My gaze dips to her breasts as they practically spill out of her top. “Hey, beautiful. I’ve missed you.”
“I miss you too.” She frowns as her eyes drop to the mattress for a moment. “How did your meeting go with the Branch brothers?”
Leaning backward, I pull the laptop across my legs and ease back into the pillows. “The same shit as always. They think I’m in their back pocket.” Reagan watches me as I remove my tie, her eyes following my hands carefully.
“We both know that’s never going to happen. Not with the Branch brothers, at least.”
I know where she’s going. Or, at least, where she could go after that statement. Probably some small littleinnocentjab about Dominic Marino. “Enough about work. Show me your magnificent tits.” I give her a quick wink, being playful but dead fucking serious.
Reagan smirks, lifting herself on her elbows just enough that I can see down her shirt. “Oh, you’re in a classy mood. You mean these?” she asks, jiggling her breasts right into the camera.
“I’m too horny for classy, baby. Come on. Just a small peek.”
The camera dips as she sits upright, crossing her legs in front of her body. “This is like old times,” she says as she fumbles with the buttons on her blouse, moving so slowly I swear she’s trying to torture me.
“I remember you being faster than this,” I tease her as I place the laptop between my legs.
She smiles as she spreads open just enough of her shirt to show me the swells of her breasts, but not enough. “If I’m showing you mine, you have to show me yours too. It’s only fair.” She quirks an eyebrow.
I laugh softly, shaking my head as I pull off my dress shirt and throw it to the floor. I have no problem showing Reagan everything I have, but she’s going to do the same. The distance is becoming unbearable, and we’ve only been apart a few days. The only thing I want is to sink between my wife’s legs and listen to her moan my name. I don’t want to be alone in an overpriced hotel room. I miss the days of her being in the next room and finding reasons and ways to see her.
“Happy now?” I ask, moving farther away from the camera to give her a better view.
“Pants too,” she says, almost giggling.
“Do the same,” I tell her, and I’m almost giddy. I remember the last time we had virtual sex over the internet, and it was hot as fucking hell.
I’m all in, totally excited about the entire thing and yanking down my pants like a pubescent virgin teenager with a raging hard-on. She scrambles off the bed, away from the camera, but I can hear the rustling of her clothes.
I practically dive back onto the bed and immediately wrap my hand around my cock, ready to put on a show for my wife. She has a fascination with watching me masturbate. Something I taunt her with often. But she doesn’t know I have the same fascination; watching her touch herself is unlike anything in the world.
Reagan slides across the mattress, resting her head on her elbow as she watches me. I could give a fuck what she’s looking at as I zero in on her luscious breasts, wishing I could touch them.
“Baby, lemme see your pussy,” I tell her, tightening my grip around my shaft, pretending my palm is her beautiful cunt.
“Jude,” Tyson calls, knocking on my hotel room door.
“Fuck,” I hiss and tip my head back, praying he’ll just go away.
Reagan smiles and bites her lip, clearly hearing Tyson’s voice and the repeated tap on the door.
“I can see your light on through the peephole, asshole. Open up.”
My hard-on instantly dies in my palm. Not even the little peep show my wife’s giving me, fucking with my head as she does, can maintain my rock-hard cock.
“You’d better go,” she says, spreading her legs open just to make the entire situation worse. “I’m gonna finish what we started. You have fun with Tyson.”
I growl and reach for the laptop, trying to get a better look before the screen goes black.
“I fucking hate Tyson,” I mutter as I climb off the bed, knowing that what started out as a great end to my evening has died… right there with my cock.
9
Reagan
Andrea Matisse is notwhat I expected. Our lunch at a small café has lasted nearly two hours, and I’m not ready for it to end, even though I have another meeting soon.
With her platinum blond hair that falls just past her ears, brown-framed glasses, black linen pants and a pretty dark green blouse, I can see why she is so successful in fashion. Andrea doesn’t look like everyone else. She has her own style and no concern for whether anyone else approves of it. Even the wrinkles at the corners of her fifty-something eyes seem fashion-forward.
