Page 12 of Eager Housewife

The smugness of the way she says it both relieves me and causes a wave of recollection. The floor. I was so desperate I took her virginity on marble. And I didn’t ask about her experience because I didn’t want to hear about her having been with other men.

“Blythe,” I say severely.

“It’s true,” she insists, the sparkle back in her eyes.

“No more secrets between us, ye ken?” It’s bad enough that we’re going to lie to Ainsley for a year. We can’t be deceiving each other.

“Yeah. Understood.” She smirks and mimics my accent, “I ken.”

I nod, adding an asterisk in my mind for that one little point I’ll never let on: that I love her. That this is the furthest thing from just a deal for me.

I scoop her from the floor with an arm beneath her knees and the other holding her shoulders to my chest. She snuggles into me, even as she obediently holds her pussy to keep all that seed inside.

The conflict in my heart continues to rage as I take her upstairs to my—nae, our—ensuite bathroom. I sit her on the edge of the roll top bathtub and test the temperature of the water as it begins to flow.

Blythe watches me, one hand clamped between her legs, her dress cascading both sides.

As the tub fills, I wordlessly gesture for her to stand and turn. The silence isn’t exactly comfortable, but it isn’t uncomfortable either.

I release her from the dress, I’m breathless as her back is revealed, smooth and soft. She’s so fucking perfect.

As though we’ve slipped right into being a married couple, she moves to enable me without my asking. I slip the heavy fabric from her, and seamlessly she swaps hands to keep my sperm in. Such a good girl.

I take my time in examining my new bride. Kneeling to remove her shoes, I take in her slim ankles, the way her thighs are soft, and the peachy curve of her arse.

Her stockings get rolled down and I stand behind her, admiring her in disbelief. I don’t allow myself to think of the consequences for either of our relationship with my daughter. This is my wedding day, and as sordid as my arrangement with Blythe is, I’m going to enjoy it.

And when the tub is full, I lower her into the water, and turn to go. A little tug on my sleeve stops me.

“Aren’t you getting in too?”

I look over my shoulder at Blythe, and yet again, I’m drowning in her blue eyes.

How can I resist her?

6

BLYTHE

Mr Blackstone hesitates, narrowing his eyes at my request. I think for a moment he’s going to refuse, but then he undresses with a disconcerting speed. I want to ask him to slow down, to give me more than a quick look at his wide chest, his pectorals covered with dark hair that trails down over sculpted abs to… I gulp as he slides off his kilt.

Gesturing for me to scoot over, he makes a small tidal wave as he gets into the bath, the water spilling over the edges and onto the tiled floor.

I squeak. “Should we?—”

“Ignore it.”

He fits his long legs on either side of my hips and firm hands pull me against him so I’m lying on his chest, the warm water around my legs and over most of my body, and Mr Blackstone’s arms and torso at my back.

I know I requested it, but it’s so extraordinary being like this with him. I need to see more, but all I have now is a view of his legs. And my god, they’re so hairy. They’re big too. He has big feet, and I flush as I remember what big feet indicate, and oh absolutely yes. I’m sore in all the right places from discovering the truth of that.

“Relax,” he rumbles, stroking his rough palms down my upper arms, then brackets one arm over my chest.

As though I was waiting for his direction, I ease back against him further. And as I do, I think he sighs and kisses the top of my head.

I melt.

This is a dream, and I don’t want to wake.