Sweet Seduction Sayonara (14 page)

I open my mouth to argue that point when a crash out in another part of the house has us both stilling. We’re naked. I don’t own a baseball bat. The gun is locked away safely in the boot of my car in the garage. I lift my head and search for my jacket, knowing the taser is in there somewhere.

But my jacket is out in the lounge, where we first starting stripping before we reached the bed. Our clothes strewn over the furniture and floor, laying a nice trail of breadcrumbs to our defenceless bodies.

“Get up,” I say, moving out from under the sheet.

I’m standing, naked, unarmed, when they walk into the room.

I was expecting the Triads. But an inappropriate laugh escapes when I realise it’s the Yakuza.

Tadashi Ishikawa stands behind an older Japanese man. Koki Tanaka at his side.

So, this is Tanaka-sama? This is the tyrant who sells his daughter for a measure of protection.

I sneer at him before I can stop myself.

He snaps out words in Japanese, making Momoko jump. She slides off the bed, taking the sheet with her, hiding herself from the three men. Mr Tanaka turns his steely gaze toward me. I see disdain, judgement, and an anger that rivals my own.

“How dare you?” I say. “You have no right…”

He slashes his hand through the air and Tadashi moves like lightning. Even if I did have my taser, I couldn’t have raised my hand quick enough.

Koki cringes when Tadashi’s fist connects with my cheek. I stumble, and almost fall flat on my very naked arse, but not before I reach out and punch Tadashi in the stomach. He doubles over and I lift my knee, aiming for his nose. He moves sideways, dodging the blow and landing a jab into my kidneys. I grunt out a breath of air and throw a flurry of punches into his side. He wraps his arms around me and returns the favour.

It’s several long and frantic seconds of sharp pain and ragged breaths and dizzying nausea. But at a snap of Tanaka-sama’s fingers, Tadashi pulls back. I’m huffing and puffing and bent over slightly, protecting my ribs, but I smile when I see blood dripping from Tadashi’s nose. Maybe my knee did connect.

“You will not see Momoko again,” the old man says calmly. As if two blokes haven’t just had it out over his daughter in front of him, and one of them is stark naked.

I take a step to the side, keeping my eyes on all of them, and pull out a pair of track pants from my dresser. Shoving them on a little more forcefully than I should, I say, “I think that’s for Momoko to decide. Not you.”

“She is not yours,” the old man says simply.

“She is not yours to barter off to the highest bidder!” I snap back.

Tanaka-sama doesn’t even blink at my outrage. This man is a cold fish. How can Momoko, who is warm and full of laughter, come from such a frigid beast?

“Momoko!” He clicks his fingers again, as if she’s a dog. I step between them. He growls something out in Japanese.

“Finn,” Momo says softly from behind me. My heart breaks. Her small hand lands on my shoulder.

“Don’t go,” I say, turning to face her. Putting my back to the threat in the room. But also keeping me between her and the danger.

“He is my father.”

“There has to be a way. This isn’t the answer.”

She smiles up at me, it’s wistful and sad and full of something that shatters what remains intact inside me.

She’s fallen for me, like I have fallen for her.

“Momoko,” Tadashi says interrupting the epiphany. “Obey your father.”

I spin toward him, my fists up, rage burning in my eyes, but it’s Koki who steps between us. He shakes his head abruptly, a small movement I’m not sure I even see correctly. Then mutters something like, “I’m sorry,” almost too low for me to hear, and certainly too low for the others to detect.

And then he punches me in the face.

The room spins. Momo screams. And the hardwood floor comes up to greet me.

T
he office is
dark and Auckland City lies before us in all its multicoloured splendour. The lights are on in the high-rise building opposite ours. Someone's working late in there to catch up on business. From their vantage point, they could simply look across Queen Street and into my window.

And see me fucking my wife.

Kelly lets out a gasp as I wrap my hand around the front of her throat, resting my hot palm there. I don’t squeeze; I’m not that kind of guy. But my sternchen, my little star, likes to be taken possessively. I can oblige. She is completely and utterly mine.

I made sure of it.

“Can you see them?” I ask, as I run my free hand up the side of her silky dress and cup her breast. I tweak her already hard nipple through the fabric of her bodice.

“Yes,” she husks, hot breath misting the window before her lips.

“Do you think they can see you?”

“Maybe,” she says. “It is dark in here.”

“But so much ambient light outside,” I argue. “Surely some of it illuminates your pretty face. Your fucking beautiful breasts.”

I pull the edge of her dress down underneath one tit, exposing it, and then do the same to the other. Her nipples are hard, deep red against pale skin. I’m quite sure no one can really see us, but there’s a chance that they can.

And if they can, they’ll see my wife’s beautiful bust offered up for their inspection.

“Drew,” she murmurs, rocking her arse back against my straining erection. The head of my cock presses against my belt buckle.

“Place your hands on the glass,” I say.

She takes her time; Kelly likes to be in charge, too, sometimes. But not tonight. She’s teased me all day. Little phone calls telling me she’s hot and horny. Text messages about how she wants to suck my cock in the bathroom at Sweet Seduction.

We’re skipping Family Friday to go to the opera, so that little fantasy won’t work. I was tempted to get her to blow me in the car at the parking garage at Aotea Square, just outside the theatre. But we haven’t even made it out of ADK yet.

“This is what happens when you tease me, Kelly,” I say, pushing the long, slinky material of her dress up over her arse.

She’s wearing a thong, it’s red and barely there. Her arse checks are bared to the cool air in my office. I’m tempted to spin her around and press her back against the window, let the world see what a spectacular butt my wife has.

Instead I say, “Lean forward and press your tits against the glass.”

She moans as the chill from the window meets her nipples.

“Rub them back and forth. Let that guy over there in his office see your beautiful boobs, baby.”

She makes a whimpering sound, it’s low and throaty and fucking sexy.

“Press your cheek to the glass, too,” I say, running my free palm over her bare arse and then slipping a finger down between the crack in her butt cheeks, shifting the thong to the side.

“Do me,” she orders.

“I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready,” I say. “Play with yourself.”

“Drew,” she complains. I swat at her arse. She gasps, her breasts pressing up against the glass harder. A moan follows.

And then she lowers a hand, slips it under her dress, and starts fingering herself.

Nice.

“Are you getting off, Kelly?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Is it red yet, baby?”

“Need you.”

“Need me to what?”

“Fuck me.”

I chuckle. Of course she does.

“You want that guy to see you getting fucked by your husband, yeah?”

“Yes,” she says, panting, rocking against her fingers and my cock, misting up the glass of my office window.

Who am I to deny her?

“All right, then,” I say, gripping her hip and tilting her arse toward me. “Hands back on the glass. I want you looking directly at that office worker over there. Willing him to look up and see you taking it hard.”

“Yes,” she hisses enthusiastically. Her slick fingers coat the window with her juices, making her hand slip when she goes to rest it there. But then she catches herself, bracing for my first thrust.

I undo my belt, unzip my pants, and fish out my cock, stroking it while I watch Kelly writhe with anticipation before me. She’s panting, mewling, making all manner of sounds that should anyone else be in the office this late on a Friday, they’d be able to hear what my little wanton wife desires.

“Is this what you wanted when you told me you’d suck me off at Sweet Seduction?” I ask, pressing the tip of my dick against her folds.

She smirks. I smile. God, I love this woman. No man could have it better than this. A wife so hot she begs me to take her every morning. And then teases me for the rest of the day, until I repeat the act. She’s always horny. But lately, she’s been hornier than usual. Swinging by my office in the middle of the day, giving me a blow-job at my desk.

My secretary walked in on us yesterday. Kelly was kneeling out of sight on the floor, between my spread thighs, under my desk. She sucked particularly vigorously while Marjorie went over my afternoon schedule.

I grip her hip now, and thrust into her hard. She screams out my name, fists her hands against the window, and arches back to meet every rock of my hips, every glide of my cock deep inside. She’s hot and wet and squeezes me in a tight grasp, her pussy clenching and unclenching and driving me wild.

“Like this?” I say, panting on each possessive thrust.

“Faster,” she orders.

“So keen to get to the opera?”

“I want you as mad for me as I am for you,” she gasps.

“Sternchen,” I murmur, lowering my face to her bare shoulder and offering an open mouthed kiss. “I can’t get enough of you. I’m lost to you. You’re my everything.”

“Drew,” she says softly. Then, “I think he’s spotted us.”

I lift my eyes, but don’t remove my lips from her skin. I look across Queen Street, and sure enough, the guy in the office opposite has stopped working and is looking directly at us.

It’s dark in here and bright out there; I’m fairly positive he can only see shadows. But ADK owns this entire building, and everyone knows our offices are on the top floor. He’ll either think it’s one of my partners or associates, or he knows our floorpan and puts it together.

“Do you think he knows it’s you and me?” I say, continuing to thrust into her slowly.

She just bites her lip, reaching up and playing with her nipple, and then lets her head roll back, exposing her neck, moaning loudly.

I smile against her feverish skin, and nibble my way up her neck to her ear. My hand at her throat shifts down over her collarbone, and wraps around her free breast. I cup it up further, as I pump into her hot sheath from behind, and then tweak her nipple in a way that, should that guy have superhuman night vision, he could see Kelly getting off on my touch.

“Fuck,” she says, moving again, rocking back to greet me.

Yes, fuck. Fan-fucking-tastic fuck! I get off on this as much as Kelly. She’s made for me. She’s perfect in every possible way. There is nothing I would change about my wife. Not a thing. I love her zest for life. I love her adventurous spirit. I love the way she embraces living. Tries everything. Never says no to something new and exciting.

My world has never been so full of love and laughter. So full of colour. But the illicit hook-ups we plan and play out are just a mere part of what makes us… us. The rest is deep inside. Ours alone. Our love for each other. Our desire for each other. Our complete and utter understanding of each other.

Kelly is my everything. She is more than just my wife. More than just the mother of my child. She is a part of me. Buried so deep, I sometimes can’t tell where I end and she begins.

I pull out, both of us sweating and panting, gasping at the separation. But I don’t stay away for long. I never can. Kelly’s body calls to me like a siren. I spin her around to face me, she’s flushed and bright, her eyes shining, her cheeks pinked. She is spectacular. Kelly is a stunning woman at the best of times, but when I’m fucking her… she is wild and alive and electric and addictive and utterly, completely, entirely ravishing.

I grip the hem of her skirt and thrust it up over her bare arse, and then lift her up, wrapping her legs around my waist, as I thrust back into her. Her back hits the glass. The danger is not only in the guy across the street seeing her bare cheeks pressed up against it, but whether or not the fucking thing will hold.

And then I make love to my wife. Hard, fast, frantic, no holds bared, bare and dirty, filthy, glorious sex.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Kelly screams as she comes apart in my arms.

Fan-fucking-tastic!

I look at her. Not the guy watching. I look down at my wife and feel my heart almost explode with wonder. She picked me. Me. Over everyone else. And Kelly had her choice of lovers. But she picked me.

And every day I thank God that she did.

“Drew,” she says, staring up at me from under hooded lids. I’m fucking her hard, so when she speaks, her words come out between little grunts and gasps. “Fuck, I love you,” she says.

I groan. I can’t talk. I’m so fucking close. And I think that guy across the street has got binoculars on us.

“Baby,” she says, holding on and rocking back against each bump and grind of my cock. “You feel so good.”

So does she. Fuck, so does she. I’m going to come hard.

“Guess what?” she says between harsh breaths.

What? She wants a conversation now? I don’t slow down, I just suck on the side of her neck and keep thrusting. I’m so fucking close.

“I’m pregnant.”

Fuck! I spill myself inside her and the orgasm just keeps coming as I bite down on her shoulder and groan out so fucking loud, I swear the entire building hears it.

Several seconds pass as I catch my breath and my heart stops pounding.

Then I pull back, look down at Kelly’s sweat dampened face, and say, “What?”

She smirks up at me, then runs a hand down my chest, inside my shirt, venturing even lower.

“I’m going to be extra horny for the next eight months,” she says in a purr.

I arch my brow and feel my cock hardening again inside her.

“Then, I guess we better get started.”

She smiles and gasps as I start rocking again, and then I’m spinning her around and lying her down on my desk, and making her moan loud and long.

I don’t look back across the street again. I just take in my beautiful wife.

And make our world red.