I can see that all the way from here.
She’s lying out there like she doesn’t have a care in the world. But she knows where my office is. She’s been herebefore, and now she’s grabbed a chair directly in my line of sight.
This is revenge.
The balance of power shifted yesterday, when she cried in my arms. I watched her shatter, and she wants to prove a point. One she’s hinted at before.You’re attracted to me.
We’re still on the court, and she’s trying to win a point.
As revenge goes, it’s fucking perfect. Because I shouldn’t like the sight of my wife’s near-naked body. I shouldn’t care that she’s lying there topless where staff could see.
But I do.
I should be stronger than this, stronger than jerking off to her perfume and thong, stronger than lying awake at night thinking about her skin beneath my massaging hands. They say coveting your neighbor’s wife is a sin. But coveting your own feels worse.
I grab a shirt from my closet, since she seems to like wearing my clothes, and head downstairs.
Paige doesn’t look up when I approach. Up close, she’s even prettier. There’s rosiness to her nipples. They’re perfect, her tits, looking like they’d fit my hands. Beneath the swell of one is the tiny tattoo of waves along her rib.
Of course she’d be perfect naked.
A smile spreads across her face and she reaches for her phone. “Four minutes,” she says, and looks back up. “That’s how long it took you to come down here, from when I took off my top.”
I hold out the shirt in her direction. “Put it on.”
“Why? I’m in my home. And I’m in Europe.” She leans back against the sunbed and closes her eyes.
My gaze drops back to her tits. Fuck. She’s all softness here, with taut nipples.
“You’re here because you wanted me to come outside,” I say. “Or you wouldn’t be lying directly below my office.”
She doesn’t open her eyes. “Yes. And I don’t want tan lines ahead of my wedding.”
“You’ll burn. That’s the only reason I’m asking you to put on a shirt.” It’s a complete lie. I don’t want anyone else seeing her like this.
“Then maybe you should help me put on sunscreen,” she says.
I force my eyes away. “Asking me to touch you? Are you sure you’re not the one who’s attracted to me?”
She opens her eyes. “Please.”
“Please, what?” I raise an eyebrow. “You’ll have to be more specific when you beg me to touch you.”
“I amnotbegging.”
“Mhm. And yet you just admitted to doing all of this to lure me down,” I say. She loves to goad me. But she hates being goaded in return, and if she’s going to play this game, she won’t find it easy to win.
It’s better to focus on arguing than on her body.
“Maybe I just want to hear you admit it,” she says. “That you’re attracted to me.”
“And why do you want that?” I drape the shirt over the chair next to her. “So you’ll feel better about your attraction to me?”
She swings her legs over the edge of the sun chair, feet on the hot tiles. The movement resettles her golden hair around her shoulders and makes her tits bounce in a way I should notfocus on.
The perfect handful.
Profit margins. Tennis serves.Winning.
