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Why did he have to be so good? How was she supposed to resist this young stud when just the feel of his mouth on her breast was enough to make her loins throb with liquid passion? “I … can’t … oh god! Stick it in… fuck me! Fuck me with that big dick!”
Hugh, however, was in no hurry.
Licking the tip of her nipple, he slowly reached between her quivering thighs and slid a finger along her wet sex while gently circling her clit with his thumb. Low sounds flowed from her in heated breaths as her hips rolled wantonly against his touch. And taking that as his cue, he suddenly snapped her legs open. Hearing her surprised squeak, he grinned wolfishly around her breast before moving into position, the rounded crest of his cock sliding up and down her folds…
The sound rang out as loud and shrill as a banshee’s wail.
Lost in the depths of her fantasy, it hit Elizabeth like a bucket of ice water.
Atop the bedside table, the digital clock was flashing, illuminating the time in bright red numerals. Its alarm sang its ear-splitting song.
Besides her, Patrick lurched awake.
“Oh shit, I’m late!” he barked, jumping up from the bed and gathering up his clothes from the floor.
Tangled in the bed’s voluminous sheets, Elizabeth watched as her husband pulled his trousers up his legs and shoved his shirt down a waistband that visibly strained to contain his suety bulk before waddling out their bedroom.
Downstairs, the front door slammed shut behind him. His Alfa’s V12 engine roared to life, its tires squealed, and there was a blast of a protesting neighbour’s horn as he sped off down the street.
With a sigh, Elizabeth rolled over and silenced the cursed clock before falling back into the mound of pillows.
He didn’t spare her so much as a backwards glance.
So, what else is new.
It was the same every time he had to go away on a sales trip. She’d like to say she was used to it, but the idea that he could just up and leave her without even saying goodbye left a very bitter taste in the back of her throat.
Had he ever even loved her? Had there ever been a chance for them?
Hot tears began to well at the corners of her eyes.
No, I won’t cry! She told herself. I won’t cry for him. He’s not worth it.
For what felt like hours, Elizabeth toyed with the idea of going back to sleep. However, her body was trembling with unspent passion and before long the burning in her loins, that constant reminder of how close she’d come, drove her from her bed. Letting the sheets fall to the floor, she quickly donned her fluffy pink dressing gown before walking down the steps that led up to and from the master bedroom. Going through the hall and into the kitchen, she busied herself for a moment with the task of making a strong cup of tea before walking out into the back garden and breathing in the cool morning air.
It was hard to believe it was already October. Her garden was as beautifully vibrant as it had been in spring. The trees were still green. Everywhere flowers bloomed and birds sang.
Nothing was right, and yet it was all so perfect. So much like her own life.
And now, for another week, she was free.
It had been a month since that night. The night that had changed her life. A month since she had given into temptation, broken her marriage vows, and surrendered her body and soul to another man.
A month since she had taken Hugh Becket as her lover. Hugh, the boy she’d watched growing up, the young lawyer just coming home after years of living in the city. Hugh, her son’s best Friend.
And the greatest fuck of my life.
Something had happened to her that night. Something that went beyond mere sex. He’d opened her eyes to a whole new world, given her a glimpse of something new and exciting. Something she’d never dreamed she was capable of. She wanted to experience it.
Her son, her precious baby boy, was all grown up and away at university. Her husband was never at home. This was a new day, a new start, and a new chapter of her life. She was free to find herself, to discover who she was. She would recreate herself, and she knew just where to start.
Going back into the house, she retrieved her brand-new laptop from its hideaway under the kitchen table and started it up. Entering the password that was guaranteed to be uncrackable, at least to her dear loving husband who hadn’t remembered their anniversary once in all their years of marriage, she selected the pre-installed Word processor. The screen went white with the infamous white page.
What better way to reinvent herself than by creating her character in a book?
Sipping her tea, she considered the screen for a moment, then typed.
Confessions of a Trophy Wife.
