Page 17 of Eager Housewife

“I didn’t. I can?—”

“It’s up to—” We both speak at the same time. It’s awkward. There have been multiple adjustments this week. The change from holding back to allowing myself to have her. The sneaking around and evading Ainsley’s questions. And now, this new challenge. We’d just become familiar with each other sexually, and for two days that’s off-limits.

“I thought you’d prefer…” I don’t finish that sentence. Even in my head, it makes me a bawbag. Do I really think she’s desperate to be away from me? Shechosethis. I gave her options, and she said yes to being the free use wife of her best friend’s father.

It’s too good to be true, though, and I can’t help but suspect she’ll change her mind. Especially if Ainsley finds out. When.

“I haven’t made a bed, and it’s late. Would you mind if I…”

“Stayed in our bed?” The relief is a tangible object. It’s a life-ring in the stormy sea of my love. “Of course. It’s your room too.”

“It won’t be a problem…?” she checks.

Yes. I shake my head. Yes, it will be an issue not reaching for Blythe as I have all week. But it would be far worse if she wasn’t with me at all.

“Nae bother,” I reassure her, and she smiles.

“I’m glad. I’ve never slept in the same bed with someone before you. I like it. It’s warm?—”

“You want me for my body heat,” I say wryly.

“Yep. You want me for sex, so fair’s fair.”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. If only she knew. I’m not brave enough to tell her I want so much more than sex from her. A marriage of convenience is what she signed up for, and I’ll deliver. It’s not as though there’s any lack of my wanting her. I don’t look as she gets undressed. I cannae give myself that level of temptation.

“You alright, lass?” I ask as I switch off the light once she’s safely under the covers.

“Yeah.”

In the darkness, we lie together not touching. Where I would normally pull her in to hold her next to me and rest her head on my pectoral, close enough to kiss her hair and breathe in the bergamot scent, instead I leave her in peace.

I don’t fall asleep. Partly because my cock is at half-mast, and I’m willing it down as I listen to Blythe shifting on the mattress.

“Alright?” I enquire again.

“Good, yeah, good.” She turns over. Then there are the soft sounds of her lips moving and little inhalations as she almost speaks.

“What is it, wee lassie?”

“Would…” She trails off.

This is ridiculous. Will either of us ever finish a sentence ever again? We’re like dunderheid teenagers. She at least has an excuse, only being two years more than that age. I’mforty. I’ve been the kingpin of Blackstone for a decade, and I’ve fallen for this girl like rock tossed into a loch.

“Go on.”

“Would you be able to spend tomorrow with me?” she says in a rush, as though she’d been holding it in. “I know you don’t normally have weekends off from work, but I don’t have many friends in London, or full stop to be honest, and I?—”

“Yes. Of course.” I turn towards her, propping my head up on my hand to look down at her. The curtains are closed, and I can only see the outline of my wife. “Yes.” She needs company, I’m there. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t mind.”

Sweet lass. “Stop me when I get to something you like. Shopping on Oxford Street?”

“You’ve already bought me more than enough clothes!”

Aye, but spoiling her is such a pleasure.

“Sightseeing in London? Trip to the beach at Brighton? Fly to Paris?”