Devil In The Waters, Book 7, Chapter 9

Alone in the kitchen he stood with his robe open, a new erection poking out of the gap. Hands on the counter, he leaned his head over the two glasses of whiskey he’d poured as a new wave of red shame washed up his back.

This feeling was the worst part, and the part he wished most he could get rid of. But what other way was there to consider these things that were turning him on other than shameful? It was humiliating and embarrassing, and even though he had a wife who was understanding and compassionate enough to play along, to entertain his fantasies—maybe even to be turned on by them in her own way—it didn’t erase the natural humiliation rising up within him once the fun part of the spectacle was over.

They’d really got into it. Really got into it and got closer to the heart of it. It was the truth that turned him on. The fantasy was pretty good, but nothing compared to the thrill of the What if it were true? question. The things Kimmy had told him had astounded his sexuality. But now he drew in a deep breath, stared at the cupboard while he forced a smile on his face. The worst thing was to wallow, the worst thing to do was to expose that weakness to his wife. What kind of wife would be a party to weakness? Kink was one thing, but shame, weakness, and humiliation was another. And there was nothing arousing about any of that.

Into the main room now and to the back sliding door that was left open, he walked with the robe flapping and his erection bobbing. It was a free feeling, and just thinking how he’d done this today in front of Devlin brought him to full hardness again.

Kimmy was in the hot tub naked, her long thin arms draped over the crest, a hint of her brown nipples at the steamy water’s bubbling surface.

She saw the erection and said, “I see you’re ready for round two.”

He hip-wagged, still walking, making his dick bounce stiffly and Kimmy giggled. He came around the tub to her side and presented her with the whiskey glass which she took with two hands. He let the robe drop to the deck, and slipped in beside his wife, holding his drink high. They both were quiet a moment, sipping their whiskey. Kimmy said, “That’s good.”

“They’re all the same to me,” he said.

“They’re close, but . . .”

“You’re a real connoisseur now.”

“Not really.”

“But you’d like to be,” he said.

She smiled and didn’t answer. Looking right at him warmly. “So you don’t want to know what I did?” Her eyebrows raised.

He said, “What? You dropped off Devlin, probably drove somewhere and sat making me suffer. Knowing I’m suffering. Maybe you went somewhere for dessert. I’m thinking ice cream.”

Coquettish and unlike herself: “Was I alone?”

“You still want to play this game?”

“The clock is ticking down, Josh. That’s up to you.”

“You’re seriously wanting to do this more tonight?” He hoped.

Kimmy’s smile stayed the same but her eyes went more serious. “You seriously want me to do this every time?”

“No, I guess not.”

“We’re on vacation. You want to get kinky, then I want to get kinky.”

“So what did you do? You wanted to be kinky so you went up to Devlin’s room . . .”

“I did,” she said and sipped her whiskey.

Glass paused near his lips, he studied her, looking for the truth in her eyes. “Did you?”

“You want to know the truth.”

“I do. What I figured was you’d gamed me. From the second you told me to suggest we walk down the beach after dinner, you knew what you were going to do to me.”

“I did,” she said, turned then, showing her trim and narrow naked back as she set down her whiskey glass. She returned, looking more sultry now. Back into it again.

He said, “So you went to his room.”

“I did.”

He waited a second. “You did not.”

She nodded. “I really did, Josh.”

What had been fun before was not fun now. This hurt too much. This game he didn’t like. Kimmy saw it in his face.

“You didn’t like that?”

He shook his head no. “Did you really go up to his room?”

Now she didn’t answer, just watched him, all the fun deflating from the moment.

“You thought I would like that?”

Kimmy shrugged, an aroused nipple flipping up out of the water for a second.

He said, “You don’t know what to do.”

“I just want to please you.”

He scratched his head, water streaming around his ear and down his neck. “Tell me what you did then.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” Her lips pursed and her brow knitted.

“No, come on, tell me.”

She shook her head, unnerved. “No, it’s different now. I see it in your face.”

“Kimmy, you can’t not tell me.”

“I don’t want to tell you, Josh. I don’t like the look on your face now. That’s not fun. Anything I did I did for fun.”

He showed her an earnest expression but knew it was restrained and unsure. “What did you do?”

“Let’s just drop it.”

Now she turned, showed him her sexy back once more, took her whiskey glass again and sipped.

“Kimmy, you can’t leave me hanging like that. Can’t tell me you went to his room and then not finish the story.”

She faced him again. “Now I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“You’re not in trouble though.”

“But you didn’t like what I did.”

“I didn’t. . . . Well, I did, but I don’t—”

“I don’t like that. I liked it better when I knew what was working and what wasn’t.”

“Kimmy, you can’t give me only one night, and then wreck it like this.”

“How am I wrecking it?”

“By not telling me.”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t, but you can’t not tell me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

Now he saw her reluctance was like regret—she’d done something she thought he’d like but now realized she’d gone too far. She’d kissed Devlin. Or flashed him.

The mere thought got his heart thumping and jumping and he saw for a second that he liked it.

Kimmy showed a funny face, bulged out her eyes a second and said, “You definitely won’t like the rest of the story.”

His stomach jolted, enough that his whiskey sloshed in the glass.

She’d kissed Devlin. She’d exposed a nipple. Or her bare ass. She’d . . . touched him . . .

Kimmy saw his reaction and slunk against him, purring, “I’m kidding, Josh, I’m kidding.”

“That was like a punch in my stomach.”

Her hand went down under the water to pat his tummy, and her wrist bone grazed the tip of his dick. She said, “You’re still hard.”

“This thing has a mind of its own.”

“And no morals, apparently.”

“You really think I don’t have any morals?” he said.

She looked up at him. “I think your dick doesn’t. I think you do.”

“Maybe you’re right. . . . Then you should tell me what you did. Or at least tell my dick.” Trying to be funny.

She hugged him, planted her chin on his shoulder. “I want to have fun tonight, Josh. I don’t want to see you upset.”

“I don’t want to appear upset.”

She slunk away, bobbed around to get her drink. “Things were going so well,” she said and sipped her whiskey, returned to him and she set the cold glass down on his chest just above his nipple. He sipped his own whiskey.

“Go on then and tell me. I do want to hear it. Or maybe I’ll plug my ears and you can do what I said, just tell my dick—my lowlife immoral dick.”

She watched him through narrowed eyes, a small smirk easing some of that tightness from her features. She leaned forward and spoke to the water between his legs.

“I went up to Devlin’s room,” she said, her voice raised so his dick could hear her underwater.

“You’re an idiot,” he said and elbowed her, laughing.

She cackled too, leaned back relaxing with her head angled back on the lip, looking up at the stars. “It was a great trip,” she said.

“I wish we didn’t have to go home tomorrow.”

Her head rolled his way. “There are many ways for us to get back here.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, knowing where she was going.

“You say the word, I bet I can get us a week in Cayman anytime.”

“Look who doesn’t have morals now.”

She looked skyward again. “All these years I’ve wondered if Amy was right.”

His expression sagged again, loving this but hating it. “What do you mean?”

“I’m teasing, Josh. This was working ten minutes ago.”

“Ten minutes ago we were having sex.”

“I think ten minutes from now we’re going to be having sex. You don’t think so?”

“I think so,” he said.

“Let me tell you my story then. Let me tell you what happened when I went up to Devlin’s room.”

She turned and set down her glass on the deck again. Came back to him. This time she straddled his lap, wrapped her long arms around his neck and looked in his eyes. “It’s just a story. We won’t say it’s the truth.”

“But it might be?”

She shrugged, cocked her mouth to one side.

He said, “I can just pretend that you sat at the Cayman Islands Dairy Queen, sipping a milkshake and coming up with some terrible story to tell me.”

She nodded. “Now you get it.” She shifted in his lap, his cock point stoking near her sex. “I went up to his room,” she said, bringing her mouth near his ear. “I was just playing around. But Devlin took it so seriously.” She humped her crotch against his cock head.

Voice dry and creaky: “Then you were up in his room . . .”

She said, “You’re right about one thing.”

“What’s that?” he said, stroking her lean sides.

“Devlin definitely wants to fuck me.”

“I told you.”

“You’re right.” She ran fingers through his hair, knowing she was teasing him again and he was on board.

“Okay,” he said, “okay, I’m calming down, keep going . . . I can take it.”

She snickered, took his glass from between them, sipped his whiskey and set it down behind his head.

“Let me tell you exactly what that terrible man with the big cock did to me tonight, Josh . . .”

***

Sunday morning they slept in and it was wonderful. He had a lot to drink the day and night before but he woke with no headache or regret. No regret at all.

Which was weird because they’d done and said terrible things last night.

Instead of regret, he woke with happiness. And for most of the morning he’d even been thankful that Kimmy had told him this was one night only, or just in Cayman or on vacation. It had spurred him to pursue further what he wanted from her sexually. If she hadn’t said that, he’d probably have reneged in some way or had his feelings hurt and then taken it out on Kimmy and backed his way out of his own kink. With Kimmy’s timer counting down the seconds where she would engage her husband with his kink, he’d finally abandoned his hang-ups and followed through with what he feared he wanted. With what he feared had been Devlin’s power of suggestion that night in the tent out back of Tiffany Hanson’s cottage.

In the morning he’d woken with her, soft sunlight radiating off the bright surfaces of the bedroom, Caribbean songbirds singing tunes outside the open living room door. Sometime in the night he’d got out of bed and put on a pair of boxer shorts. Kimmy had put on her Hell T-shirt he bought her and put on a pair of plain black cotton panties.

While she slept, he admired her for a long time with the sheets pulled back. She slept on her tummy, both arms folded underneath a pillow, her cheek planted in the center of that pillow. Her lips were pouted, her face peaceful. The skin on her arms was smooth and flawless, and the backs of her thighs as well. She was a perfect thing, and he was very lucky she would have him.

By the time he’d woken enough to leave the bed, he was smiling and couldn’t stop smiling. Smiling all the way out to the living room, looking at the couch where they’d said dirty things. The pillows tossed to the floor, clothing strewn on the rug. Out back around the hot tub he gathered their glasses, brought them inside. Cleaning up in the aftermath for what would be a brand-new day. He brewed coffee. Kimmy woke up, came out looking adorable and young and innocent, a lot like when they first married. Those impossibly long legs stretching, bare feet on the polished wood flooring, stretching and smiling her hair tied up on the top of her head, two hanging locks still hanging, framing her face.

“Good morning,” she said.

They never talked about what they’d done last night. They had coffee out back in the garden by the hot tub, and organized their schedule for the day. He walked with her the way he’d come home from Cape Ginger last night, going up the front side of the resort, two happily married people enjoying the last morning of their vacation before flying home that afternoon. They walked on the beach. Right past Cape Ginger about a mile before turning around. He took pictures of her. Took selfies with her. She laughed and cuddled against him. God, he loved the way she smiled. The way her lips would peel back, showing her teeth, a little bit of gum, forming little dimples high on her cheeks—the way her eyes narrowed to happy little dashed lines. They got back to the villa and packed. The put their things in the BMW and he drove south through George Town to Owen Roberts. Handed in the keys to the rental agency, and then walked through the airport down to where a golf cart took them to the private airfield.

The private plane home was different than the one they’d come in on. The flight attendant was older, more cultured and well-mannered. The plane was newer, still smelling of leather. They shared it with four young executive women in their late thirties. The women drank a lot of wine, and he and Kimmy would share sidelong glances, smirking at each other at their loud cackling, and some of the double entendres they would say. One of them laughed with snorts.

But then they were taxiing, and he lay out his palm. Kimmy set her hand in his and he gripped it, weaving his fingers between hers. He lay his head back on the caramel leather headrest and felt himself sink into the seat as the private jet picked up speed, his stomach dropping in a strangely sexual manner as they lifted off from the tarmac and rose up into the air.

***

That sexual feeling of the liftoff was familiar. That drop-away stomach feeling was a lot like how he felt when he thought about Kimmy and Devlin together. His hand grew sweaty against Kimmy’s, and he chewed at his lower lip remembering the fantastical tale she told him, the two of them having sex in the hot tub, his wife sitting in his lap with his cock inside her whispering the dirtiest things in his ear.