Cheating on my husband had never crossed my mind before. Never. As soon as I said my vows, I meant them, even though he wasn't my choice and I wasn't sure that he would do the same for me.
Why not? Why not take the plunge? I was in a beautiful suite with a beautiful man who was attracted to me.
I could have ended up with a completely disgusting toad who won me in a card game, but instead, it was this guy. A young, handsome playboy with a rebellious streak and a great body if the muscles in his arm were anything to go by.
Why not? I basically had my husband's blessing. What would he do if he won someone's wife in a game?
“I think I need another drink,” I said. He got up and poured us both new drinks.
“Yeah, so I was saying,” I said.
“What is it?” he asked, sitting. If I didn't do it now, my nerve would run out. I leaned in and I kissed him. Heat sizzled between us and I grabbed the collar of his shirt, but then he pushed me away. His blue eyes were clouded, but intense searching mine.
“Babe,” he said. “Are you sure you want this? I never expected it coming up here. I swear,” he said probably reading disbelief on my face. “I thought your husband was crazy for putting you up in the game and I knew that me winning would give you the best shot, so you didn’t end up with some old lout. I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with.”
“This has nothing to do with my husband.”
He tucked some of my hair behind my ear, still searching my eyes, giving me a chance to tell him to stop. “Are you sure about that? I don't consider you a prize.”
That was fine because I did. I kissed him again and this time he didn't push me away. One of his hands got lost in my hair, and the other went around my waist and pulled me into him. My dress rode up around my hips as I straddled his lap. He groaned, his hands going straight to my ass, squeezing. We were both a little buzzed but that was pure lust.
It felt amazing. After essentially being tossed by my husband, this was just what my self-esteem… and a lot of my other parts needed.
We were on the sofa, and then he hoisted me into the air and turned, lowering me to the sofa where he had been sitting. I watched breathlessly as he got down on his knees in front of me. He looked me in the eye, running his hands up my thighs. They stopped shy of my panties. He looked at me with a question in his eyes.
Yes, yes, I wanted him to take them off. I raised my hips and pulled them off. He threw them across the room and grabbed my thighs, pulling me towards him. I laughed, falling back into the couch.
“What’s funny?” he asked. His lips on my clitoris took the words right out of my mouth. I grabbed his head, arching my back. It had been a little while. There was nothing in the way of passion with my husband. I didn’t even blame him; we weren’t in love. We had sex because according to him, sex from me was his conjugal right but he never did this for me.
Niall’s tongue worked shapes over my clitoris, and then his fingers pressed against my entrance. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to push him away and pull him in at the same time. I could feel my orgasm coming.
“Niall,” I whispered. He didn’t stop, pushing me right off the edge. I lost it. I cried out, my legs quaking. My whole body ignited. I fell limp, feeling like he had hollowed me out. I was barely aware of him getting up and standing between my legs.
“Going somewhere?” I asked, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. He grinned.
“I’m taking you with me.”
Niall
Present Day
Dearest Niall,
I trust that you have been keeping well. The household is fine. I would never write simply to trouble you. Make your way home this month. You're needed on family business. We expect you on the first.
All my love,
Father.
The letter was written on his personal stationery in fine calligraphy. The letter. My father sent me a letter. Who the hell even did that anymore? But then again, a text message from him would have been more of a shock. The fact that he addressed it ‘dearest Niall’ was enough of an indicator that he hadn’t written it himself.
The letter was short and managed to tell me exactly nothing. I seldom came home. It didn't really feel like home, so what was the use? I balled the letter up and launched it across the room, narrowly missing the wastepaper basket. I was at a hotel. Who the hell came back to their home town and stayed at a hotel? With just one word from me, my living quarters would have been arranged at the family home, but again, it wasn't really a family home if you didn't feel like family.
It wasn't the first yet. I had flown into London early so that I could have some time alone before facing him. It was just him. My mother had died a long time ago. I didn’t know how much better she was because she was married to him, but at the very least, she had more patience than he did. Maybe that was just me remembering her fondly and wanting some connection, any connection with my so-called family.
> I knew better by now than to look for it. What was wrong with me? I was strangely sentimental all of a sudden. Must have been being back in rainy old London again. The weather in New York had its moments but London’s constant precipitation was something I had never missed. It was already night time. I had slept on the flight here from New York so I wasn't tired. I was restless. I didn't want to stay here and I certainly didn't want to look my dad up, not even to tell him that I had gotten here safely. Let's face it, he didn't care.
I went up to the bar. I liked this hotel. Compared to other chain places, it was smaller but a hundred times more exclusive. Their presidential suite was always ready for me whenever I needed it, which granted wasn't often. If I wanted though, I could have my own personal bartender up here mixing drinks for me.