Chapter Four
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.
A quick open-palmed push had the gate swinging open with a low creak that practically screamed his presence to the world. Someone obviously hadn’t been keeping on top of the building maintenance.
The alleyway between the two buildings leading to the back garden was inky black all the way to the steps of the back porch, but he could hear commotion up ahead. A sound like water bubbling on the hob.
There was something else too, something softer, almost indistinguishable from the background, but that made his dick instinctively stir to life. He couldn’t believe his luck. Heart hammering excitedly in his chest, he followed the sounds and, edging forward, slowly peered around the edge.
Elizabeth was in her hot tub, her head propped on a rolled towel beside an almost empty wine glass. It was a very deep model, more than half sunken into the porch, yet the steaming, bubbling water came all the way up to her shoulders. Nonetheless, the tops of her breasts were clearly visible as, eyes closed and biting her lip, she arched her back; her left hand fondling her cleavage.
In the soft golden hue of the back-porch light, it was obvious she had forgone a swimsuit.
Hugh greedily drank in the view. He’d been dreaming of this moment, picturing it ever since he first started noticing girls, no, since he’d started to notice women. He’d never been really interested in girls. They were always so prissy and uptight, or always playing games. They didn’t know what they wanted or how to satisfy a man. And while their bodies were fun to play with, they could never compare to the lush, full curves of a mature woman.
Mrs Clarke was the very epitome of a mature, beautiful woman.
His fantasy.
His goddess.
Patrick, that son of a bitch, didn’t deserve her. He’d neglected and abandoned her, so tonight, Hugh would make her his.
He could just hear her panting, soft, wanton moans. They were music to his ears and almost without realising what he was doing, his free hand began fumbling with the button of his far too tight trousers. He could scarcely breathe from the tightness. He had to be set free, to relieve the tension building in his groin…
“Mmm…” she purred, hot and breathy. “Fuck… Yes… give me that cock… oh-my-god… I need it, yes…”
Nearly tearing his trousers open, he grabbed his cock. He couldn’t see her other hand, but he didn’t need to. He could picture her fingering her slick wet pussy, working herself up, first one, then two fingers, her hips rolling and growing more urgent as she got closer. He matched her pace, pumping his cock, the shaft slick with precum, and greedily devoured the sight of her playing with her dusky pink nipple. Twisting and tugging, imitating the very treatment he’d given it just hours earlier.
He answered her low moans by thrusting himself into the tight coil of his fist. Still pent up from their earlier encounter, Hugh knew he wouldn’t last long, and though he’d seen his share of pornography, this was the first time he’d ever watched a woman masturbate in real life. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.
Porn was cheap titillation. Sex manufactured with all the passion and intensity stripped away, like Ikea flat pack furniture.
Once you’d seen one, you’d seen them all.
This was anything but cheap titillation. This was seduction. Hugh would never tire of watching her.
She was a living woman, repressed and denied, A font of pent up sexual tension just starting to bubble to the surface and in desperate need of a good, hard-
“Oh, God… that’s it baby… pound that pussy… oh god… I’m gonna- fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming… Hugh!”
Oh shit!
He froze, his fist tight just under the head. The sound of her calling out his name in that ragged breathy voice, triggered a chain reaction that pushed him over the edge.
He came hard, shooting a thick stream of cum that arced into the darkness. Yet his eyes never strayed from the view of Elizabeth as her own climax ripped through her.
The orgasm she’d reached while thinking of him…