The Trophy Wife by Evie Baxter

Eight

Idragged my lower lip between my teeth, lost for words. My heart was beating erratically. Never had I been so close to a man such as this. His eyes were so dark it was almost impossible to see where iris ended and pupil began, the green all but disappeared. They pulled me into their wild depths and made me want things I had never wanted before.

Could I do it? Could I be the woman I wished I was? Could I give in to this all-consuming attraction and have a night with him? Tomorrow I’d be gone, but tonight was a moment out of time. My past was resolved. My future awaited. But the here and now? Maybe once, just this once, I could be irresponsible and find out what all the fuss was about. My sex life, until now, was limited and less than enjoyable. It would be nice to know if it really could be like it was in the movies. Fireworks and film scores notwithstanding.

For the first time in almost a decade, I could do something one hundred percent for myself.

I didn’t give Bastian a verbal reply. Instead I closed the distance between us and softly placed my lips against his. My heart was racing and if he didn’t react quickly my bravado would be short lived. But I took the chance and offered this enticing man myself.

After the briefest of pauses, like he couldn’t believe what I had just done, Bastian took over. Thank goodness, because buggered if I had a half a clue what I was doing.

A deep growly sound emitted from him before his hand cupped the back of my head, tilting it slightly, positioning me to his liking. My chaste kiss was swept away as his lips crashed into mine, kissing, sucking, licking, biting, and demanding entrance. On a gasp, my lips parted, and his tongue swept in, exploring adeptly. Tentatively, I swirled my tongue in a dance around his, revelling at the chaos unleashed in my soul.

A lifetime of curiosity exploded within me. A need to know what it was like to be an equal participant. To feel desire, as much as I was desired. To, god forbid, actually get some pleasure out of the act. Anticipation flooded me, the sheer audacity of myself for contemplating doing this sending a rush of euphoria through me that caused me to shudder with need.

Bastian manhandled my body in a confident way, never breaking the kiss whilst manoeuvring me over his body, so I was straddling him. My wrap skirt hiked up around my hips to allow my thighs to spread either side of his, the slit from the design parting and baring my legs to his eyes. I tore my lips free from his, throwing my head back as a gasp ripped from my throat at the feel of his hard length pressed against my core.

“That’s it, baby,” Bastian’s voice was a low growl. “Fucking hell, you feel good.” His hands were on my hips now, encouraging an undulating movement that pressed my clit against his hardness with every shift of my body.

I listened to myself mewl, barely connecting the sounds emitting from my body to my own greedy need. This. This was what I had never felt once in my life. The urge to grind myself down on a hard cock in a desperate urge to assuage my need. There was a frantic flurry of hands as we each endeavoured to remove the clothes of the other.

Gripping the hem of his soft t-shirt, I pulled it up and over his head, revealing the body of a god. I’d touched one man in my life, and that had been with reluctant revulsion. Before my marriage, there had been the occasional flirtation with boys, but never more than a kiss and a cuddle. Now, here I was, faced with sculpted muscles, smooth skin and a tempting smattering of chest hair. And a happy trail that begged for me to follow it downwards.

I sat in rapt amazement, my eyes darting from dusky nipples to broad shoulders, one decorated with a tattoo that travelled up his bicep, over his shoulder and down to his pec. I leaned slightly to better see the design, taking in the intricate Celtic knots entwined around and within a variety of drawings. Here a dragon, there a dagger. A tree of life on his arm, and a Celtic cross on his chest. It was complex, beautifully drawn and intrigued me.

“Hey,” Bastian’s husky voice pulled me away from my perusal of his body. I met his eyes, which were smiling softly at me.

“Sorry,” I whispered, “I got distracted.”

“No worries, darling,” he said, “Take all the time you want.”

I traced a fingertip along one swirling line of ink, loving the way the dragon flying over his shoulder was locked within the Celtic knot that surrounded it. “It’s beautiful. There’s so much artistic talent here.”

“Thanks,” he replied nonchalantly.

I looked up in surprise. “You drew this?”

“I did. It started as an idea when I was still at uni, and I worked on it for years before I was happy enough to let someone translate it into stencils and ink it onto my skin.”

“Well,” I was still tracing the designs with my fingertip, “it’s amazing. I love it.”

“Again, thanks. But for me, I love this,” he stated as he slid his finger down into the V of my neckline, parting the fabric until his finger found my bra. I flinched slightly, thinking of my utilitarian undergarments.

“What’s wrong?” The man didn’t miss a thing.

I shrugged mutely.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“Just don’t expect anything sexy under this,” I wrinkled my nose in response.

Bastian released the button that held the dress closed on one side, sliding the silky fabric aside until he found the button on the inner side of the wrap design and popped that open too. Pushing the black dress free of my shoulders, it fell to my waist, baring my torso and I tensed as my body was revealed to his gaze.

“Stop,” he instructed me, his hands stroking my sides lightly, but his eyes remained focused on my face. “You’re beautiful.”

I glanced down, taking in my black cotton sports bra and big old black knickers, high waisted and comfortable as all get out. Exactly what I wanted to be wearing when I had sex for the first time in years. I was mortified. I could feel the flush spreading across my face and down my chest. I closed my eyes in consternation.

Bastian responded with actions, not words. He slid the sleeves of my dress down and moved his lips to my bared shoulders, tracing gentle kisses over my skin, distracting me from awareness of my utilitarian lingerie.

While his mouth sparked my nerve endings to incendiary levels, his hands were busy. One snaked around to my back, popping the hooks free from their fastenings with the skill of a horny teenage ninja. He chucked the offensive (to me) garment away and then I had to contend with my self-consciousness about my small breasts.

I waited for the words of derision I had heard in the past. Braced myself for them. For him to notice the small scars beneath.

I don’t know if he felt me tense. Okay, that was stupid, it would have been impossible to miss. Now probably wouldn’t be the time to admit that I hadn’t had sex in five years. Nor the time to verbally vomit all my other issues. I didn’t know how to get my head back into this one-night stand game, so I could enjoy the moment for what it was.

Bastian hesitated for a moment, as if he was about to say something about my very apparent tension, but instead he lavished attention on my boobs.