Grace

 

I fell in love with my husband all over again as his cock still twitched inside me, pinned hard by his weight as I struggled to catch my breath. My legs were like jelly and my clit was still flying high, my ass feeling every inch of the pounding I’d just taken, and I loved it. I loved all of it.

Even his dirty words.

Especially his dirty words.

Forbidden. Unexpected. Never contemplated once in all the years we’d been together, not even for a moment.

My belly twisted in knots, my adrenaline spiking in spite of the endorphins of climax.

You’ll take his dick. And you’ll be watching me every fucking second while you do it.

I wondered if that was really true. If this insanity tonight was really happening and wouldn’t just disappear into a ridiculous cloud of crazy nothingness in the cold light of day.

As nervous as I was in the quiet of the room with my naked tits pressed to the bar top and my spread thighs slick with wetness, I wasn’t even sure I wanted it to. Not with the money looming, not with Brett so…

Different.

My husband was different.

His lips were fierce even as he kissed my temple and sighed in the afterglow. I had so much to ask him. So many things to clarify. So many worries. So many hopes and fears, and more. Dirty little ghosts in the back of my mind I didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone voice aloud. The dirty parts I found at night when Brett was asleep beside me and I couldn’t stop imagining… things…

Filthy things.

Things I’d never done with my husband. Not in all these years.

Things I usually told myself I wouldn’t want in real life. Not if it came to it. Yet still they were always there, waiting. Lurking. Sending me to orgasm with my fingers down my knickers and my teeth clenched tight to stop myself making a sound.

The people were always faceless when they weren’t my husband. I’d never thought about another man clearly, not someone identifiable. I only hoped it wouldn’t be Thomas Heath’s chiselled face in my fantasies from this night on.

It couldn’t be.

Just couldn’t be.

I loved my husband too much to want that. Too much to enjoy sex with our strange money-splashing guest.

“You’re thinking about him,” Brett grunted in my ear, and I shook my head before I’d even realised I was lying.

“I was just…” I began, but his breath rasped loud.

“You can think about him. I mean it’s normal. Natural. Whatever.”

I flashed him a look over my shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Normal?” It was a relief to let out a laugh. “Brett, sweetheart, this is anything but normal.”

It was a relief to see him smile back. I winced as he pulled his dick free.

“We’re solid though, right?” he asked, as though the question was the most rhetorical statement on earth. I nodded without even a second’s hesitation. He raised an amused eyebrow right back at me. “Solid enough to survive one night of some random asshole’s seedy proposal. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

It was too soon for that. I flipped onto my back to face him as soon as he lifted free, holding a hand up between us.

“I’m not doing it for fun, Brett. Not even close. I never could.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Too much. Line crossed.”

“He’s not you,” I said again. “Having sex with random men is hardly a staple part of my regular interests.”

His smirk was still confident from the fucking he’d just given me. “Just as well, Mrs Foster. Don’t be getting any ideas now. This is strictly one time only.”

He shoved his dick back in his pants and zipped up. He always had that advantage over me, being back to passable in a flash. He looked barely dishevelled, where I was still raw and naked with my tits on display and my poor anniversary gown nothing but a crumpled mess around my waist.

I tugged it down enough to cover my throbbing pussy at least while he picked up our toppled wine glasses and wiped down the side. I had red wine stains on my elbows, but now wasn’t the time to worry about it. I yanked my dress up the other way to cover my tits, but it didn’t sit properly, torn at the underarm seam. He really had been on a mission.

“This place will be amazing with all that money to spend on it,” I said, and his eyes were still alive with horny humour when they met mine.

“What you thinking? Spa and sauna? Horse riding centre in the back yard? Fairy tale themed rooms with actual gold leaf wallpaper?”

I bit my lip and leaned in to fasten his open collar. “I’m thinking of greeting the mail guy with a smile in the morning. Gold leaf can wait a while.”

“Amen to that,” he said and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

He’d always been strong, Brett. Always been muscular, his body firm and sturdy against mine. His arms had always felt warm. Safe.

Even in our misery I’d known he was in it with me. His hand in mine for the long haul. But there it was again, that difference. In him. Something primal behind his smile, the sense of ownership in his touch.

I hadn’t felt it for a long, long time. Probably not since I’d said I do and we’d settled into married life like we’d levelled up to maximum in the relationship game. I guess he felt safe too. My hand in his for the long haul, squeezing his fingers just as tight right back at him.

I felt a shiver of something deep, and it wasn’t bad. Alien, maybe, but definitely not bad.

I couldn’t deny it. The offer of so much money, being worth so much to a stranger. And more than that. The way my husband’s desire was so angry, so powerful.

I felt attractive. Wanted. Needed, even.

I felt like more of a woman than I’d felt in years, at the suddenly greedy hands of the man who’d called me his own for well over a decade.

I swilled the bar towel in cold water and wrung out the dregs of wine he’d wiped, and once again he approached from behind and pressed in tight. My ass clenched and fluttered at the ridge of him, nervous of a rerun so quickly, but his kiss was for my hair, not for my mouth.

“We really should sleep,” he said, and I nodded.

“Early start. He said fine print at breakfast, right?”

“There’ll be plenty to negotiate,” Brett told me, and I was grateful for the confidence in his tone.

He flicked off the lights behind me and kept my hand in his as he led us through the darkened bar. Our living quarters were ground floor, further on back past the kitchen, and I was relieved when we were firmly back in the familiarity of private space.

Any hopes I had of a repeat performance disappeared when Brett set the alarm for the morning and I saw our remaining sleep time flash up on his phone screen.

Shit.

I’d be needing an intravenous caffeine drip to make it through the breakfast shift, let alone handle any… negotiations.

Still, that didn’t stop me staring at the ceiling when I slipped into bed in my soft cotton nightdress, all washed up clean for the night. Brett’s arm draped easily across my waist, his breath hot on my shoulder, slowing down with its regular steadiness until I knew he was dead to the world.

I always admired how he could sleep so easily, even in the midst of all kinds of shit.

Me, not so much.

I must have made it nearly thirty full minutes by the time my nerves were jangling too loud to ignore. My legs were twitchy, restless, more than happy to launch me to my feet once I’d slipped from Brett’s sleepy grip.

It was the window I went to first, hoping the darkness of the waves outside would be enough to relax me back to bed and sleep along with it. But no.

A walk. I needed a walk. Me and the sea air out front, and some space to get my murky mess of thoughts in some kind of order.

Brett didn’t even stir as I pulled on some flannel PJ bottoms and a huge fluffy cardigan and slipped outside our patio doors.

 

* * *

 

I’d smoked a pack of ten cigarettes as a teenager, too inexperienced to even hold them in the right fingers. I’d coughed through every single one and never bought another pack since.

Stepping out into the dark front garden outside our hotel that night was the closest I’d ever come to wanting to try the habit again.

I pulled my cardigan tighter around me, being careful to tread carefully in my comfy pumps as I made it down a couple of steps to the main patio area. The waves were loud, the moon low over them, shimmering a path into the blackness that reminded me all over again why I’d been so consumed with the need to buy this place last year.

And reminded me all over again why fifty grand would be worth doing all kinds of crazy shit for.

I didn’t take a seat on any of the picnic benches, my legs on a mission of their own to reach the railings on the front so I could stare down onto the beach I loved so much. I came out here often in the middle of the night, unconcerned for any passers-by in such a small village, especially in winter. I guess that’s why it took me so long to register his presence along to my right, leaning on the iron fencing, staring out to sea just as I was.

He was smoking. It was the glow I saw first, before the rest of him. My eyes had to adjust before his tall figure came into focus. My heart jumped and ran, my belly flipping hard as the man who wanted to buy my body for 50k edged a little closer and held up a hand in greeting.

I considered rushing back inside and safe into Brett’s arms without so much as a wave in return, but the legs that had been so restless just a few moments back turned into solid lumps of lead and held me rooted to the spot. I sucked in a breath as he stepped closer still. I could taste the smoke on the breeze, and the shape of the cigar in his fingers became obvious.

“A beautiful night,” he commented and toked a fresh mouthful.

“Always,” I said, relieved when my voice came out steadier than I felt. “It’s always beautiful out here, that’s why we moved.”

“And why you’re so keen to stay,” he added.

I blinked a few times in his direction and my eyes adjusted well enough to see the lighter tones of his hair. I took a step in his direction, sliding along the railings like I wasn’t concerned for proximity in the slightest, even though every inch of my skin was prickling.

“Finding it hard to sleep?” I asked him. “Guilty conscience, maybe?”

He laughed, then paused long enough for a particularly loud wave to crash below. “Guilty for what? Offering a fair business proposition to two people in need of the money? Tell me, why should I feel guilty for that?”

I laughed myself, a snippy little giggle that didn’t sound quite like me. “I dunno. How about trying to be a marriage wrecker? Offering dirty propositions that would make most people blush. Or run a mile.”

Another side step and his elbow was less than an arm’s length from mine. “I don’t see you running. Blushing, maybe. It’s too dark to tell. But running, definitely not.”

“If you think you’re going to wreck our marriage–” I began, but the burn of his eyes, even in the dark, dried the words up in my throat.

“What happens in your marriage is no concern of mine. I pay for one night, for my own amusement. No strings. No emotional importance. Nothing but your body doing my bidding for ten hours straight.”

“Nine,” I corrected. “Nine hours straight.”

His teeth were bright in the moonlight as he cracked a grin.

The man was beautiful.

I felt guilty for even thinking it.

“I was testing you,” he laughed. “Nine hours. Yes.” He gestured back over his shoulder to the hulk of the hotel behind us. “I imagine your husband is sleeping soundly after his exertions. Maybe he should’ve given you round two to tire you out enough to join him in slumber. I’ll be sure to leave you ready for sleep when I’m done, that’s a promise.”

It took me a long second to understand his meaning. The cock of his brow. The dirtiness of his smile.

No.

But yes.

He laughed again, and this one made me shiver. “I was enjoying the quiet of your patio. The windows are big in the bar. They gave me quite a vantage point.”

Oh how my cheeks burned, scorching against the cool wind as I wished the waves would swallow me up.

“You watched us.”

“A very satisfactory product demonstration. I enjoyed it very much.”

I wanted to tell him he was an asshole, but he’d been a customer on our grounds, every bit entitled to enjoy the gardens. I wanted to tell him manners cost nothing, and personal space invaders were nothing but pricks, but I knew we’d been asking for it, hungry for flesh on flesh in the bright lights of a hotel bar.

My question came out unexpectedly, unfiltered.

“Why me?”

He didn’t ask me to repeat the question, just angled his body to face mine, his eyes heavy, brooding dark as the moonlight graced his perfectly chiselled face with milky white highlights.

“Is that a request for flattery?” He tipped his head. “Do you want me to indulge your ego by reeling off a list of your finer attributes?”

My mouth flapped open, struggling with a comeback. It was absurd. This whole thing was absurd.

My ego was tenuous at best, given the threat of ruin these past few months. My face felt plain and vulnerable without the armour of makeup. My hair felt windswept and ragged in the salty breeze. My PJ bottoms were dotted with puppy dogs and my cardigan was far from at its best.

He stubbed out his cigar on the top of the railings. “You don’t believe you are beautiful enough to warrant a fifty grand price tag.”

It was a statement, not a question. I didn’t have a response, so I didn’t offer one. Instead I shuddered at his closeness, at the oriental spice scent of him. At his pristine appearance even at fuck-knows-what o’clock in the morning.

“Your smile,” he said. “I love how you hard you force it, even when your eyes don’t match. Your hair frames your face, just so. It’s beautiful.” I closed my eyes as the very tip of his index finger grazed my forehead. “You’re vivacious, even when you’re suffering under the weight of the world. You have a magic in your eyes that even your dismay can’t snuff out. Your laugh is…” His smile was glorious. “Intoxicating. Heady.”

“You don’t have to–” I whispered, but his words didn’t stop coming.

“You carry yourself with pride and poise, unaware of your own prowess, your own beauty.” I flinched as he reached for my hand and took my fingers in his. But I didn’t pull away. Couldn’t bring myself to pull away. “Your hands are delicate. Your fingers dance absentmindedly.” He ran his thumb over my knuckles. “Your foot taps, you know that? It’s like a jittery little window into the frenzy of your brain. You’re a thinker. I can tell. A worrier, too.”

“With good reason,” I said, and finally managed to tug my hand away.

“You’ll be a treasure around my cock,” he told me, and I sucked in a breath. “Easily worth fifty grand, though please don’t think that is open to further negotiation.”

My laugh in the night sounded bitter but empty. “I don’t get it… I mean, there are plenty of women… plenty of young, pretty women who’d love to spend the night for free. I don’t see…”

“Why I’d want you?”

I shrugged. “It seems ridiculous. Crazy.”

His face was so stern when he cleared his throat that it hitched the breath in mine. “I want you,” he told me. “One full night where I sample everything you have to give. I’ll appreciate every part of you, every hidden crevice, every nervous shiver, every little fantasy I uncover in that busy mind of yours.”

And he did.

Want me.

I could see it.

Obvious. Blatant.

Real.

More real than this one crazy night. More real than some random offer in a hotel bar.

It was deeper. Darker.

I thrummed with it.

I hated how much I thrummed with it.

“I have to go,” I whispered. Ragged. “Sleep. I need to sleep.”

I was backing away without even a goodbye, retreating into the safety of my regular life, even though I knew it was shaking on its foundations.

“Goodnight, Grace,” he said and I managed to turn my back on him with only the vagueness of a wave, unsure if he could even see it in the moonlight.

Unsure if I even cared.

Unsure if I ever wanted to see him again. Or worse.

If I did.

I kicked off my pumps by the patio doors and ditched my cardigan over our cosy armchair, casting it off like it was dirty, like me. Tainted, like me.

Brett shivered at my coldness as I slipped between the sheets at his side, but clutched me tight despite the chill, his breath still even in his sleep.

And I held him.

Oh fuck, how I held him.