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“I’m… sorry… that… that was a mistake. I should… I shouldn’t have done that.” Scrambling back off of the sofa and to her feet, she pushed her top down, being careful to walk around the coffee table and put as much space between her and her ravisher as possible as she did.
Then, without waiting for his reply, she was out of the room, down the hall, through the door, in her car and gone.
Back home, in the safety of her kitchen, Elizabeth could barely keep her hands from shaking as she sipped her tea. The residual arousal clawed at her, thrumming her nerves like taut guitar strings.
The tea took the edge off a little.
“God! What was that?”
She couldn’t believe what she’d done, and with Hugh, of all people.
It was like something out of a bloody porno. Throwing herself at a hot stud after seeing he had a gigantic cock. All that was missing was the delivery man with a funny accent and the big sausage pizza.
Oddly, though, she didn’t feel the least bit guilty. Frustrated, sure. Disappointed, maybe. Horny, fuck yeah! But no guilt.
Why would she? Patrick had his indiscretions, his little playthings, his… whores!
So what if she had a little slip with a dark and dashing toy-boy? She was a woman. She had needs.
But to do it, or nearly do it, with Hugh!
Her friend’s son. Hell, he was her own son’s friend, and not just any friend, his best friend. He was as off limits as it got. And all the hotter for it.
She quickly chugged her drink, desperate to quell the memory of his hands on her, the searing heat of his touch sizzling across her skin, working its way too – No!
Damn it all to hell, she needed to get laid. That would get it all out of her system. How long had it been anyway? Two months, maybe even three? Yes, that was it. She needed to get fucked, that was all. She needed…
She paused, an idea lurching to mind, and she looked to the kitchen window. The sky overhead was still grey and overcast, growing darker by the second as dusk crept in, but the rain was stopping.
Her lips broke into a sly smile when her gaze landed on the large and luxurious hot tub on the back porch.
Keeping his foot down hard on the accelerator, Hugh turned off the Bridgwater Road and sped down the residential street towards the Clarke family’s household on the outskirts of the Bampton area. A glance at his Omega told him it was a little after eight. Not much further now…
He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he just couldn’t leave things standing with Elizabeth the way they were. It felt like he’d been waiting his whole life to have a chance with Elizabeth Clarke, and now that he’d tasted her, he wasn’t about to let her get away.
Not now, not after he’d waited for so long.
Heedless of the rain pounding his windscreen, he sped his BMW M5 down the residential streets, taking the swerving bends lined by detached red brick and grey stone homes like turns on the Nürburgring.
The years of going to and from Mrs Clarke’s house with his mum had drilled the route into his memory, but it had been a while. He almost thought he’d gone too far until he spotted Elizabeth’s Audi and pulled in behind it on the drive.
Most of the ground floor lights in the house were on, but, much to his delight, there was no sign of Mr Clarke’s Alfa Romeo 4C. The old git might have complicated things, but if he was away on one of his infamous business trips, then his wife would be all alone.
And if her performance in his parent’s living room was any indication, she desperately needed a little TLC. Well, maybe a little less T and a whole lot of L.
Shutting the quietly purring BMW down, he slid out of the driver’s seat, pocketed the fob, and walked up the drive to the front door. His mouth suddenly drier than the desert, he tapped his knuckles against the painted timbers of the front door.
Against the soft patter of the rain, the knocks echoed like the blasts of a cannon. Suddenly nervous, Hugh couldn’t help brushing himself down, trying to smooth his clothes as he awaited an answer.
None came.
He knocked again, a little harder this time. Still no answer.
Okay, time for Plan B.
There was a time when he and Victor knew all the secret ways in and out of each other’s homes. Now the memories came swimming back. Dropping down into a crouch, he slinked round the edge of the building, beneath the overhanging ledge of the family room’s window seat, and through the flower beds. The fake rock was exactly where he remembered, nestled into the roots of a stump that had once been a towering apple tree.
Retrieving the key, he rose up and moved around to the side of the house and unlocked the padlock securing the ornate iron side gate between the house and the garage.
