Revenge Sex

BOOK ONE IN THE WEST COAST SERIES

A tale of hotwifing

Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes

Cover design by Rae Monet Inc

Smashwords Edition,
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Summary

A man, the hotwife he can’t control...and the
woman who wants to fix what’s wrong with him.

Tough, autocratic CFO Clay Blackwell strikes
both fear and loyalty into the hearts of his employees. But he’s
got one quirk no one at West Coast Manufacturing knows; he loves
the idea of his live-in girlfriend Ruby being with another
man...then coming home to him for the best sex of his life as she
describes every naughty detail. He’s only got three stipulations:
no sex with anyone from work, no sex with another man in their own
home, and she always has to tell him when she has a date. The
problem? What to do with a “hotwife” who has all the freedom any
woman could want, but still can’t follow three simple rules.

Jessica Murphy has the utmost respect and
admiration for her CFO. She also has wild sex fantasies about Clay
every night. Not that she’d ever tell anyone. Until she walks in on
Clay’s girlfriend Ruby screwing Bradley the financial analyst right
on Clay’s desk.

All bets are off and a little revenge sex is
the name of the game. Ruby thinks she’ll placate Clay by telling
him to have sex with another woman to pay her back for all her
rule-breaking. When Jessica learns about that, she makes up her
mind to seduce her boss for keeps, not just one night of
revenge.

But can she become the more-than-one-man
woman Clay Blackwell wants? Or will his desires tear them
apart?

Author Note: This book contains explicit
sex

Dedication

To Cody Alston

For telling me about hotwifing!

Acknowledgements

Thanks to my special network of friends who
support me, brainstorm with me, and encourage me, Bella Andre,
Shelley Bates, Jenny Andersen, Jackie Yau, Ellen Higuchi, Kathy
Coatney, Pamela Fryer, Rosemary Gunn, and Laurel Jacobson. Thanks
also to Clio for a great list of websites to investigate! And a
special thanks to Rae Monet for such a sexy cover.

Chapter One

Hoisting her onto the desktop, Bradley spread
her legs and yanked on her pretty purple thong.

“Oh yeah, baby, that’s it, rip them off.”
Ruby loved Bradley’s he-man act. Of course, the panties didn’t
tear, but so what, he still managed to slide the thong down her
legs and toss it into the corner.

Ruby was wet and ready before Bradley even
licked her. She’d been wet all day planning the naughty little
encounter.

“I’m going to make you scream,” he boasted,
then he put his tongue to her.

And truly, she did want to scream. “Oh,
that’s so right, baby. Clay never does it like that. He never finds
the right spot.” Bradley always needed a little ego boost to get
him going, and what better way than to tell him how much better he
was than Clay, her live-in boyfriend, lover—whatever you wanted to
call him—and most importantly, Bradley’s boss.

Leaning back on her elbows, she drew her
knees up so she could watch every move he made. His hair was a
lustrous dark brown against the perfect white flesh of her thighs.
His shoulders were wide, and she loved the sight of him in his
white dress shirt as he went to town on her. Ruby enjoyed watching
a man make love to her with his mouth. She loved the brush of soft
hair against her skin, and the bristle of Bradley’s perpetual
quarter-inch growth of beard. She relished each and every
sensation.

She especially loved cuckolding Clay on his
very big desk at ten o’clock on a weeknight after the cleaners had
all gone home. His second-floor office overlooked the parking lot
and road, yet with the conference table between the windows and
Clay’s desk, they were virtually unnoticeable from the outside. So
Ruby had left the lights on, all the better to see Bradley
down between her legs.

“Ooh,” she crooned. “Clay hardly ever licks
me.” She moaned. “And I so love the way you do it.” Bradley was
twenty-nine and a mere financial analyst, so she had to find ways
to coax the best out of him—young men still had so much to learn.
One of those ways was to tell him how much more virile he was than
his boss, or rather, his boss twice removed. Bradley worked for the
finance manager who in turn worked for Clay, but really, it was
Clay
Bra
dley had to impress. To be honest,
Clay didn’t always appreciate Bradley’s work, so Ruby had made it
her mission to help the young man feel he was good enough in other
realms. Like doing her nine ways to Sunday. On a Wednesday
night.

Then she stopped thinking and let sensation
take over. “Don’t stop, lick me, baby, just like that.” The heat
built inside her, ready to burst, yet she pushed it off a little
longer, like riding a magnificent wave just before it crashes.

Bradley put two fingers inside her the way
she’d taught him, and found her G-spot right away. Oh, that boy was
improving. She shuddered, then cried out, “Yes, yes, yes.” And the
climax pulsed through her body.

Before it could end, she grabbed Bradley by
the hair. “Fuck me now.”

Bradley grabbed her hips, and rolled her
over, her stomach bare against the cool wood of the desk. She loved
it from behind, pushed against a hard surface, taken, almost
forced. Especially when Clay took her this way. He was so big, so
tall, three inches taller than Bradley’s six feet.

Behind her, Bradley made fast work of the
condom. “It’s going to be so good, you won’t want to even go home
to him.”

She didn’t tell him that would never happen;
better not to spoil the moment. “When he does me, baby, I imagine
it’s you.” Actually, when Bradley did her, she imagined telling
Clay about it later, how hot he’d get, how it turned him into a
wild man.
Her
wild man.

Bradley plunged deep. Glorying in the feel of
him, she stretched out her hands, accidentally knocking over the
photo of Clay and his two teenage sons. Oops. But oh, this was
good, so very good. He was young and strong, his technique not
better than Clay’s, just different. It still needed refining, but
he was a fast learner, at least in the sex department. She adored
teaching a young man new tricks. She was forty years old—a hot
little number, if she did say so herself—and proud of her toned
figure and that her face had only a smattering of age lines. She
was better than she’d ever been. Bradley couldn’t get enough of
her.

“Oh my God,” she cried out. “You fill me up.
You’re so much bigger and thicker than Clay.”

At her words, Bradley went crazy, assured of
how much more virile he was than Clay. These young men performed so
well when you told them what they wanted to hear. Stretching out
her arms, she curled her fingers around the edge of the desk and
gave herself up to the moment, to the feel of a hard, young cock
inside her and the second sweet climb to the pinnacle.

* * * * *

Jessica Murphy jerked, then snapped to a
sitting position on the break room sofa. In the dark, the microwave
clock flipped to ten-oh-five in bright blue letters. Good Lord, all
she’d wanted to do was rest her eyes, a five-minute catnap; she’d
slept for over an hour. The board meeting was on Friday, and she
needed to review the March quarterly financials tomorrow with Clay
Blackwell, her CFO. But there was an issue in CIP, the
construction-in-progress account.

A noise had woken her. It couldn’t be the
cleaning staff; they’d left before her so-called catnap. She rose
from the couch, crossing to the door by the illumination of the
microwave clock. The hallway was dark. She’d turned out all the
lights, not wanting to waste electricity, especially when she was
accounting manager for West Coast Manufacturing, which meant she
knew exactly how much the PG&E bill was.

There it was again. Bracing herself against
the doorframe, she strained to hear. A moan. Then she was sure she
could make out voices, though the words were indistinguishable. She
shivered slightly. The automatic thermostat turned the heating down
at nine, raising it again at six in the morning. Despite being the
beginning of April, the San Francisco Bay Area was still chilly at
night.

Stepping out into the hallway, which bordered
all the cubicles in the middle of the large accounting department,
she made out lights on the far side. From the CFO’s office. But
Clay had been long gone before she’d crashed on the break room
sofa. Obviously, he’d come back.

What if he’d discovered her sleeping? Jessica
fluffed her hair, which was curly and tended to get mashed after
she slept on it. It must look like a rat’s nest. And her lipstick
was probably smudged. She ran a finger under each eye to get rid of
any mascara, then smoothed beneath her lips, hoping that was good
enough to fix the lipstick. She hated the idea of Clay Blackwell
seeing her at anything less than her best. He lived with the CEO’s
executive admin, Ruby Williams, and Jessica didn’t have designs on
him—she wasn’t a home wrecker—but she admired Clay immensely
and...well...a woman could have her fantasies in the middle of the
night when no one else suspected.

All right, nothing could be done about her
appearance now. She marched down the small walkway between the
cubicles, and the sounds from the other side of the thin dividers
grew exponentially louder with every step she took. Jessica’s heart
started to pound, and she thought about turning around and getting
the hell out. Because really, what
was
Clay Blackwell doing
in his office? And just who was he with?

She might have run, too, if she hadn’t heard
distinct words in a female voice—“Clay’s never fucked me like
this”—punctuated by a man’s low growl of pleasure.

Turning the corner by the end of a cubicle
wall, Jessica could see straight into Clay’s office. Her breath
stopped in her chest.

Ruby Williams was facedown on the desk, skirt
pushed up over her butt, dark hair flowing around her shoulders,
eyes closed, her red lips parted on a moan of intense pleasure.
Behind her, Bradley Palmer slammed into her, each thrust shoving
her across the desk. Bradley was tall, his features strained, his
stubbled jaw line rigid. The AP girls
oohed
and
aahed
over his resemblance to Brad Pitt. Jessica had never liked Brad
Pitt. She didn’t particularly like Bradley Palmer either.

And she hated Ruby for letting Bradley screw
her right on Clay’s desk. She and Clay had lived together for three
years, since shortly before Jessica had started at West Coast
Manufacturing. Even if they weren’t married, Clay was Ruby’s
significan
t
other in every sense of the
word. And Ruby worked at West Coast, too, for God’s sake. This was
so totally wrong.

Jessica should have run away right then, but
her feet were rooted to the carpet right outside the pool of light
spilling from the open door. She couldn’t move. She could only
watch. And listen.

“Isn’t it hot, baby? Tomorrow when you’re
meeting with him”—Ruby giggled—“you can think about what you were
doing to me right here.”

“Fuck yes.” Bradley grunted. No, he wasn’t
handsome at all. He was a gnat compared to Clay. How could Ruby do
this?

Yet Ruby shuddered and moaned. “You’re so
much better than Clay is, baby.”

Ruby had never been good enough for Clay. She
was vain and selfish. How could she humiliate him by having sex in
his office? A slap in his face. Even worse, it was Bradley, a whiny
wimp, who always complained that Clay didn’t think his work was
good enough. Well, it wasn’t.

Other than sex, what the hell did Clay see in
this horrible woman?

Jessica would never cheat on a man she loved.
She would cherish Clay. She’d never let another man bend her over
his desk and take her like a dog.

But she’d let Clay do it. She’d let Clay do
anything. Everything. For a moment—a very
long
moment—she
closed her eyes and felt Clay inside her. The way she’d imagined
him in her fantasies.

Until Ruby made another noise, a cross
between a gasp and a wail. Her eyelids squeezed shut, she bit down
hard on her lip as her face contorted in climax.