like a tiny eye was exposed. From it leaked a single shiny tear.
‘How much more do you want to see?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. What is there to see?’ She clasped her hands over her mouth.
‘I can pleasure myself, as if I were inside him. I can bring myself to climax. Women can too if they touch themselves in much the same way. Not all touch is bad, Emma.’
She’d reserve judgement on that. However she didn’t wish to get into a debate at present. Fascination had taken hold. It was nigh impossible not to focus on the slow, steady rhythm of Lyle’s hand rubbing back and forth, up and down the length of his shaft. What a delightful picture he made. It made her feel twitchy inside, hot and irritable but in a pleasant sort of way.
Actually, in much the same way Darleston’s touch had made her feel.
Well, why should it be such a great thing to admit to desire? She wasn’t immune to physical attraction, merely unnerved and quite unused to the sensations of it. She had never claimed not to feel; she only wished not to be poked and prodded.
Lyle caught her gaze. ‘Perhaps you’d allow me to get more comfortable.’
Emma gave him a mute nod. She watched him strip naked, desperately relieved that the door was locked.
Two years of life together and prior to this moment she had no clear idea of what he looked like. Her husband was a beautiful man. Naturally she was aware of his shape and how well he fitted into his clothes. But clothes masked plenty of sins, as she knew only too well.
Golden hairs flecked Lyle’s chest and the pits of his arms and formed a thick thatch around his loins. His legs were hairy too. She’d never realised that. So too were his forearms. His nipples were two pale-pink pennies, only a shade or two darker than his skin. Smooth muscle gave him a graceful shape. Why, he was even more beautiful naked, especially as he was right now, standing proud.
Lyle left the fireside. Emma followed his movement to the bed, gaze locked upon the firm globes of his rear as he set aside the crockery. He ripped the despoiled eiderdown from the bed. ‘Sit here. Come close. I promise I won’t touch you.’ He beckoned her to a spot just shy of his left hip. Emma sat primly upright, her hands clasped fast together. ‘How does it make you feel to watch me do this?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Good, bad, indifferent?’
‘Hot.’ Another blush streaked across her face. No similar sign of embarrassment coloured Lyle’s cheeks. He seemed supremely relaxed. The only hot and flustered part of him appeared to be his prick. The tip reminded her of the very ripest of cherries, with its dark-red hue and sensual curves. She noted that he swept his thumb over the eye-like slit every time he brought his palm downwards.
‘Hot is good,’ he mumbled.
‘How does it make you feel?’
He laughed. ‘It makes me feel fantastic.’
‘Are you picturing him, while you do that?’
‘Robert?’ Lyle shook his head. ‘Only in a roundabout way. I was thinking of you watching us and how very much I’d like to see you taking your pleasure. Everyone deserves some, you realise.’
She swallowed slowly, fearing what he might ask, how he might demand that she undress and lie naked beside him, and how he might beg to touch her skin. Enter her.
‘I’m not asking you for anything,’ he reassured her, perhaps having noticed her shiver. ‘Just tell me what would make you happy and I’ll give you it. Anything.’
She knew in essence what he meant – that he was offering her the sort of satisfaction other people craved – but she could find no joy in the notion of being caressed. However, watching the steady stroke of his palm back and forth in that rhythmic motion over his cock had taught her something. There was a tingling sort of excitement to be had from seeing someone else touch themselves. Not that she wanted to spend her days watching Lyle alone. No, she’d much rather watch her husband with his lover. The excitement she’d felt watching them fuck was ten times the fluttering, giddy nervousness she felt now.
Would Lyle understand?
What would he think?
Perhaps her greatest fear, far beyond that of being touched, was being thought mad. If she were judged so, every freedom she possessed would be stripped way.
‘Say it, whatever it is.’
‘I want to watch you with him again.’ Shock at her own words engulfed her body like a cold douche. Emma’s heartrate sped as she trembled. Afraid of Lyle’s reaction, she averted her gaze.
‘Go on,’ he prompted.
Emma immediately raised her head. Lyle wasn’t cross – he remained relaxed, if you could describe the pumping of his fist as such – but he was intrigued.
‘What is it you wish to see us doing?’
Emma shook her head, quite speechless. None of this made any sense. The whole conversation ought to have been a dream. Normal couples didn’t converse like this. At least she was fairly certain they didn’t. But then, typical husbands didn’t fornicate with other men, and wives accepted whatever affection their husbands chose to bestow rather than bristling at the mere notion of it.
‘You really ought to tell me. I can’t bear the suspense. I’m conjuring all sorts of images, most of them lewd.’
Maybe it was his smile and the way it ran into the depths of his warm brown eyes, maybe it was the peculiarity of the situation, but the admission spilled from her lips. ‘I want to see you do things the other way around, with him in …’
Lyle gave another chuckle. ‘Emma Langley, I don’t think I know you at all. I can’t believe you’ve just said you wish to see me fucked in the arse by another man. What are you thinking?’
‘I’m sorry. I should have kept quiet.’
‘No. No, you should not have kept quiet. You should speak some more. You ought to tell me why you want to watch things that way. Is it so that you might imagine yourself in my place?’
‘No!’ she squeaked, alarmed by how her insides seemed to heat at the notion. ‘The pair of you looked good together.’
Lyle shook his head, dismissing the answer as the blind it was. ‘I don’t think that’s it at all.’ He didn’t say what he thought her true reasoning was, for he reached climax at that moment. Emma watched his seed spurt from the tip of his cock. It fell in silvery streaks upon his belly and coated his fingers. For several long moments he held himself still and gulped down uneven breaths. Eventually he opened his eyes and found a handkerchief.
‘I believe you are monstrously wicked, Emma Langley, and if I hadn’t already married you, I would do so again.’ He reached out, but stopped short of embracing her. ‘I’ll speak to Darleston and arrange a time and a place when we can indulge you. I’m sure he’ll oblige. He’s quite sweet on you too.’
While she floundered, wondering what in heavens she was supposed to make of that remark, Lyle cleaned himself up and redressed.
