Читать книгу: «Ladies Who Lust: An Erotica Collection»

Marmalade
Delilah Devlin

The invitation was unexpected. And, in my opinion, unearned. My husband Greg was new to Talbot Enterprises and there were several layers of management between himself and Bob Talbot, the President and CEO. Greg had barely finished the company’s rigid orientation and had just begun to join the seasoned legal eagles in their annual policy reviews to acclimate to the corporate culture.

Still, the prissy vellum envelope lay on my belly where Greg had dropped it as soon as he’d swept into the bedroom, proof of this unexpected turn. His face was ruddy from excitement and the run up the stairs to our third-storey apartment. I felt like The Grinch for letting my naturally suspicious nature question a windfall – a chance for Greg to spend some time alone with the boss and cultivate a valuable relationship.

‘Why do you suppose he asked us?’ I sat up, a bit perturbed that he was much more excited about the invitation to spend a weekend at the Talbots’ lodge than to find me nude and wearing clamps on my nipples, and my pussy shaved and glistening with opal glitter. However, I wasn’t about to spoil his moment of triumph simply because I was horny, and therefore grumpy. ‘Are you sure we’re the only other couple going to Cedar Lake this weekend?’

Greg didn’t answer because his glance had snagged at last on my glittering pussy. He nearly strangled himself yanking off his tie. Buttons pinged against the floor as he wrestled his way out of his dress shirt.

To forestall permanent injury to the treasure in his trousers, I reached for his buckle, tugged it open and jerked down his fly.

He was balls-deep before he said, ‘We’ll be the only couple there for the whole fucking weekend.’ His head swooped down, and he kissed me hard. ‘Up for it?’

What’s a girl gonna say when her hubby’s whole body is taut with excitement, and that’s saying a lot because he worked out to maintain his former linebacker physique?

I shoved aside my doubts, dug my nails into his ass and said, ‘Why not? Sounds like fun, babe.’

* * *

I’d first met Tess Talbot at a corporate wives tea. She’d presided over the gathering, wearing a white silk suit that moulded her lush curves, her platinum hair twisted into a neat bun. I’d been intimidated by the formality of the event – too many utensils and fragile porcelain – and by her stature. She was tall and shaped like Charlize Theron while I was built more like the little girl in Juno.

Further, she was very, very British – her diction crisply precise. I had to watch every word to keep from dropping ‘g’s and sounding like a hick.

At the tea, she’d been gracious, her glance taking in my girlish sheath dress without a curve to mar the straight lines. Even then, I’d imagined she’d been about to say something. Maybe a kindly suggestion to never wear yellow, or to tell me I had strawberry jam on my chin, something I’d discovered when I’d hit the ladies’ room later.