Chapter Eight #3
The smile in his words elevates my lust, and as he peels down my panties, my body is readying itself for his intrusion.
“Hold on to the bar. This is going to be fast and hard.”
The concept sends another shot of lust through me like a bullet. I grip the ballet barre, following his instructions to the letter, while he adjusts me to the angle he prefers.
He slaps my backside hard. The contact makes my skin tingle and my clit fizz, but I don’t get time to enjoy the sensation fully before he’s forcing himself deep inside me and stealing my breath.
“I’ve never met a woman who gets me hard as fast as you,” he grunts.
“Makes me wonder why you insist on fucking every woman you meet then, darling.” I groan out. “Ah.”
He slams into me harder, grabbing my hair and tilting my face up so that he can lean over me, his lips against my ear.
“You love hearing about them,” he hisses, altering his angle inside me, aware from years of experience that the adjustment will make me moan for him.
The way he’s learned to play my body like a finely tuned instrument consistently surprises me. After only a few thrusts, I’m already close to my release.
“You’ve got thirty seconds to cum on my cock, Sophie,” he orders. He’s always so bossy.
He drives into me harder, making my sarcastic response fizzle out on my tongue. He grabs both my hips, tilting my pelvis further and making me scream.
As my walls contract around him, he pants and starts pounding into me at such a velocity that I have no option but to hold on to the barre before me and brace my arms.
Within two minutes, he’s pulled me back onto him so hard that I’m certain he’ll leave finger-size bruises on my skin. I smile, delighted to be marked by him. His release is warm, soothing as it erupts inside me.
As he withdraws, he drops a kiss on the lily tattoo on my bottom cheek.
“You should come to the gym with me daily. That was the ideal end to my workout,” he rasps.
My legs are still a little wobbly when he drags me back up to the kitchen, bossily telling me to be quick, once he’s logged into his laptop, he soothes his words with a kiss on the top of my head and runs upstairs for his shower.
I open the web browser, feeling guilty for my manipulation—almost.
Rapidly, I locate the website I used for ordering Lily’s dolls before clicking into Spencer’s network.
After spending hours trawling through the directory over the last few days, finding the files I needed wasn’t a challenge.
There’s a folder marked ‘Locked’. Previously, it wouldn’t let me in. I click it and close my eyes, muttering a short, silent prayer.
After a second, I crack my eyes open, delighted to see the window is open on the screen. My prayer answered.
Before me, are dozens of folders. Too many to read in my allotted ten minutes, so I copy as many as I can and forward them to my email address, before deleting the evidence in Spencer’s sent email box.
The stairs creak. Disappointed that I don’t have time to research further, I rapidly close the file down and open the shopping site window, just in time for my freshly showered husband to enter the room.
I peer up, smiling when I see he’s wearing a black shirt and trousers.
He knows I love this outfit. It’s impossible not to admire him in it.
He’s gorgeous, with his dirty blonde hair, and a jawline you could cut yourself on, set off by sharp hazel eyes that barely miss a trick and all enhanced by the pungent scent of his mouthwatering cologne after his shower.
My God, he’s delicious.
His new freshness highlights my state; in cum-soaked panties and reeking of sex.
Typically, he doesn’t miss my lustful eye, and being the cocky bastard he is, he raises his eyebrows.
“Give it up, Soph. I’ll have to cancel my trip in a minute and spend the next two days fucking you instead.”
I grin. “Sounds like a plan.” I shoot back, making my own eyebrows dance.
“Come with me,” he begs.
His offer shocks me. This used to be a common occurrence, but recently these demands have stopped.
“I can’t.” I groan. “What about Lily?”
“Your mum will have her. Please Soph, it’ll be good for us.”
He’s right; it would be good for us, but I’m not comfortable leaving Lily at short notice like this and to help my friend, I’ve agreed to pick up her daughter as well after school.
Glancing around me for a clock, I’m wondering if it’s early enough that I could cancel with Zoe, but that’s shitty.
“I’d love to, but . . .”
“I’ll call your mum,” he says, dragging his ever-present phone from his pocket.
“No, wait.” I stand, moving to his side. “Darling, I’ve offered to pick up Zoe’s daughter tonight too. It’s too late to cancel. It would have been different if I’d told her this morning. Can you give me a bit more notice, and I’ll come next time? I promise.”
I witness his face fall, the shutters he so often uses immediately sliding back into place.
“Okay, never mind,” he says, brushing me off.
This isn’t an isolated incident. On occasion, it seems he is trying to make me select between him and our child.
Every time I choose Lily, he gets disappointed.
I’m aware that isn’t the case; after all, it was his choice that we raise her without nannies.
However, it appears his mind is full of conflicting ideas.
“Are you finished with my laptop?” he demands, his tone frosty.
“Yes, thank you.” I lean over to close the shopping website. “Spence, I’m sorry, I just . . .”
“Don’t worry about it. It was a stupid idea,” he mutters, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead as he grabs the laptop. “You’re right, I’ll give you more warning next time. I’d prefer not to leave Lily alone. It would just be nice to get a bit of adult time, occasionally.”
I’m just about to protest, when he adds.
“I’ll try to adjust my schedule so that I can get home more in the evening. These dinner meetings are killing me.”
I smile. It’s impossible to be certain if what he’s telling me is completely true. I’ve seen on his calendar that he has a lot of evening meetings, but I have no way of knowing that they’re not dates with women.
The moment he left for the airport, I took out my iPad to search through the files I’d emailed.
Within minutes of opening the first file, reality hit. Spencer invested in a sex club with his former school friend, Travis Buckley, two years ago.
I wish I could say I’m surprised, but in reality I’m amazed he hasn’t done it sooner.
Travis was the man who introduced us to the club scene. There was talk years ago about his setting up a club. He even asked me for feedback because I was the only girl who got a membership with them.
Hours later, I’m still scrolling through my tablet, obsessed with researching my husband’s new club, Locked.
It’s beautifully decadent, and right up Spencer’s street.
The interior alone screams opulence, with swathes of luxurious furnishings, marble, and glass.
The design of the place is clever. There’s nothing seedy about it.
No colored lights and uplighters. It’s been created to enhance erotic fantasies, and from the photographs alone, I’m certain my husband has had a hand in the formation.
I am hurt that he couldn’t talk about this with me. His secrecy suggests things in our marriage are worse than I initially thought.
I’m as certain as I can be that the woman Spencer’s seeing has something to do with his club.
Could she be a member of staff?
With the intention of gaining access, to see it for myself, I research the admission rules. My eyes bug out when I see the cost of membership.
Whoa, this place is elite.
Fuck it.
It’s possible to buy the membership online, but I’d have to go through a rigorous checking system, and although Spencer doesn’t grip the purse strings tightly, I’m sure he’d question me if I spent that much money.
Without a membership to get in there, I’d have to find a members list; befriend one of them; and beg to be admitted as a guest. Which seems a bit of a stretch.
My only other option is to ask Carlo—which feels wrong.
Spencer’s gone to considerable lengths to keep this from me. I don’t want Carlo to deal with the fallout if he takes me down there.
But I’m fixated on the prospect of seeing Spencer with this woman. If I could catch him with her, and see their chemistry, I’d be better able to assess her threat level.
I keep clicking through the website, gleaning as much information as I can about the place. The figures the club generates are astounding, it’s been lucrative.
For the next hour, I go back through each of the files I emailed myself systematically, reading every word.
One is a report sent from Spencer to Travis. It includes a comment about his concern for staff morale. From the wording, it seems they’ve had a few disagreements between staff; in a sex club I’m sure such animosity isn’t unusual.
Needing distance for a while, I head to the kitchen for a coffee.
While the steaming brown liquid flows from the machine, I lean back against the counter, examining my white cup. My mind is so full that my head throbs.