By angelic_amy
Chapter 1: Caught
Steam rose from their heated flesh, fogging the full-length mirror and windows in the gratuitously overdecorated ensuite. Designer undergarments lay strewn across the marble tiled floors, torn in the haste of removal. An empty champagne bottle and two crystal flutes perched precariously on the edge of the vanity.
Desire burned her from within as talented hands manipulated her flesh in all the right places. Here in this room, with him, she was wanted. Here with him, she was needed. Desired. Craved. He couldn’t get enough of her.
Feeling desired, lusted after, it was like a drug. Once was never enough and often she was left wanting. When conflicting schedules would not permit their clandestine plans. Where there was some function she had to attend. A meeting at some conference or other, formal dinner parties, weekends away at swish resorts. Like the good little trophy wife she attended. And mingled. Smiled and spoke softly, laughed at the appropriate intervals, was the very image of a doting wife. Picture perfect, she played her part to a tee. So believable in fact that even her husband was fooled into thinking that everything was just perfect. If only he took the time to take a closer look then he would see the truth.
But only he could truly see through the facade she painted at these events. Each event she counted down the hours, the minutes, the seconds until she could remove the mask and just be.
It was almost unbearable. Being in the same room, moving in the same circles, and not being able to act on her hunger. She wanted to scream, to shout out her frustration. How was it possible that no one else noticed her discontent? All she wanted in the impossibly long moments where one dull conversation blended into another was to break away. To run away from her life of lies, even for just a moment.
Secret touches in passing, looks that sent shivers up her spine, whispered words that made her wet and ready and wanting. They were all she was permitted. Until after, when he would make her forget. Forget her life, forget the guilt, forget everything except his hands upon her flesh, his lips upon hers, his cock buried within her.
She needed this. That’s what she kept telling herself. No, she deserved this.
Even more assuaging was the fact it was a sentiment returned two-fold. He ached for her; he felt physical pain when they parted. Do you know how powerful that is? How it feels to be needed—wanted so much? Like an addict she craved the attention, the affection, the ardour.
After several years of physical and emotional neglect in a marriage that at this point existed purely for appearances, she had finally had enough. Fed up with the lonely nights, of being ignored, of being presented with a credit card anytime she’d tried to resolve the problems in the union, she had come to a decision. It was time to start living for her. What she wanted. If her husband wouldn’t give it to her, well, she resolved to find it elsewhere. And it hadn’t taken her very long to find a willing participant. In fact, he’d been under her nose the whole time.
With him she didn’t think, only acted. With him she was not denied, only cherished. With him she felt. And that was why she had allowed it to continue as long as it had. The months had blended into one another to the point where she almost couldn’t remember the time before the sneaking around began. Almost.
A small wave of guilt washed over her but it was quickly brushed away when those hands of his began plying her body. Touching, stroking, groping, fingering, his hands could focus their attention to a specific area of her body yet be everywhere at the same time. He played her like a well-loved instrument, one he knew better than her own husband.
Guilt again, this time brushed away by those luscious lips. His mouth found her throat and suckled, drawing a lusty moan from her deep within. He licked, he laved and just when he began to suck her hands found his face and clutched at his cheeks. Dragged his lips to hers. Where they wouldn’t leave a mark.
She was getting impatient; he was drawing it out too much. Something that had begun as a casual agreement, a union born from mutual wanting, had manifested into something more substantial. Feelings had developed, affection on her part, more on his. Lately his game had been to draw it out until she begged him, torture her with his hands and his tongue until it became too much for her to bear, until she admitted her need. She needed him, and he needed her to need him.
The fact he was a hell of a lot more patient than she was meant that she always submitted. Not that she minded. It was better than she received at home, a cold bed and apathy from the one who swore to love and cherish her.
Anger coursed through her blood, fuelling her need that much more. One hand snaked down his body to grasp what she wanted, while the other pressed firmly against his chest. With a step forward and an aggressive shove she backed him up against the wall.
Tuned into what she wanted her lover’s hands grasped the globes of her ass and pulled her forcefully to him. Her legs wrapped around his hips of their own accord, and he switched their positions, spinning and slamming her up against the wall.
A picture frame dropped from its hook on the wall and glass shattered across the floor. Neither paid it any attention.
Her fingers wound through his hair and tugged hard. His hands worshipped her breasts. Her tongue assaulted his mouth. His lips suckled hers.
When they came together she sighed. In that moment she felt complete. In that moment she felt. When he slowed, his movements becoming gentle, her ire increased. This was supposed to be about feeling, not feelings. Emotion would only complicate things further and she didn’t need that right now.
All she wanted to do was to forget. Forget the mess her life was. Forget what it could have been. Forget everything but the man wrapped in between her thighs.
Their pace quickened. Breaths came out in ragged puffs. A shimmery layer of sweat slickened their skin. Thrusts became deeper, harder, faster; yet each time the withdrawal was torturously slow. Teasing. It was a game she was well familiar with by now, but one she had yet to tire of. Drawing out their pleasure until it became too much to bear.
Kisses were peppered along the column of her neck, the line of her jaw, his lips slowly making their way to hers. Endearments were whispered against her skin, sentiments she accepted whole-heartedly yet did not reciprocate. Doing so would be mean admitting to what they were doing and that was something she was not ready to face.
Adulterer was not a word she thought she would ever align with her name, nor was it a label she wished to be stuck with. Like each time before she vowed to herself that this would be the last time. No more sneaking around. No more stolen kisses. No more muddying her vows, however unimportant her spouse seemed to think of them. But each time she had thought of them with finality, when she mentally closed that door, he drew her back in. Like always. With a smile. With a brush of his fingers down her spine. With a promise filled look.
Brushing the thoughts away she concentrated on the now. The now that was bringing her closer and closer to climax with each thrust of his hips, with every stroke of his talented fingers. She dug her heels into his backside, urging him faster. To which he immediately complied.
A burning sensation rose within her, churning and growing and building momentum, until it became too much to hold back. Orgasm wracked her body and she cried out in pleasure.
“Oh, oh god!”
Her lover followed seconds later, his answering call a roar of her name. His knees buckled and they collapsed onto a chaise lounge. Like every coupling it took several long moments for them to regain normal breathing function, for their heart rates to slow to normal.
Gentle fingers rose to the side of her face, caressing a cheek as they tucked behind her ear a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her eyes in the process of their lovemaking.
Emotion burned from his eyes and she looked away.
He was used to this. The way she would withdraw afterward. When her conscience would return. But not this time, he wouldn’t let her deny what had happened, wouldn’t let her pass it off as an opportunity taken. It was more, they were more, he just had to help her realise that.
Cupping her cheeks he lowered his lips to hers for a tender kiss. For a moment she hesitated, and his heart skipped a beat with worry. Then she responded and he sighed with relief. It was a step. A small one but still progress.
“Love, look at me,” he beseeched.
A moment of hesitation, and she complied. And before she could stop herself an explanation, a reason for escape was already upon her lips. “I need to get dressed, he’ll be home soon and--”
The excuse hung in the air unfinished, cut off by the creak of a door opening, a gasp of shock, and a snarl of outrage.
“You bitch.”
To be continued...