Husband Sit (Husband #1) (8 page)

I
was panting so loudly I couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart but I knew my
pulse would be galloping, and my head felt as though the top had just blown off
it. I wanted to say
I’ve never been fucked like that
, but I kept my
mouth shut. Even when a moment later I wanted to add,
Katinka is a fuckwit!
I
kept that to myself as well, choosing instead to revel in the utter
satisfaction of being comprehensively fucked.

Finally,
he pulled out of me and I slumped, boneless onto the sheets.

“You
blaspheme a lot,” he said at last, sounding breathless.

“I
was on my knees. We each pray in our own way.”

“When
you talk dirty like that, it really turns me on.”

I
smiled up at him in the dark. “I’m all fucked out. Come and lie here with me.”
I curled onto my side with difficulty. My muscles felt lax and uncooperative.

“No,”
he said firmly, getting off the bed. “If I lie down there I’m going to fuck you
again. I won’t know how to stop. Things have changed and… I’m going out.”

Light
from the hallway illuminated his body, and with the condom off, I could see
that even limp, his cock was big. I couldn’t stop looking at it. Frowning at it
in fact. “How did that fit in me?”

He
put a hand over his eyes. “This is too much.” While he wasn’t looking at me, I
scoped him out from the top of his tangled dreads down to his bare feet,
covering every delicious inch in between. He was lean, but in a rangy
cowboy-hips kind of way. Sure, his chest wasn’t broad and beefy, but it was
toned, and that golden tan was all-over. I’d been right about the
skinny-dipping.

Finally,
he dropped his hand. “I’m going out. I’ll be back later. So I’ll see you at
breakfast.”

I
struggled up on one elbow to watch him dress. “Okay. No regrets.”

He
nodded and turned to go.

I
called out, “Hey!” and he turned back reluctantly. “You didn’t tell me I was
good.”

Instantly
his expression cleared and he shook his head. “You weren’t good. You were
incredible.
That
was incredible. I’ve never fucked like that before—”

“Ditto.”

“But
I need time to get my head around this. I just—”

“Need
to go. Sure,” I said. “See you at breakfast.”

He
nodded and left without looking back, and a minute later, I heard the garage
door rumbling, then a car started and pulled out and the door rattled closed.

I
smiled to myself and snuggled into my pillow, remembering that he had to go or
he’d fuck me again. “I’m incredible,” I whispered, and in that moment, I knew
it was true. I was a crazy femme-fatale who could drive men wild!

In
that moment, I also knew what I
wasn’t
. I wasn’t in love with Finn. That
achy feeling had simply been ten years’ worth of regret about linked up with
the wrong guy. Finn wasn’t ‘the right guy’. He was just a funny, kind and sexy
man who wanted to fuck me, and I’d been happy to oblige. He belonged to another
world, one I was passing through on a money-grab for Brittany.

In
a couple of weeks I’d be gone, he’d have happy memories, and I’d be on to the
next guy. That was how it should be, and I was glad that my tingling and
satisfied body was enough for me, that I didn’t feel empty because it wasn’t
more, it wasn’t love.

So
I could congratulate myself that phase one of my Husband Sitter project—
initial
sex
—was complete.

I
couldn’t wait for phase two—moving it out of the bedroom, because I definitely
wanted to enact some of those fantasies he’d been having. But for now, there
was sleep and the dreamy-dreams of a girl who’d been creamed, inside and out.

Katinka,
wherever you are, I earned your money. And, you’re welcome...

I woke
to darkness and the loose-limbed stickiness that only a good fuck provides. But
this wasn’t just pleasure. It was business. Katinka had paid me forty grand to
live with her reluctant husband for a month, and sleep with him as often as I
could so she wouldn’t feel guilty about cheating on him with her lesbian lover.
It was only day five and I’d already scored a delicious doggy.

My
masturbation show on the opening day, and subsequent
Fuck me or don’t fuck
me
attitude must have gotten under his guard. For whatever reason, he’d
given me a banging that had to be experienced to be believed.

That
cock!

Wow.

I
rolled onto my back and sighed up at the ceiling, ignoring the itchiness of my
healing sunburn to revel in the achiness of my twat. Finn might not know
anything about cunnilingus—so his wife said—but he sure as hell knew what to do
with that gigantor cock of his. And having had one pleasure, I was determined
to teach him all I could about oral sex, so when Katinka came home he could wow
her with his skills.

No
man who could create a multiple orgasm like that should feel bad about his
abilities, and I was just thinking I should start on that education—should see
if he was home and already in bed, when I heard a sound that didn’t belong.

Conversation.

Finn
and I should have been alone in the house. Assuming he’d come home.

My
bedside alarm said 2:42am, but instead of dead-of-the-night quiet, I could hear
a low, deep voice that sounded like Finn, and another higher-pitched voice that...I
suddenly recognized.
Katinka
. I’d know that Russian accent anywhere.

I
leapt out of bed, telling myself he probably had her on speakerphone, but
wanting to be ready anyway. Sick nerves spiraled through my stomach. She
shouldn’t be in the house. She should be in Los Angeles or New York or
somewhere stateside.

It
would be creepy and awkward and terrible to have to confront a wife as “the
other woman” even if she was paying. It just wasn’t right. Especially while I
was naked!

Yet
as I felt my way to the door in the dark, I heard footsteps. Clicking.

High
heels.

“Fuck.”

I
fumbled for the lock which I flicked only seconds before the doorknob turned.

“Jillie?”
Katinka called. “Are you awake in there,
Myshka
? I want to talk to you.”
Even through the door, I could smell her perfume—something expensive that
clawed at the back of my throat, along with the terrifying feeling of having
been
caught
. Logically, I knew I was blameless. She’s
paid
me to
fuck Finn. But all the same, sick guilt swirled low in my belly.

“Leave
her until morning.” That was Finn, sounding upset. Sounding almost as sick as I
felt. “She got sunburned and hasn’t been well.”

“Then
you haven’t had sex with her?” Katinka said quietly.

I
pressed my ear to the door but heard nothing until she spoke again.

“Because
I don’t want you to. I changed my mind.”

My
mouth fell open and I pulled back to stare at the door.

“Pardon?”
Finn spluttered, probably louder than he’d intended to, because his next words
were quieter. “What about your holiday? Your
girlfriend
is expecting you
to—”

“We
argue,” Katinka sniffed. “She is gone from my life.”

I
felt my face go hot, and I wasn’t sure if it was horror that I’d had sex with
her husband and clearly shouldn’t have, or whether I was outraged that I’d
trusted her to know what she wanted. When it was quite obvious that she didn’t.

Fuck.

“But
what about Jill?” Finn whispered urgently and I wanted to hug him. I wanted to
believe he was advocating for me
because he was a nice guy, not because
a few hours earlier he’d had his cock to the hilt in my thoroughly satisfied
twat.

“She
has her money.” Katinka sounded like she was pouting. Then there were footsteps
and I didn’t hear any more. He’d either encouraged her to move away or she’d
stalked off.

Either
way, I was fucked.

Not
in the delicious sticky-satisfied way I’d woken up. Oh no. This was a
You’re
about to hear bad news
type of fucked that made me want to run and hide.
But I had to fight that. I had to hang on to the fact that this was business.
She’d signed a contract. If she subsequently reneged on our deal, that was her
problem. To the best of my ability, I’d done what she’d asked of me, what she’d
contracted
me to do. I needed to keep my chin up. I’d be okay. I had
enough money to stay in a hotel until my next job.

Next
job.
The thought
of doing this all over again made my palms clammy. I was
about to be
rejected, ejected, and most likely feel dejected. It wasn’t a great way to end
your first gig.

Pack
your suitcase, Cinderella. The ball’s over.

I
hated being treated like a disposable item, but I wasn’t going to stay and
argue my case. So I turned my phone torch on, angled it away from the door and
packed my three bags by its light.

I
would have loved the luxury of a shower so I could wash every trace of Finn
from my body. I was even cranky at him by that point, because if he’d just
resisted me that little bit longer, I wouldn’t be feeling guilty. But I did the
best clean-up I could with tissues, which I secreted in a compartment of my
suitcase. I even sprayed perfume on the sheets.

If
he wanted to lie to Katinka and say we hadn’t had sex, I wasn’t going to argue.
With luck, the cleaner would get to the sheets before Katinka could investigate
them. I’d be long gone by then. They only had my email address and phone
number. They couldn’t track me down. I just had to get away quickly. The
automatic garage door would be noisy but that was okay. They’d come out in time
to see my dust, and could lock it behind me.

I
wasn’t hanging around for a post mortem.

So
I deposited my cases by the door, at peace with the fact that my toiletries—still
in Finn’s ensuite—were staying behind. The three bags combined were heavy. I’d
taken a couple of trips from the car to get all this stuff into my room, but no
way was I doing that in a stealthy exit. I wanted one silent trip through the
house. So I pulled the door open slowly, then leant down to gather the bags,
planning to crab-walk/struggle them to the garage, but when I straightened,
Finn was standing in front of me in the dark hallway wearing only his jeans.

He
smelt like sex.

“You
fucked her,” I hissed, appalled at him, for no good reason. She was his wife
for Chrissakes! He could fuck her all he wanted and it would never be cheating.

Business,
Jill. Remember it’s just business.

“No,”
he whispered. “I fucked you.”

My
eyes widened. “You stink of it.” Would Katinka have smelt that over her own
perfume?

“So
do you,” he replied, and I could tell from the heat of his gaze that he was
remembering exactly what we’d done. Neither of us had showered it off. I was
momentarily distracted, wondering what that meant, but then I was caught up in
the way he was looking at me, as if he wanted to lick me clean. It was
completely indecent of me to feel turned on in that moment, but I did, despite
my emotional confusion. Heat started building up between us and I knew I had to
walk away from that so I blurted. “I’m going.”

He
glanced at the bags weighing me down. “I’ll help you.” He pulled two of them
out of my hands and set off for the garage.

He
wouldn’t have intended to sound dismissive, but I couldn’t quell the surge of
indignation that swept through me, fueling my sense of being tossed aside.
Which was ridiculous. What had I expected? That he’d tell
me
to stay and
toss her out? I really had to get my emotions under control. The best way to do
that was to escape. Quickly.

 So
I crept after him and let the case I’d tucked under my armpit slide down into
my hands. I heard his ensuite shower as we passed his room. It was the perfect
time to leave, and a seamless escape should have made me happy, but Finn’s
eagerness to get rid of me stung. I mean, I knew I was a paid fuck, but coming
back for me while she was in the shower felt like rounding up the rubbish and
tossing it out while the missus was busy. It was ugly, and the non-business
part of my brain couldn’t comprehend how the magnificent sex we’d shared had turned
into this.

When
we reached end of the hallway I pushed past him, feeling a shiver of remembered
excitement as I brushed my shoulder against his biceps. Then I was opening the
garage door with my free hand so he wouldn’t have to put down my bags. I wanted
to be driving down the street in under sixty seconds, so I popped the trunk of
my car and threw in my suitcase, happy to have anger resurfacing—at myself for
being stupidly aroused, and at him for being so keen to get rid of me
.
Fury
was easier to deal with than whatever was making my throat tight.

I
marched past him to the driver’s door and heard him put my other two cases in
more carefully. But by the time he’d closed the trunk I was already in the
front seat, opening the roller door with the remote control and reaching for
the ignition to start the car.

“Jill.”

Hearing
him say my name in that husky half-whisper was painful, but I gritted my teeth,
reached through my open window and placed the roller door remote control into
his hand. “At least you got one fuck before she arrived home.” I was horrified
to hear my voice shaking.

I
should wind up the window in his face. But instead, I glared out the windscreen
and waited for the grumbling roller door to rise far enough for me to exit. I
hated the fact that I was so upset about this, but it didn’t matter how I tried
to rationalize it, I felt rejected. Damn Katinka and anyone who looked like
her!

He
reached in and touched my hand on the steering wheel, his fingers warm and
strong against mine. “I don’t want you to be here when—”

“I
get the picture. I’m going.” I leveled a scathing glance at him and was
surprised to see him shake his head.

“This
is all my fault.
Again.
”

“Well
it’s not my fault,” I snapped. “I was here under contract. And now I have to
find somewhere else to live for a month.”

“I’m
sorry—”

“Poor
blameless you.” I shook my head, unable to look at him in case it derailed my
anger. “Just doing what your wife wanted, and now things are awkward.”

“No.
Things are clear,” he said softly. “That was the best sex of my life, but I’m
not leaving my wife because—”

“I
don’t want you to,” I hissed, and then I glared at him for good measure. “I
never want to see you again.
Ever
.”

I
sounded like a thirteen year old having a bitch-fight in the schoolyard, but I
was completely unable to be an adult about this. I
hurt
. I’d only known
Finn for five days, but the angst I was experiencing was far worse than leaving
my live-in boyfriend of ten years.

All
I could think was
I’m shit at this job
.

“Jill,
I...” Something in his voice made me turn my head, and I was surprised to see
him looking gutted. “I don’t want this,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to
go.” His eyes were tortured, his breath hot against my face, turning me on.

I
gritted my teeth harder. “Is that why you’re escorting me off the premises?”

My
voice was brittle but I was determined to hold this together. He didn’t get to
be upset about throwing me out. Fuck that.

“I’m
married,” he said, in the same tone as you’d say,
I’m Australian
. “And
now that I’ve done what she wanted, I know it was wrong.”

And
there we have it ladies and gentleman. The Scarlet Letter. The blame always
falls on the woman.

Fucking
men.

“I
don’t remember you complaining when you were ramming your cock into me,” I
hissed, determined to ignore my libido which just wanted to pull him into the
car with me and drive off.
What was my problem?
Was it reluctance to let
go of that glorious sex?

He
swallowed hard and I could see my mean comment had stirred up his memories. His
gaze fell to my breasts under the loose tee shirt. All I could think about was
him pounding into me.

I
so
wanted to do that again. But damn him, he was married.

Instead
I said, “Contract’s over, Jack. You’re back to boring sex.” Then I put the car
into gear and drove out of his garage and out of his life, but I wasn’t to the
end of the street before I was blinking back pointless tears, and
that
made me angry all over again.

Luckily
I’m experienced at compartmentalizing pain, so the theatrics were short lived.
I pushed the emotion aside as I always did, by focusing on what was next. Where
could I go in Surfers Paradise at three in the morning?