Free The Hotwife Summer by Arnica Butler Page A

of my shoes. Since coming to Europe we had decided to be as European as possible, and we placed our shoes by the door. There were slippers there for me, but I ignored them and began to shuffle down the hall on my socks. Silently, remembering my promise.
    My face burned as I looked at Summer's shoes: one, tipped over in haste, near the shoe rack. The other standing upright, a few feet down the hall.
    The scene drew itself for me. Summer trying to get her shoes off, and Sandro too hungry for her to keep his hands off her. Did he lift her with his big, muscular arms? Is that how her shoes had fallen, straight down, to land with a clank on the tiled floor? And then what? Against the wall, his lips pressed to hers?
    I imagined the look on her face as his hard body pressed her against the wall. So much muscle, all of it hard as a rock, all of it animal and beautiful. And against her thigh, his stiff cock, bigger than mine, bigger than she had imagined, bigger than any cock she had ever had.
    I reached the end of the hallway. I heard their voices, both of them speaking in the low, sultry murmurs of two people who know they are about to fuck and are just dragging it out.
    I tipped my head to the side, to look past the wall and into the small living area.
    Summer was propped on the coffee table, perched like a beautiful cat. Her legs were tucked under her and to the side, and she was holding a glass of wine. Her eyes, which were resting with a dreamy, bedroom glaze on the man in front of her, lifted immediately and met mine. A knowing smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she took a sip of her wine.
    Was her hair out of place? Messy, like Sandro had grasped it in his hands?
    The knife of alternating pain and erotic heat turned slowly in my abdomen. If I wanted her to stop, this was my last chance. I could shake my head, bring my hand to my throat and make a slit over my neck.
    But I did none of those things, and before I could think any more about them, her eyes were back on Sandro. Her smile, the one she had cultivated in Italy and which she had given only to me, blossomed up for him.
    She turned ever-so-slightly, and set her wine glass down on the table. Her mouth was moving and I could hear the seductive tones of her voice but not what she was saying.
    I had a hard time tearing my eyes away from what she was doing, even though it time to go to the place we had agreed that I would hide to watch her.
    To watch my wife with another man.
    The excitement prickled through me and filled my head like a strong drink. My cock twitched and strained against its own skin. My wife, who now was brushing her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward, was going to let another man fuck her for my pleasure.
    “Oh yeah?” I heard Sandro say. I could easily imagine the expression on his face, even as I tried to imagine what Summer might have said to him. What dirty, conniving things was she saying, in her sultriest voice, to lure him to the places she wanted him?
    My body moved itself, while my mind remained where it was, trapped in loops of disgust and pleasure. The truth, it would seem, was that I wanted this.
    Even if it was Sandro.
    Even if it was Sandro.
    The landlord had apparently blown all of his money on the door he took such pride in, because the closet in the bedroom was blocked off by a rickety, folding door that seemed to swing in every direction except the one you needed. A material that was not quite cloth, not quite rattan, and not at all new, covered the frame of the strange door. We had enjoyed making fun of it since we arrived, but now the door redeemed itself. It swung silently back to place, slightly open so that a long crack of the room was visible from inside. The strange material had large gaps in it from place to place, so I could easily follow the action in the room with little difficulty.
    It was spacious in the strange closet, and there was even room for a chair. I sat on it it now. I tried to slow my breathing,