dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress closest to me, looking back and forth between us all the while we stared each other out. I didn’t take my eyes from his, my hands without a hint of nerves as I went for my top button.

His were as composed in return as they went for his. Working his way down his shirt without a flash of fear as he exposed his chest.

I’d seen it all before, in so much fucking detail it was burned into my memory. His solid frame, toned without an excess of bulk. The ripple of abs so pronounced as he shrugged his shirt aside and went for his belt.

I had the upper hand as I shrugged off my own, knowing full well how much bigger my chest was than his. My own bulk was broader, my own abs more than fit enough to hold their own against his gym-toned physique. I was darker, hairier, every bit a caveman next to his smooth pampered skin. I felt like one too.

I dropped my pants comfortably, making no move to conceal the raging hard on I’d been sporting since arriving in his corridor. And there we were, naked, his own dick just as fucking proud as he kicked off his trousers and stepped to the side.

There was a surrealism to this competition, no reservations about sporting a throbbing dick in front of another man. If he was feeling any awkwardness, he didn’t show it. We were strangely composed as we viewed our opposition across the bed, our pretty prize positioned between us, right where she needed to be.

“How’s it fucking feel to have a rival on the pitch?” I asked the cunt. “No free runs this time, Heath. I’m in it to win it.”

“You people always are,” he replied. “I’ve seen off hundreds of your type.”

You people.

Your type.

And there it was again, that deep-veined spite.

His laugh wasn’t genuine as it sounded out. “How the fuck do you propose we call the winner? First to three? Every climax counts?” He shook his head. “This is a fool’s game, ill thought out. Cash terms bring structure.”

“Cash terms aren’t worth shit,” I told him. “It counts for nothing.”

He shrugged, his dick still rising tall. “I’ll say it again. How will we know who wins?”

My smirk was all genuine. “We’ll know.”

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s see how desperate your pretty wife’s cunt is for another man’s cock, shall we?”

He was on the bed in a flash, stealing the moment, and she was ready for him, in body if not in mind, shifting toward him so eagerly as he came for her, even though her eyes flashed back to mine.

I didn’t stop her, not even breaking a sweat as his mouth claimed hers and guided her backwards. She fell willingly, dropping onto her back and letting her knees open wide. And there you had it, the impact he’d had on my woman, too great to have glossed over, even if we’d never seen him again.

He was running through her veins. Burned into her thoughts. Wants. Memories.

He’d claimed her deep enough in that one night that he summoned her like a ringmaster calls his acrobats, forcing her into tricks without so much as barking an order.

She lifted her hips as his knuckles swept her slit through her knickers, and she was wet for him, the lace damp enough to darken as he stretched it tight between her pussy lips and tugged hard against her clit.

Her moan was instant, fingers clutching at the sheets as she tensed.

“They always miss me,” he said for my benefit, but he didn’t need to. I could see it clearly enough for myself.

His mouth was rougher more quickly this time than last, nipping at her jaw before sweeping down her throat. She stretched to offer him more, her eyes on him as I dropped onto the mattress on her other side.

But not for long.

Soon they’d be all for me.