6. Casper

Chapter 6

Casper

I have done some pretty depraved things to my wife in our time together, and she to me, but my biggest regret, sexually speaking, is that I’ve never seen her with another man.

If this is to be the last time she and I will sleep under the same roof, I don’t see why we can’t give each other one more gift. An epic send off, before we go our separate ways.

Henry looks confused—am I coming or going—but I think he’ll get the hint soon enough. One beautiful woman, two virile men, a bed big enough for three in a remote cottage with no neighbours. What are we supposed to do, play Monopoly?

“I’ll give you two some space,” Henry says, but I grab his wrist so he can’t make it past the door. He looks down at where I grip him, his jaw ticking.

“Don’t leave.”

“What are you doing?” Saskia asks, sitting up taller. Her long blonde hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders, and even without make-up, she’s a natural beauty.

Heat from the fire downstairs has warmed the room, but the temperature often dips overnight. Without me here to keep her warm, she’s dressed in a plain black, long-sleeved top. I can just make out the curve of her breasts as my eyes trace up to her delicate collarbone and the face that’s glaring right at me.

I ignore her and gesture at the bed. “Take a seat, Henry.”

“I, er…” Henry fumbles. I’ve never known him to be a weak man, but I think we’re about to find out what he’s really made of.

“Casper,” Saskia pleads.

“I said sit down,” I bark, and Henry’s head snaps back. His eyes burn into mine, but when I release his arm, he does as he’s told, moving to perch by her side. Saskia pulls her knees up to her chest underneath the blankets.

They look good together, I can’t lie. He’s about the same height as me, but not as broad, with a thick head of brown hair and kind eyes. He's got that classic British charm that's served him well in New York, though he hasn't picked up an accent in all his time living there.

He has a quiet confidence, but right now he looks nervous as hell. I watch his chest rise and fall, his thick fingers spread out on his thighs as he no doubt wonders what to do with his hands.

“What’s going on here?” Henry asks, and I cock my head to one side and stare him down.

“If you want to take my wife from me, I need to know she’ll be satisfied.”

“Hey now,” he snaps, standing up and looking back and forth between us. “This is not what that is. Nobody is taking anyone from anyone. She’s free to make her own decisions. Right?”

She looks up at him with adoration in her eyes, the way she used to look at me.

“Right,” she says.

“You might think she’s free to make her own decisions, but we made vows. Her pussy belongs to me.”

“What the fuck, Casper?” Saskia yells. I burst out laughing and slap my thigh.

“I am just kidding,” I tell him. “But I know every inch of her body, every fantasy in that brilliant brain.”

Saskia is livid, exactly the reaction I want from her. We may have mutually decided to end our marriage, but nobody could say it wasn’t fucking fun turning our blazing arguments into furious sex. She’s wild when she’s angry, and sex is her preferred way of letting her feelings out. Anger at me, at her clients, at the world.

She never had an angry word to say about him, though. He’s her port in a storm.

I pull my chair closer to the end of the bed. “My wife is a very sexual person, Henry. Did you know this about your friend? She's a busy lady, stressful job, pain in the ass husband who’s constantly pissing her off.”

Saskia bites back her smile, but I can tell she wants to laugh. Can tell she’s already caught up with where I intend for this to lead, too. Unlike Henry, whose neck is throbbing, hands curled into tight fists by his sides. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was about to get knocked out.

“She needs someone who can take care of her at the end of a long day. Someone who can help her relax, worship and manipulate her body until her head is empty. Are you sure you’re the man for the job?”

Henry stands with his hands on his hips, the outline of his erection clearly visible through his pyjama pants. “Yes, I am.”

“Go on then. Take care of her.”

“Excuse me?”

I sit up taller, linking my fingers, then dropping my elbows to my knees. “Get on the bed and take care of my wife the way she needs to be taken care of.”

Saskia shifts into the centre of the mattress, the subtle permission he needs. Henry sits beside her, reaching for her hand. “Are you OK with this?”

“I am if you are,” she whispers. She squeezes his hand reassuringly, and my erection throbs against my zipper. I knew she’d be game.

They gaze into each other’s eyes, and I don’t know how he’s held himself back this long. If I had her permission to touch her, I wouldn’t need any further encouragement. My cock would be buried in one of her perfect holes by now.

What Henry gets up to in New York is none of my business, but while this is new for me and my wife, I suspect it is for him, too. Maybe direction is what Henry needs.

“Show me how you kiss her.”

“I… what?” Henry falters, and I wonder if maybe he’s not up for this after all.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to kiss her?”

“I do,” he says, shifting closer when she angles her body towards him. He cups her face in his hands, eyes never leaving hers while he answers me. “Desperately. I just didn’t think you’d be here when I did it for the first time.”

“What’s the problem? You’ve kissed her before.”

His head spins towards me. “You know about that?”