Husband Sit (Husband #1) (10 page)

I
looked up at her skeptically. “Maybe I’m not doing that anymore,” I lied. The
last thing I wanted was Fritha checking up on me.

“You
are.” As if she was psychic. “The best way to get over one man is to fuck
another. You know that.”

I
did.

It
was something Frith and I had learned as teenagers, hanging together with Missy
Lou and Angela—a pack of four glamazons. Well, in our own fantasies. In
reality, we were four teenagers who’d partied and kept in touch, helping each
other laugh about the crap life dealt out, and drying tears in the bad times.
There were good memories there, but thinking about Missy Lou and Ange made me
suddenly anxious.

“Don’t
tell the girls about this.” I waited until Fritha caught my eye to give her the
I’m serious
look.

“Why
not? I’m going to tell them about the wookie thing. They’ll probably laugh about
that, humiliating though it is for me.”

“Yeah,
but you’re not the perpetrator. You’re...” I’d been about to say
the victim,
until I remembered who I was talking to. Fritha would burn a hole in her house
rather than be a victim. I let the sentence drop. “I’m the bad guy in my
story,” I rushed on. “I’m breaking moral laws. Can you imagine what Sister
Carmel would do to me if she knew I’d enticed a man into committing adultery?”

Fritha
surprised me then by smiling a very sexy smile. “You seductress. And you want
to waste those skills when they can earn you good money?”

A
couple of seconds later my angst faded as the whisky kicked in. I smiled back.
“Forty grand for five days work,” I bragged. “Not too shabby.”

“
And
you’re blowing away the cobwebs of ten years of monogamy.” She topped up our
teacups. When we’d raised them, she said, “To sound financial management and
the acquisition of valuable assets.”

We
chinked cups and I took another hot swallow of whisky. It was warming me up
inside now, relaxing me. “To assets...” She had an eyebrow raised, and I
suddenly remembered my cover story. “To buying a house!”

“Two
houses if you want,” she said blithely, as though she was an expert. “Keep
heading south. Sydney is full of society wives who’d happily let someone else
fuck their husbands if they could arrange it. You’ll have a deposit in no
time.”

“Sydney,
you say?” I looked at her over my teacup. I had received a couple of emails
from Sydney wives, but I’d ruled that out because Angela and Missy Lou lived in
Sydney and I didn’t want to run into them while I was working. But how likely
was that when Sydney was a town of four million people? I could tell them I was
house sitting, and then stay with one or the other of them between jobs if I
needed to.

It
could work…

“Oh,
and get a lawyer to look over your contract,” Fritha added. “You don’t want the
wives screwing you over like Svetlana there tried to.” She pointed north to
where I’d come from.

I
suddenly realized, again, why you went to a girlfriend. They were smart.

“I
love you, F,” I said, full of whisky warmth and the goodwill of
confidence-sharing.

“I
love you back, J,” she said, smiling wistfully, all tangled red hair and ginger
freckles. “And I promise not to tell Ange or Missy Lou,
for now
. But you
have to tell them by Christmas or I will. Secrets are bad.”

“Condemnation
is better?”

She
shook her head. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. This is gainful employment.
If they don’t like it, that’s their issue.”

“They
won’t
like it.” I knew that for a fact. “But what’s worse, they won’t
trust me around their husbands anymore.” I should have considered that before I
blabbed to Fritha. Damn it.

She
was frowning, and I knew she wanted to say something placating like
Those
wives are paying you to do it
, but in the end, she didn’t, because I was
right. The mere fact that I was fucking married men would set off our friends’
radars. I’d be transformed into ‘the other woman’, and drunken sleepovers would
be a thing of the past.

“Okay,”
Frith said. “I get it. But
I’m
not judging you.”

“You’re
not married.” I smiled to take the sting away. “But I won’t do this forever. So
let’s not worry them for nothing.”

“One
day you’ll find Mr. Right.” She smiled her lop-sided smile.

I
knew she was trying to cheer me up, but I had to shake my head. “What does that
even mean? Mr. Right.”

Last
night I’d felt so good with Finn inside me. He was everything I’d imagined I
might want: kind, intelligent, funny, great at sex. Well, cunnilingus had a
question mark over it, but for a straight-out fuck, he was certainly top of my
scorecard.

Only,
he wasn’t available. Not now. Probably not ever. And he’d stayed with Katinka
knowing she was a cheat. He was clearly a
devil you know
kind of guy,
who was happy to settle.

I,
on the other hand, was a seeker. I wouldn’t be happy until I’d found perfect,
and my version of perfect was probably extinct—died out along with jousting and
moat building.

“You’re
pissed,” Frith said.

Pot
calling kettle.

“And?”

“Sleep
over.”

“On
my way to Sydney? To find these mythical North Shore wives who want their
husbands fucked?”

“Exactamundo.”
She tried to wink, but it was an uncoordinated effort. She’d always been a two
pot screamer, and two teacups of straight whisky were way over her limit. “I’d
give you the couch.” She waved airily toward the destroyed corner of her lounge
room. “But it’s gone.”

“We
can snuggle up,” I said, and she nodded. We used to have sleepovers as teenagers,
so I knew she didn’t snore.

“The
morning...” She stopped and frowned, as if she’d lost her point. “Things always
look brighter. In that.”

Her
head was wobbling, like some hippy version of Yoda. She’d clearly forgotten it
was 10 am.

“You’re
so cool.” I grinned at her.

“I
need to...pee.”

“By
all means.” I waved her off, and she stumbled out of the room. Sometime later—I
might have dozed—I realized she hadn’t come back.

After
bumbling around, I found her flaked-out on her bed in a tangle of colorful
mandala patterned quilt. I rolled her around and straightened her up, then went
back and locked the front door—although, Lord knew there wasn’t anything worth
stealing in her house—then I lay on the bed beside her and listened to her
breathing noisily through her mouth.

It
was the most comforting sound in the world.

“I
wish I could stay here with you, F,” I whispered.

But
I couldn’t. Brittany. Money. Responsibility.

So
maybe I just had to accept that my life was fucked at the moment, and that I
had to make the best of that, instead of constantly expecting things to be
right
.
The situation with Finn hadn’t been right, but if I could think of it as an
adventure, instead of a failure, I might not feel so damned terrible about it.

A
flicker of relief relaxed my shoulders, and for some stupid reason, instead of
feeling independent and strong, I pulled my phone out of my bag to look at the
text message Finn had sent me, as if I couldn’t validate myself. As if I could
only see myself as desirable through someone else’s eyes.

In
my pathetic needy moment, I swiped the screen open and was momentarily stunned
to see a fresh message there, and I remembered that I’d left the phone on
silent. I flicked a glance at Fritha. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought she’d
stop me looking at it. But she was still mouth-breathing, so I opened the
message—mentally preparing myself for either
I want to lick you senseless
or
Fuck off and never speak to me again
.

Instead,
Finn had texted:

I
don’t understand why you’re doing that job. I wish you weren’t.

I
blinked at the wavering words and, in my smashed state, I interpreted it as,
You’re
terrible at that job. I wish I’d never fucked you
.

I
frowned at my phone, remembering that he’d told me I was incredible, but that
could have been a lie. Must have been. Maybe I wasn’t as ‘experienced’ as he’d
expected me to be. Maybe it hadn’t been worth all the trouble it had caused,
with Katinka getting shitty and…

No…
my brain was slowing down, swaying, blurring. I needed to be unconscious.

Somehow
I managed to push buttons to delete his awful message. Then I dropped the phone
back into my handbag. After that, I slept. Which was just as well. Too much had
happened to both Fritha and I. We needed our oblivion, and there’d be plenty of
time when I woke to delete his contact details.

Because
I never wanted to see those warm green eyes again. Yet strangely, despite my
aversion, I spent an inordinate amount of time dreaming about dreadlocks
brushing my thighs while his warm, sexy tongue made me whimper and moan and
scream.

Good
news. A week later, I was installed in a glamorous, ultra-modern apartment in
central Sydney,
not
thinking about Finn every ten minutes. I was a
cooler, more self-contained version of myself who would easily be able to
perform the tasks of a Husband Sitter while keeping her emotions in check.

My
‘husband’, Damien, was a forty-something corporate suit with a slightly-graying
black crew-cut and black framed glasses, so he looked like a hunky, older Clark
Kent. Nothing like Finn at all, which was perfect. Damien’s wife, Minarette,
who I’d already nicknamed Molotov, was thankfully gone, off on some art tour of
Italy or Estonia or wherever she’d come from. Her imperious glares during our
interview, which her husband had conducted, coupled with her white Mod Squad
shift dress and matching knee-high boots, frankly intimidated me. Her black
asymmetrical bob, which only sharpened her already honed cheekbones, was
terrifying in its perfection.

Yet
again, I was no competition for the wife.

Perhaps
that’s why she wanted me there. She’d set up the interview. And she’d thanked
me—albeit in a haughty,
I’m better than you
tone—as I’d left, as though
she definitely wanted me to take the job. But I hadn’t needed convincing.
Damien, who was clearly the straying kind, was sexy in an
Esquire
kind
of way, I liked their apartment, it was only for a week and paid ten grand, so
how hard could that be? Plus, I was getting through Brittany’s debt and getting
over Finn.

I
hoped.

It
would all work out perfectly. Or so I thought, right up until Damien arrived
home on my first afternoon there.

I
heard the key in the door, then the sound of his leather shoes on the
over-sized white entry tiles. He stopped just out of sight.

“Jillian?”
he called, as if he suspected I was a no-show.

“I’m
here,” I called back, waiting on the lounge, sprawled out like a hooker wearing
black high heels and a black leather bikini tied up at the sides.

Neither
of them had given me any clue about what to expect, so I was making it up as I
went along. One thing I was sure of, however, was that Damien expected sex. I
wasn’t there to cook or fold clothes or fall in love. I was there to keep a
husband satisfied, to earn good money, and if I was lucky, have memorable sex
while I was at it. Knowing all that, I really wanted to get the first bonk out
of the way.

I
could also hear Fritha’s voice in my head:
The best way to get over one man
is to fuck another
. So I was determined to fuck Damien. Today. Because I
seriously needed to get Finn and his sexy green eyes out of my head. It didn’t
matter how many times I told myself he’d been cruel to me when his wife came
home, all my stupid heart remembered were his kindnesses, his gentleness and
his ready smile when my stupidity had been on display. He’d seemed to genuinely
like
me, beyond the amazing sex. And I sure as hell
liked
him way
more than I should.

So
I was relieved to be distracted by Damien coming into the room, eyeing me up in
my next-to-nothings.

He
smiled. “You don’t need to try that hard.”

I
raised an eyebrow. “I’m turning myself on. You can look after your own
arousal.” Dear Lord, just saying the words made me feel hot and powerful. If
this was sexual liberation, I think I was going to enjoy it.

His
smile widened. “Do you have many costumes?”

Costumes?
I had a
split-second of thinking about wookies and wondering if I should have clarified
that I wasn’t up for anything freaky, before I remembered that I wanted
adventure. I forced myself to say, “Not yet. But I can get some.”

He
pulled out his wallet, retrieved a card and put it on the glass side table.
“Use this to buy whatever you need. It has a ten thousand dollar limit.”

Okay.
Just dressing up. I could do that. I might even buy some props. “Any special
requests?”

“I
am partial to fairytales.” His dark eyes glinted wickedly behind the glasses.
“I had a thing for Alice in Wonderland when I was a boy.”

I
opened my legs and put one high heel on the floor beside the couch. “I’ll see
what I can do.”

He
nodded. “I’d like to see what you can do.”

“Right
here and right now?” I licked my very red lips.

“It
will be fast.” He was already pulling off his tie.

“Good.
I like a fast fuck. Among other things.”

“Don’t
swear,” he said, and kept undressing.

That
gave me pause, but not for long. There’s something about a man getting out of a
suit that’s inherently sexy, so I shelved
Don’t tell me what to do, okay?
to watch him divest himself of his black jacket, shirt, belt, shoes, socks,
trousers, briefs and finally his black watch. For some reason the black glasses
stayed on. But I wasn’t giving them much attention because Damien worked out at
the gym. He was toned and confident with it as he stood in the middle of his
minimalist lounge room with its white leather couches, chrome and glass tables
and plush white carpets, like superman caught in mid-change.

He
looked hot as hell, but I didn’t move. I just gazed up at him, instinct telling
me that he liked to be the boss. He had a condom in his hand that he’d removed
from his pants pocket, and while I watched him, he ripped open the packet and
put it on his fully erect penis. So we were really doing the business. Good.

“I’m
going to show you something,” he said, “but you won’t move. You’ll stay right
where you are.”

“Sure,”
I replied easily, but my radar was going off. Some undertone of wariness in his
voice told me he expected me to react to this.

“Look
at my back,” he said. Then he turned slowly and I couldn’t help my gasp of
shock. His front had been hard and hot and sexy. In horrible contrast, his back
and even his gorgeous butt were crisscrossed in white scars, as if he’d been
beaten. A lot. “She likes to punish me,” he said and shrugged.

Shrugged!

I
swallowed loudly and my fingernails bit into my palms. Dear God, he didn’t want
me
to do that to him, did he? The warmth of my arousal went suddenly
cold.

He
turned back to face me and despite the horror he must have seen on my face, he
smiled. “I’ve learned to accommodate her, but it’s not what I like.”

I
swallowed again, even more unnerved now, if that was possible. “What do you
like?” There really wasn’t anything else to say, but I didn’t want to know. I
wanted to jump up, grab a coat and run out of the apartment, with or without my
belongings.

He
took a step toward me, naked except for a condom and his glasses. More than a
bit scary now. “I like to earn my punishment,” he said softly. “If she’s going
to beat me, I want to have done something that’s worthy of the pain.”

“Okay.”
But did that mean straight sex? Or did he want something kinky? “What did you
have in mind?”

“You
know that she’ll watch the video of us together.” He pointed at a camera I knew
was in the corner of the room. “She might be watching us now. She can do that
from her phone.” He closed in on me until he was right beside the couch, his
erection wavering over my slutty pose. “I’d like to make her jealous.”

Okay.
That didn’t sound kinky.

“How?”

“I
want to fuck you where the neighbors can see us.”

“Oh.”
I hadn’t expected that. But it was good. If other people were watching, he was
less likely to do anything weird. And the thought of being exposed warmed me up
in places I hadn’t expected. I glanced up at his erection again and felt my
nipples tingling, as though they wanted to feel his cock rubbing over them.

“Give
me your hand,” he said, so I stopped thinking and reached up.

He
pulled me up off the cool leather of the couch and hard against his man-scaped
chest, my breasts bouncing against the tough muscles and then settling here.
His condomed cock pressed into my belly.

Then
he leant in and whispered against my ear, “Touch my ass,” so I did, liking his
bossiness, and loving the feel of his hard butt cheeks under my hands. I
brushed my fingertips over them, then grabbed handfuls and kneaded them,
pulling them apart and up and around, wanting to feel his cock inside me while
I did that. But I forced myself to go back to feathering touches against the
top of his legs, over his thighs and his butt, then across his lower back as he
licked and sucked on my neck and untied my bikini—first the top and then the
bottom.

So
far, Finn was still lurking in the back of my mind, as if he was critiquing
Damien’s performance, but I was confident a thorough fucking from another man
would remove him forever. Otherwise, he might still be with me when I moved
from one husband to the next, like a disapproving ghost. That would be freaky.

When
I was wearing only my black patent leather high heels, Damien lifted my butt
and I got the idea and wrapped my legs around his hips, being careful not to
jab him with my spiky heels. He carried me to the picture window that looked
down on the busy main street and the skyscraper opposite. Then he pressed my
back against the cold glass. I thought I’d seen offices there when I’d been
moving in, but in this position all I could see was over his shoulder to the
apartment behind him.

He’d
be able to see people watching us, however, and I could tell it was turning him
on. His breathing was ragged as he reached between us and guided his cock into
me. I was slick, so it was a smooth maneuver. He wasn’t as gigantic as Finn,
but it was still a more-than-filling experience, and when he started to pound
into me, shifting my hair to one side so he could kiss my neck and suckle on my
ear-lobe, I felt like I was a porn star, a million times sexier than I ever had
during humdrum sex with Doug.

People
would stop to watch this. I would! How often do you see a gorgeous hunk of male
flesh and a not-too-bad girl going for it against a glass wall? It was sexy as
hell, and with his five o’clock shadow and hunky corporate crew cut, he was
turning me on. When he arched my back so he could suckle on my nipples I
started to pant, and then he brushed the sandpaper of his jaw line against one
nipple and it stung with such fierce pleasure I wanted to moan.

For
some reason I was being quiet, and I wasn’t sure why. Did I think people could
hear us, as well as see us? Well, that wasn’t possible, so I turned off my
internal censor and said, “God I love that feeling.”

“What
else do you love?”

“I
love being watched.” That was turning me on big time. “And I love imagining
Molotov sweating while she watches us fuck.”

“I
told you not to swear.” He pulled back and looked into my eyes.

For
a suspended moment, we were still. The situation could go a couple of ways, but
I really wanted him to keep fucking me so I said, “Sorry. You got me excited.
I’ll try to stop.”

“Thank
you.” His manners seemed incongruous while he had his cock hard up inside me,
but he went back to licking and sucking and scraping my nipples while he
pounded into me and I completely lost it. Somewhere the pain and the pleasure
got mixed up, and the spasms inside my breasts connected with spasms lower down
and I was falling apart in his arms, yelling and making a spectacle of myself
for half of Sydney to see.

When
I’d stopped, he pulled out of me and turned me around, pressing me against the
glass, gathering my wrists and holding them with one hand over my head before
entering me again from behind. In my orgasmic shuddering, I hadn’t paid
attention to him and he clearly hadn’t come yet. I don’t normally like things
to go on and on after I’ve got my bliss sorted, but staring down at the city
street below, seeing the odd head lift, probably wondering why a disheveled
brunette was plastered naked against the window, was exciting.

The
whole front of my body pressed on the glass and my already-abraded nipples
rubbed as he pushed me up and down on the cold surface. I loved the
pseudo-bondage of having my hands held above my head. Then he pulled my hips
back toward him with his other hand, which he slipped in front to stroke on my
clit. My eyes popped open and I started to moan.
Fuck.
I was going to
come again. So soon.

“Give
it to me, baby,” he crooned. “Give me the orgasm.”

And
I did. I slammed back into him, my ass shuddering as a second blinding orgasm
swept over me, making me scream this time as my fingernails scrabbled against
the glass over my head. He gripped my wrists tighter.

“
Oh
my God
...” I could hardly breathe, and
still
he pounded into me from
behind, working me as if he was a piston.

I
seriously wanted it to be over then, but clearly it wasn’t. And when he pulled
out of me, still hard, and let me go, I almost puddled at his feet. Instead, he
looped an arm under my hips and picked me up—with one arm, I swear! Then he
carried me to the back of the lounge. I was so limp I just let him drape me
over it, so I ended up with my ass up over the back of the couch and my body
sprawled over it with my head almost reaching the seat. He spread my legs and
slipped inside me again.