She's a Star (a Hollywood Hotwife story) (18 page)

“Okay….”

“It’s five o’clock here right now, so in about 12 hours you’d be landing at Heathrow, and that would be 5am London time.”

“I guess that would be okay. You’d want to see me right then?”

She stood, and after taking a while to get her garters in place as she wanted them, she pulled a tiny crimson cocktail dress from the wardrobe.

“We might even be still out partying after the premiere,” she said. “Then, I guess we’d end up collapsing into bed….”

“And I’d see you…once you were done?”

“Sure. Maybe after a little sleep.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling my blood pumping around my body, my manhood rock-hard. “So are you saying Liona has booked me on a flight in two hours?”

“Get your suitcase packed,” she said. “I’ll see you in London.”

Chapter Sixteen

I was left in silence, stunned.

Hayley had been reluctant for so long, it hardly seemed real that she was now planning on going all the way with Aaron—and potentially within just a few hours.

The doorbell sounded, snapping me out of my daze. I groaned, feeling certain it was some overly ruthless paparazzi trying to get me to show my face. But I did go down to check—you never knew who it might be, might have been the police, you never knew.

Downstairs I went to the door to peer through the spy hole, and for a moment I figured the young dark-haired woman on my doorstep was another photographer or a journalist thinking she was smarter than the rest. After a moment, though, I realized it was Liona.

Checking for photographers and seeing none, I opened the door, and her pretty face cracked into a warm smile.

“Hi!”

She was wearing a dark blue and white striped long-sleeve top which molded to her body, the stripes emphasizing her trim figure and shapely breasts. Her jeans were tight in all the right places, and she was just so damn pretty, her dark hair tied in a girlish ponytail, bangs falling down almost to her lively green eyes, her full lips blazing with bright scarlet lipstick.

“Uh…hey, Liona. I wasn’t…expecting you.”

“You wanted some help packing, right?”

She marched on past me, her candy-sweet perfume filling my lungs, and up the stairs without any actual agreement on my part—a petite force of nature.

I guess her sudden new hair color just made her a little more noticeable to me—but what a time to develop a crush on someone who wasn’t my wife. I was all testosterone just now, it was oozing through my pores, pumping up my muscles, burning me up as it coursed through my veins. The simple fact of knowing that my wife was just about to go out for the night and party with another man, before fully intending to open her legs for him—it turned me into a raging inferno of masculinity and furious arousal.

I closed the door and headed upstairs myself, to find her busily pulling out my suitcase before opening our wardrobe to begin selecting clothes for me to wear in London. She seemed to know where everything was without me even having to hint.

And she was talking non-stop, like someone had paid her to do a running commentary on all this.

“…I can’t believe you guys are doing this. I mean, I understand why…it sounds logical, right? I mean…your beautiful wife is going to get tempted in this incredible new career of hers, so why not just let her enjoy the temptations, and there’s no reason to stop seeing her…I mean…you guys are in love, right? But it’s one thing to say it, and another thing to actually do it….”

I just stood there, a little confused, more than a little bemused. Hayley must have sent her. Had to have told her where everything was. There was no opening of incorrect drawers, no mistakenly going to Hayley’s side of the wardrobe: she was pinpoint packing, knowing exactly where she was going and what she was looking for.

“I’m sure it would have happened anyway,” I said, not quite knowing what to say to her. I guess I had to assume Hayley was telling her everything. They had become very close. “I mean, what woman wouldn’t?”

Liona flashed her eyes at me. “We’re not all driven by our libido. Contrary to what you men sometimes think of us, most of us are pretty rational.”

“Okay, yes, I’m sorry. But Hayley’s had a crush on Aaron Simpson since forever.”

“And that’s the reason to just let her…do whatever?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Guys aren’t usually understanding like that…husbands aren’t usually understanding at all, right? And you’re not just letting her do it—you want her to do it, right?”

I shrugged. “I like the idea of her being happy.”

“You get off on it, though. It turns you on. The fact that she’s going to cheat on you—”

“It’s not cheating—” I started to respond.

“If you know it’s happening and approve. She told me you’d say that…”

She pulled my boxer shorts out of my drawer, and it struck me as a little strange to see her handling my underwear.

“But you never did this before, right? You guys were never into swinging or anything like that? She never fooled around with anyone else before while you two were together?”

“No, she’s always resisted the idea.”

Liona laughed. “Crazy!”

She walked into the bathroom, and went on. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d be perfectly happy with you for the rest of my life…but if I knew you had a thing about me sleeping with other guys as well, I’d be on Ashley Madison like a shot.”

I felt my ears burn a little. Had Liona just dropped a hint that she liked me, or was she merely thinking in Hayley’s mindset just now?

I said, trying to ignore her slip of the tongue, “You know Ashley Madison got hacked, right? You’d probably end up being publicly shamed.”

She came out of the bathroom and surprised me by shoving a plastic bottle in my hands—shampoo? I peered at it. Just for Men.

“Here,” she said. “Hit the showers, buddy. I want you tall, dark and handsome by the time we leave here—and we haven’t got long. I’ll finish packing.”

I stared at the bottle of hair dye. Medium brown. I’d never used hair dye before in my life. I wasn’t even sure how—

“There’s some gloves by the sink,” Liona interrupted my thoughts. “Just put it in, wait five minutes and then hit the shower, shampoo it out.”

I hesitated, and she added, “You want me to come do it for you?” I looked at her and she broke into a mischievous grin. “I mean, Hayley didn’t actually ask me to take a shower with you…but you know…fair’s fair, right?”

I smiled, and headed for the bathroom. “None of this is about me wanting to sleep with other women,” I said.

Inside the bathroom, I dropped the Just for Men bottle on the counter by the sink, and pulled off my shirt.

“But you guys must have said something about it—I mean, if she gets to be with Aaron, what’s in it for you?” I turned, and she was standing there leaning against the doorway, apparently enjoying the sight of me pulling off my shirt.

I shook my head. “It’s not like that,” I said. I slipped on the clear vinyl gloves she’d provided for me, and gazed at myself in the mirror, at my close-cropped dark blond hair, which seemed to have gained a wealth of gray hairs since I’d last really looked at myself.

“So what’s it like?” she prompted me.

I said, “I love my wife. What I want is to see her…given attention…by someone else. And how much she enjoys it.”

Liona wrinkled her forehead. “So, you’re a voyeur, right?”

“Something like that,” I said, trying to explain as I started rubbing in the cool hair dye all over my scalp. “But it’s my wife that I want to watch…I don’t know…maybe I don’t even have to watch—just know that it’s happened, that she’s done it. There’s just something about the strong bond we have…and how it feels to be giving her a completely new sexual experience…and to know she’s being such a bad girl to go through with it….”

“Hmm….” Liona nodded. “You like bad girls, huh?”

“It’s complicated,” I said. “There’s a lot of different facets to it. The feeling that you’re both breaking a big taboo—and the whole risk factor….”

“Risk factor? You mean the risk that you’ll lose her?”

I smiled at her bewilderment. “I don’t mean I actually want to gamble our marriage away,” I said. “I have to fully trust that she loves me, and after she’s had her fun, she’ll still be mine first and foremost.”

Liona nodded. “But you like the feeling of danger.”

“It’s controlled danger, really. Walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls—you’re not intending to take a huge leap to your doom into a huge great waterfall. But the presence of the danger just makes the whole thing…I don’t know…more powerful.”

She stood there a moment in silence, and I could see two small peaks pressing up against her stripy top from the beautiful mounds of her breasts. It wasn’t cold in here: Liona seemed to be interested in the idea of a husband finding it exciting to allow his wife to sleep with others.

“And it won’t freak you out?” she said, breaking the silence as she suddenly realized how awkward it might seem. “I mean afterward…when you get her back, and she’s been with another guy?”

“Why should it?” I asked, finishing up the dyeing part of the process. “She was with other guys before me, wasn’t she?”

“That’s different. And that’s…ages ago.”

I set the timer on my smartphone to tell me when five minutes were up.

I shrugged. “It’s just sex. It’s not like she’s been rolling around in sewage. I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of seeing her right after, of being with her right after. She’d be so hot…and there’d be no doubt what she’d just done….”

“Mmm…so dirty….” Liona moaned, but then caught herself. “Jesus, if only all men were like you. I tell you what—there probably wouldn’t be any wars. Ever.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “We’d still have religions, right?”

*

I closed the door on her as my timer ticked down to zero and it was time to step in the shower—but that didn’t stop Liona coming in while I was washing off the dye, supposedly to get my toiletries to pack in the suitcase. She wasn’t subtle—yelling at me not to bother having a shave as she went.

She left the bathroom door open as she left, too.

“So I’m in disguise, huh?” I said loudly, believing her to be downstairs by now. She’d left some clean clothes spread out on the bed for me, and they were not clothes I’d ever seen before. Black jeans, black faded print t-shirt and dark blue hooded top. Comfortable, at least, and the perfect size as it turned out.

“Of course,” she said, walking in the room right as I was pulling on clean underwear. Jesus. Well, she’d probably seen everything already anyway, while she’d invaded my privacy in the bathroom. “I mean, people won’t be looking for you, I’m sure…but if there’s any danger of you being recognized on a flight to London…well, reporters like to connect up the dots, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“Here.” She handed me a pot of expensive-looking hair gel.

“What am I going for? The Gordon Gecko look? Or the full Pee-Wee Herman?” I joked.

Liona rolled her eyes at me, and took the hair gel back. She ordered me to pull on the hooded top, then stood behind me, in front of the mirror, to style my hair like some kind of boy band member. I had to admit, she was good at this. I looked completely different. Finally, she handed me a pair of dark-framed glasses.

“Very Clark Kent,” I commented.

Standing in the doorway again, she smiled. “I’ll say.”

I glanced at her, and how the new hair color seemed to make her look so different than how I knew her, and the timing of her switch to brunette suddenly tweaked something in my head. “You’re coming with me to London?”

She nodded. “If anyone is checking the airport for you, they won’t be looking for a couple.”

I kind of liked the idea of a little company on the long trek to London. And perhaps a friendly face on the other side if it turned out that waiting while my wife had an affair with another man was harder to deal with than I expected.

“You don’t have work to do? You can just take off for London for a few days?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Hayley’s by far my biggest client. The others I can handle over the phone for a while.”

Outside, a bright red Dodge Viper sat parked in the street. I dumped the suitcases next to it on the sidewalk, said: “You were trying to deflect attention from us on this trip, weren’t you?”

She grinned. “Hey, just because we’re going incognito, doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves, right? It’s not my normal ride, so….”

At least there was enough trunk space to get my suitcases in—and next to Liona’s suitcases, too. As she drove us to LAX at a little more than the legal speed limit, I guess I found out something I hadn’t known about Liona Fairbanks—she was definitely into cars in a big way.

Anyway. We got out of the country in two business class seats—without being spotted, and that was the important thing. Liona’s tendency to babble constantly about anything and everything even helped to take my mind off things for a while.