One Too Many Read online

  “While we’re talking of secrets,” I continued, “if you have any special requests you’d like to share out of earshot of your husband, now would be a good time.”

  “I have no special requests,” she claimed. “This is all about the money, don’t flatter yourself for a single heartbeat by thinking it’s not.”

  I folded my arms. “Your customer service is very poor. No wonder your bookings are low.”

  She stayed in position, folded at the waist in such close proximity I could feel the heat from her. “With all due respect, sir, not many of our customers tell me my sweet little cunt is wet for them over Sunday breakfast.”

  “Not many customers would be telling the truth.”

  “What makes you think you are?” she challenged and I broke the standoff with a smile.

  “Only one way to settle the dispute.”

  “Put that cash into our bank account and I’ll settle whatever dispute you want,” she said. “Until then, my sweet little cunt is none of your business.”

  She picked up the discarded sachets as she left me to my coffee, swaying her hips angrily with every step.

  I loved a girl with flames in her belly. Breaking them apart in the bedroom was all the more satisfying when they spat and sparkled.

  She didn’t say another word when she returned with my breakfast. I offered her nothing in return other than a thanks and a nod as I got stuck into a hearty meal. It was a decent tick in the service box, considerably more impressive than their barely passable coffee. The eggs were cooked just fine and the toast was nicely golden, not burned.

  It was Brett who came for my empty plate just as soon as I’d patted my lips with a napkin, scooping up my leftovers with his trademark pitted brow.

  “We need to talk,” he said, and I flashed him a smile before tossing my napkin atop the plate he carried.

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” I responded, glancing beyond him to where his wife hovered by the doorway.

  He whispered something in her ear as he passed her on the way back to the kitchen, and she slipped into the seat opposite me without meeting my eyes.

  We waited in silence, her eyes on the horizon and my eyes on her. I wondered what she’d been thinking, in those dark recesses of her mind that twirled with fantasies of the unknown. I wondered if she’d already been pinning her deepest fantasies on the shadowy prospect of a night doing my bidding.

  I wondered if she had any idea how she’d squirt like a wanton little slut from that hungry pussy of hers and beg me for more. I wondered if she knew how her asshole would wink from its wide open mouth when I’d finished stretching her holes to my liking.

  Brett wasted no time with niceties when he joined his wife opposite me. His hands were firm as they landed in loose fists on the table top, subconsciously staking his authority in the proceedings as he cleared his throat and got straight down to business.

  I appreciate no-nonsense communication. In a parallel dimension, I may have even liked the guy.

  “Fifty grand,” he said. “Nine hours on Tuesday night. We need some ground rules.”

  “You will watch,” I reiterated. “From beginning to end, no interruptions or outbursts.”

  “Agreed,” he grunted. “Now, you’d better tell me what seedy shit you want to do to my wife, and I’ll tell you what’ll get your head kicked in.”

  I relaxed into my chair, my shoulders sloped easily, at odds to the tension bristling right through his. His biceps were bulging in his dark shirt, the stubble on his jaw adding to the inherent masculinity he’d been wearing like team colours his whole life long.

  “Ass, pussy, mouth,” I said. “I’ll take all three as hard as I like without protest. I like to push limits, so there may well be some tenderness for a few days afterward, but no medical intervention will be necessary.”

  Grace pulled her seat closer and leaned in to join the discussion.

  “If you think for a second you’re going to double fist me to the elbow like you’re inseminating a cow, and I’m just going to take it like a good little whore, you’re very mistaken,” she told me. “My body doesn’t work that way, sorry.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’m fully aware how your body will and won’t work, Mrs Foster. Most likely more aware than you are.”

  “You hurt her, your body will be the one not fucking working,” Brett grunted, and this time I wanted to roll my eyes at his same old bully boy shit.

  “As I said, no medical intervention will be necessary. Bondage, spanking, stretching and verbal degradation, however, are most certainly on the table.”

  “You want to insult me?” she asked, and I straightened my back.

  “You’ll enjoy the way I speak to you, I can assure you.”

  She shook her head, laughing an incredulous little giggle. “Don’t count on it. I won’t be enjoying any of it.”

  And there was my moment. Pure and proud and perfect.

  They both looked up at me open-mouthed as I got to my feet and stepped away from the table.

  “Let’s forget it,” I said, thrusting my hands in my trouser pockets like it was the easiest thing in the world to walk away. “I can see we’re not on the same page, and clearly you’re not invested in providing the quality of service I’m looking for. Thank you for a delicious breakfast and good luck with the coming months.”

  I’d turned my back on them and made it halfway to the exit before Grace’s voice called my name. I pretended I didn’t hear her, walking on with brisk steps until she was forced to call out again, this time with a desperation that made my dick harden.

  I turned back slowly, knowing full well I had her.

  The fear in her husband’s eyes at my potential departure made it perfectly clear I had him, too.

  “Please,” she said. “I didn’t…”

  I stood statue still while she stumbled over her next words.

  “I am invested in providing the service you want, I swear. I’m just…”

  “We’re just on edge,” he offered right after her, raising his hands and shunting a little way back from the table. “We’ll make sure you get what you’re looking for. Both of us.”

  His sliver of submission to my upper hand was a bolt of pure fucking brilliance up my spine.

  Chapter Eight

  Brett

  I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to pat him on the back for his steel balls, or rip them clean off him as he launched into a polished monologue detailing exactly what he wanted to do to my Grace.

  The prick had the upper hand and we both knew it. Hated it, but knew it all the same.

  If we wanted fifty grand of his dirty cash to save our hotel, we’d have to keep our mouths shut and give him enough to keep him satisfied. As much as I wanted to let him walk away, I couldn’t. Not with Grace so desperate to make this place our home. Not with so many sleepless nights where she cried body-wracking sobs into her pillow and hoped I wouldn’t hear her.

  I clenched my fists hard under the table as we listened to his filth, loosening them only slightly as Grace’s hand slipped under the table and folded over mine.

  I couldn’t let myself picture the reality of the things he had in mind. Dare not imagine the guy opposite with his dick thrust balls deep down my wife’s throat while she retched and choked with tears streaming down her pretty face. Shouldn’t even contemplate the prospect of him stretching her tight little asshole wide open and filling the soft pink gape with his filthy cum. That and his tongue, his dick, his whole fucking fist if he had his fucking way.

  We shouldn’t be doing this, not for all the dreams in the world, not at the cost of even a scrap of her self-respect.

  I tore my glare from him as he took a breath, chancing a look at my wife to gauge her reaction before stepping in and casting off this craziness for good, but the sight of her knocked me sideways.

  Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted just enough for me to know she was fighting her ragged breaths for calm. But it wasn’t fear or disgust that ha
d her senses reeling. It wasn’t even nerves.

  I knew my wife plenty well enough to know when she was trying to subdue her excitement at something she was worried I wouldn’t approve of.

  Expensive curtains on the credit card, a great deal on a five star holiday during a time we shouldn’t be taking leave from work, a pair of shoes she didn’t have room for in her closet but wanted all the same.

  Multiply that exasperated silence tenfold and you still wouldn’t be close to the way she was staring dumbstruck at the man opposite.

  I knew it then, in that terrible heartbeat, that on some level she wanted to spend the night with him. She’d never admit it, not in this lifetime. I doubted she’d even admit it to herself, maybe not even late at night when she played with herself thinking I was deep asleep at her side.

  She didn’t need to admit it, I could feel the truth with every bone in my body.

  What was most concerning of all was that I could feel it in my fucking boner as well.

  Of all the things I’d ever expected to get a hard on over, this was scraping the dregs of the unimaginable. A pompous prick, with an ocean more cash than decency, talking about fucking my wife on my own fucking property while I watched should have been enough for me to kick the dickhead out on his posh boy ass before hearing another word of it.

  But it was there regardless, the unapologetic biological truth throbbing in my pants under my clenched fists. My balls tight and angry and begging to fucking blow as he asked us if we’d ever explored bondage and submission.

  It was like he was asking how we liked our red wine. The guy didn’t blanche for even a second at the intrusion.

  Grace answered before I had the chance.

  “No,” she said. “At least, not really. Not seriously.”

  I remembered back to our early days when I’d once tied her wrists with my tie and given her ass a slap for the fun of it. I hadn’t thought she’d wanted more, not in all the years since. Hadn’t considered repeating the experience with a little more clout than I had after a couple too many beers after a work night out.

  “We’ve done plenty of things,” I grunted, hating how defensive I sounded.

  Grace shrunk back in her seat a little, her fingers squeezing mine under the table in some weird unnecessary apology.

  The prick flashed another of those cocky grins I wanted to smash from his face. “I’m hardly a relationship counsellor. Your intimate dynamics are of no interest to me. I’m simply trying to gauge your experience level.”

  “She’s had plenty of practice,” I told him.

  “I’m sure,” he said, clearly not believing it.

  I hoped he’d last ten minutes in bed before shooting his load in a miserable dribble and failing to get it up for a repeat. I hoped he was all mouth and no bollocks to go along with it, but I knew I wouldn’t be holding my breath.

  You don’t find self-assurance of that calibre in someone struggling with staying power.

  Nor in someone with a small dick.

  My gut twisted at the thought I’d see it in glorious fucking detail, threatening to bring up the food I’d grabbed during my breakfast chef run, yet still my cock throbbed down below, at odds with everything I thought I stood for.

  I didn’t want another man to fuck my wife. I’d never in the whole time I’d known her wanted to see her with someone else. Never even thought about it.

  “I won’t make you take my fist unless you ask me for it,” he said, grabbing my attention right back again.

  “I won’t be asking for it,” she said in a beat. “I’ll be taking what you insist and nothing more.”

  I’d have believed her before breakfast. I still wanted to believe her now.

  I hated that I didn’t.

  I hated the shy smile she flashed me, seeking reassurance.

  She really did have no idea that she wanted this.

  “My wife won’t be taking your fist,” I told him. “You’ll realise that soon enough when Tuesday night comes. She isn’t like the cheap whores you probably pick up in the city.”

  He laughed as though the idea was ridiculous. “I don’t use whores, Mr Foster.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you do,” I responded. “I’m just telling you that my wife isn’t some kind of cheap slut who could take a horse and ask for more. She’s not that kind of woman.”

  He leaned across at me. “With all due respect,” he said, “I’ll gauge for myself what kind of woman your wife is. I think she may surprise you.”

  “Don’t fucking count on it,” I growled, and he shrugged as though I was a fucking moron.

  I knew then that I’d break his jaw if there wasn’t fifty grand on the table.

  “Does that conclude the fine print?” he asked, and I met his gaze deadpan.

  “Get your rocks off however you want,” I warned, “but the minute Grace calls my name and says she’s changed her mind, it’ll be game over. Push her too far and it’s all out the fucking window.”

  “And what about you, Grace?” His attention landed on my wife’s wide eyes and I felt a fresh bout of desire to wring his neck, fifty grand be fucked. “How do you feel about the conditions?”

  Her shrug was barely visible. “I’ll take whatever you want,” she said. “As long as I physically can and it’s within the allotted hours. It’s a service, you’re paying well for it.”

  I wasn’t expecting his outstretched hand across the table, ready to shake on this fucked up deal. Mine were so clammy in fists that I had to wipe them down before making a move to accept the handshake, but Grace had reached hers out between us before I had the opportunity.

  “Just one more thing,” she said, and her voice was breathy with the nerves she’d done so well to keep close to her chest. “Why Tuesday? Why not tonight? The sooner the better, in my opinion. No point keeping it hanging over our heads, right?”

  She had a point. The sooner this was done and the asshole was gone, the better, but the shake of his head put paid to that concept.

  “No good, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m expecting some deliveries.” He tipped his perfectly preened head in her direction. “Plus, I’m very much enjoying my stay here. You really do have a corner of paradise. I’m glad you opted to keep hold of it.”

  “Deliveries?” she quizzed, caring shit for the compliment.

  “Of the private kind,” he elaborated. “You’ll be able to admire my purchases up close on Tuesday evening.”

  He offered his hand afresh, this time directly to her.

  I watched her dainty fingers grip his with hate spitting in my gut.

  “Oh, one final thing,” he added, still holding tight. “I insist on no protection. I trust you are on the pill? I assure you I’m clean, I can get my latest medical emailed over if required.”

  I don’t know why the thought of him riding her bareback was the final straw that broke my back, but I got up from my seat with a face like death, grunting that we were done with the fucking small print before heading back to the kitchen, angling myself to make sure that neither of them caught sight of the swell of my dick as I went.

  I didn’t wait for Grace to join me before I headed further on through to the back bathroom.

  I couldn’t stand her seeing me like this. Couldn’t bear the thought of admitting that something about this fucked up filth made me hard. It left me one option, and one option only.

  It was the angriest fucking hand job of my life.

  Chapter Nine

  Grace

  I hated my body for betraying me.

  I couldn’t deny it, even though I wanted to with every scrap of decency in me. I was fluttering like the horny little teenager who’d first crushed on Brett back in high school, but it wasn’t about my husband, and it wasn’t about kisses and hand holding and the thought of his big strong arms holding me tight.

  It was over this arrogant asshole of a guy in front of me, and the filthy words from his mouth. It was over all the dirty things he was planning to do to me, a
nd the way he’d listed them off like they were nothing more than a grocery list.

  Maybe they were nothing to him, but they were everything to me. Far beyond anything I’d ever done with Brett, even in all these years.

  I guess that’s why I stayed in my seat while Brett made his exit like an angry bull. I needed to. I needed to tell this stranger exactly what he was dealing with and hope he had enough of a heart to bear it in mind with his crazy plans.

  “I’ve only ever been with my husband,” I said quietly. “I just thought you should know.”

  If he was in any way surprised he didn’t show it. It made me wonder if it was that obvious. If I was so painfully monogamous that the whole universe could see it a mile off.

  “Every cloud has a silver lining,” he said back with a smile on his face. “Take it as another benefit. An unexpected broadening of your horizons.”

  “You make it sound like that’s a good thing.”

  “Isn’t it? Curiosity must have presented itself over the years, no?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

  “Or made her come harder than she’s come in her life.”

  I swallowed down the urge to flash him the finger and tell him to get out of our lives.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I muttered.

  He laughed, but it wasn’t an unkind one. It was confident and honest, like he really believed this shit.

  Maybe he did.

  Maybe he really would know my body better than I knew it myself.

  I dismissed the thought as soon as I felt the shitty little traitor in my brain. My husband knew me. My husband knew how to make me come. My husband was more than everything I’d ever wanted.

  The man in front of me linked his fingers on the table top. “With all due respect, sweetheart, you’ve been with one man your whole life. I don’t think your benchmark of prowess is all that objective.”

  “My husband is a great lover. As I’m sure you saw well enough for yourself through the window last night.”