Free A Well-Laid Trap: The Story Of A Professional Hotwife by Arnica Butler Page B

and bent over to wrap her long hair in it. “You really scared the shit out of me. You crazy voyeur.”
    Her voice, so convincingly joking, cut through me like a knife. She was such a calm, excellent liar. Of course she had no way of knowing I had followed her, or that I knew her shower was not to get the sweat of the gym off of her. But you would think a woman who was sneaking around like Jordan was would have a guilty conscience.
    Even if it wasn't what it seemed. Even if it was something else, some reasonable secret (what would that be?)...she was still a liar.
    A good, deliberate liar. Duplicitous. Not who I had imagined I was living with.
    I didn't know if this thought turned me on, or it was her breasts, bouncing when she lifted her head.
    “When'd you get home?” I asked.
    “I was just about to ask you that.” She wrapped a towel around herself and turned to the mirror, pressing down on her eye to look at some nearly invisible flaw. “We must have just missed each other. I got here like ten minutes ago.”
    She looked at me in the mirror, and for a moment I saw it: she had a little flicker of fear cross her face.
    “I'm glad you're here, though,” she said suddenly, rubbing something over her lips in an enticing way.
    Playing the sex card.
    “Oh yeah?”
    I wasn't going to have it.
    Jordan let her towel fall down, in a heap on the carpet. Her slightly bubbled ass was still glistening with drops of water. She leaned toward the mirror, examining her face, and her breasts swung beneath her. Her ass turned upward and her bare cunt peeked out from between her legs. “I need some advice about something.”
    “What's that,” I said dryly. I was still in a daze. Still turning over all of the things I had seen and perplexed by my reaction, which was not what I expected. I was actually feeling...turned on.
    Probably just the fact that Jordan was stroking her chest now, from her neck to the valley between her tits.
    She was so deliberately changing the subject. So deliberately covering up her tracks. Distracting me.
    Was she at all worried that I had seen her get out of another man's car?
    That I knew she had left in a cab?
    “This girl at work,” Jordan said, breaking my reverie, “a contractor, she does all the sexy stuff...she also has an adult...video store. Or like, toys, that kind of thing. And she's always telling me about all this stuff.” Jordan's eyes were on mine, and she was propped up against the counter now, no longer making any effort whatsoever to pretend she was looking at nonexistent blemishes on her perfect face. She knew exactly what she was doing, and that her cunt was peeking out from between her legs, wet and pink. She knew how great her ass looked, and she was moving her hand everywhere near her tits.
    And as much as I wanted to tear my eyes away from all of this, and ask her what the hell was going on, where she had been, why she was lying to me, what she was doing in the back of a cab putting on makeup, why she was dressed up like a hooker at a bar downtown...I couldn't do it. She was hypnotizing me.
    It was all hypnotizing me.
    “And she keeps wanting to pawn all this stuff off on me.”
    I felt my pulse begin to race. Images of dildos began to fill my head.
    So that was it, Jordan was actually just a dirty slut.
    Where was she going with this?
    “And so finally, I was just like, okay...I'm not into toys, not really...well, maybe I am and just don't know it. But I took some...you know. Bondage stuff from her.”
    I shuddered.
    Keep it the fuck together, Paddy.
    Jordan turned around, and leaned against the counter. Her body really did look magnificent, after all her workouts.
    Workouts, Paddy, she doesn't seem to be going to.
    “So you wanted some advice,” I coughed. My eyes were on the crescent of her pelvis, the slit between her legs. The word bondage.
    What in the fuck was going on.
    She brought her hand to her lips, and bit into her thumb. It was, in a word, the most cliched,