Chapter 11
Frankie
“What are you doing here?” Mari asked suspiciously when I went to the Mr. Darcy’s Pemberley B&B and asked to book a room for the night. “Where’s Jillian?”
My throat felt dry as a bone.
This was going to be all over town. I didn’t think Cash was going to keep his mouth shut.
And what had he meant by waiting for you to screw up?
I had been a fucking idiot.
It couldn’t be over. Not like that. Not all my happiness.
“I’m—just checking things out,” I said weakly. “For a surprise for Jillian.”
Mari looked suspiciously at me as she smoothed her Regency era gown and patted her elaborate updo. “All right. Only room open is the Honeymoon Suite and you’ve stayed there plenty of times before.”
If I could only explain to Jillian, if I could only get five minutes with her without Cash around, to properly apologize and show her it would never happen again!
A lot could happen in five minutes. . .
For a few minutes I had lived my secret, illicit what if fantasies with Christabelle.
And now I could see what a stupid dimwit I had been.
The actual possibility of losing my wife had scared me straighter than a ruler.
And this was not the kind of town you could keep a secret in.
She’ll forgive me, I tried to convince myself.
After all, if I was an eater, I couldn’t be a bad husband? Right? Right?
At first, it had been an indescribable thrill to see Christabelle’s face when she sneaked back into the coffee shop, knowing I was doing something risky and dangerous.
The blood had been draining from my brain, filling my dick.
“We shouldn’t—” I began.
“I just can’t stay away from you.”
She shouldn’t be here, I thought, but Christabelle’s overflowing breasts were heaving, and she smelled just like I remembered, like some kind of Bath & Bodyworks Vanilla, and it reminded me so much of my college days that I stepped closer.
Just to inhale, just to get a little, tiny hit of my forbidden lust.
I had no intention of doing anything. Just talking to her, torturing myself with knowing that we couldn’t be together.
And then suddenly she had turned with a gasp and was in my arms, her soft mouth on mine, her arms around my neck.
This is wrong! my brain roared at me, but I didn’t want to stop.
So I didn’t, letting my hands roam over her body, hearing her little breathy moans.
“Oh Frankie,” she gasped in my ear as her fingers dragged down my belly to the waistband of my pants. “I know it’s so wrong, but I wanted to touch you so badly all day. Taste you. No one has ever compared to you. All the guys I’ve been with were so jealous.”
She put a finger under the waistband, curling into my pelvis, and I felt my cock twitch, knocking into her belly.
Her words went down like pure alcohol, making my skin buzz with pleasure.
But when Christabelle put her hand on my dick I knew I had made a huge mistake.
I looked down and there I was, a 30-year-old man leaning against a kitchen counter at high noon, my pants pooled down around my ankles. Christabelle was looking up at me, making the most ridiculous noises as she slurped my cock up and down in her mouth.
And I realized immediately.
This was embarrassing and stupid as fuck.
A grown ass man with a beautiful, loving wife and here I was with my pants around my tennis shoes like I was a stupid freshman in college again.
This was ridiculous and I was a fool.
She took me down her throat so fast, an orgasm was already pooling on the base of my spine. My hips thrust forward into her mouth as she moaned loudly, vibrating my cock, and my cheeks burned with agony.
And then my wife had come in.
Fuck fuck fuck
I paced the room in agony, grabbing my phone to text my wife.
I’m so sorry
Can’t stop thinking about you
Please let me make this right
No response.
There was a noise at the big open French doors, and I jerked my head up.
“Jillian?”
Was it her?
Was she going to forgive me?
Say she couldn’t spend a night without me?
That she was angry, but she’d forgive me?
“Oh, what the hell? No, no!”
I ran to shut the doors so fast I jammed my own finger on the frame.
“Get out of here, Christabelle! I don’t want to see you!”
She was on the other side of the doors, trying as hard to open them as I was to shut them.
“What the hell is wrong with you, bitch? Look at me!” she spat.
Oh, now there was the Christabelle I remembered too.
“No fucking way!” I snapped back. “How can I make it any clearer? I don’t want you, period!”
Then I heard the second-to-last person I would ever want to view this embarrassing scene.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here, Mr. Mayor?” Cash’s deep voice rang out. “Can’t you two ever have sex the normal way?”
“Go away!” I hissed, trying to pry Christabelle’s fingers off the doorknob as she cursed loudly at me.
Then, to my horror, I saw my wife there too, her arm tucked in Cash’s.
And her face wasn’t angry. Or sad. Or disappointed. It was completely. . .uninterested. Bored. Scornful.
“Jillian, this is not what it looks like! I’m trying to keep her out!”
All the noise had only woken up Mari, and there was a loud crashing sound in her part of the B&B and her boyfriend Dale suddenly came staggering out.
“Decent people have to get up and bread fish in the morning! What the hell is going on?”
Christabelle began to quarrel with Dale, and I had to go out and insist that I was not having a midnight assignation. And in the commotion, Cash and Jillian slipped away.
It was only the threat of trespassing that got Christabelle to leave.
“Oh, Frankie. . . I know you can’t stay away from me. . .”
How shameful. She was just as fucking nuts as she ever had been. How embarrassing to know I had been flattered by her attention.
Jillian.
What was she doing with Cash? Anger and regret burned through me. I couldn’t let him take advantage of my massive fuck-up. Because I needed to fix it with Jillian.
I couldn’t sleep at all, tossing and turning, pacing the floor.
Until Jillian forgave me, I was going to be an utter wreck!
I showed up to the coffee shop the next morning bright and early, just as my wife was walking up the front steps.
I felt haggard and corpse-like, but to my shock Jillian looked cool and unaffected, her long brown hair curled in soft waves, with subtle understated makeup on.
Then, of course, like a deranged boomerang, Christabelle was there too, with her uniform on and everything.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I bit out. “I didn’t ask you to come back! Jillian, this is not my doing!”
But my wife only shrugged. “We still need workers and since we aren’t together, if you’re willing to work hard, Christabelle, you can still have a job here.”